Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

Swanne sat down in a chair as close to the fire as she could manage without setting her

rose-coloured gown ablaze, thinking on Asterion. She hadn‘t seen him for over a week. He‘d

appeared now and again while she and Aldred had been in the north, but far more infrequently

than he‘d come to her here in London. Swanne missed him—and resented his

absences—horribly.

It was not only that Asterion‘s gentle touch soothed Aldred‘s agonies, nor even that when

he lay with her he increased her darkcraft a fraction more, it was that Swanne simply missed him.

How could she ever have lain with Harold…and borne him six children?

How could she have ever thought she loved William, and believed him her true mate in

power?

How could she have ignored Asterion for all these years? How could she never have

realised?

Swanne‘s mind was now so consumed with Asterion, with the need for his presence and

touch, that her conscious mind was no longer aware that Aldred and Asterion were one and the

same.

Aldred she feared and loathed beyond measure. Asterion she craved as much as life and

power itself.

Another band had been moved during her absence from London (by Silvius, Swanne

supposed). The night it had been moved Asterion made one of his rare visits to Swanne while she

was in York. Aldred for once had left her alone—he‘d gone to spend a day or so at a monastery

just to the west of York where he suspected the abbot was fudging his estate accounts.

Asterion had come to Swanne, and soothed her and held her and loved her and said that

the band‘s movement did not matter.

―William will be able to find it soon enough,‖ he‘d said. ―As he will all of them. And

when William has the bands…‖

―We pounce,‖ Swanne had whispered into the beast‘s mouth as he bent to kiss her.

―William will do anything for you,‖ Asterion said.

―Anything,‖ Swanne murmured.

―And when we have him…then he will do everything for us. Tell me, my love, do you

think the bands will look elegant encircling my limbs?‖

Swanne had run her hands over the creature‘s thickly muscled biceps. ―They were meant

for you,‖ she‘d said, and Asterion had smiled, and had given her more of the darkcraft that night

than he had hitherto.

Now Swanne sat by the fire, shivering despite its heat, and waited.

Mag would come to her today. She could feel it—not merely that Mag would come, but

that the trap she and Asterion had set was about to be sprung.

Swanne closed her eyes, blessing Asterion for the renewed sense of darkcraft within her,

then composed her face and put upon it the expression of the battered victim—that of equal parts

fear, hope and submission.

The door opened.

Swanne took a deep breath and opened her eyes…then could not help widening them as

she saw who it was.

Damson?

Ah! Mag had ever had a penchant for obscure, worthless fools.

―Damson?‖ Swanne said in her most chilling voice—she could not let the tiresome witch

know she‘d been expected. ―What do you here? The linens have already been changed and I

have no further use for you. You may leave.‖

But Damson did not leave, as Swanne knew she would not.

―Madam,‖ Damson said, carefully closing the door behind her and looking about the

chamber to ensure they were alone.

―Damson,‖ Swanne said again, stiffening in her chair as if deeply affronted. “You may

leave!”

―I cannot, Swanne,‖ the Damson-who-was-not-quite-Damson said, and she came directly

to Swanne, hesitated, then pulled up a stool close to Swanne‘s chair and sat herself down.

―How dare you sit in my presence!‖ Swanne said, allowing a note of anger to creep into

her voice.

―I am not Damson,‖ said the woman. ―Not entirely.‖

And she looked directly into Swanne‘s eyes.

Swanne did not have to fake the surprise that flared across her face.

―Gods!‖ she whispered. “Mag?” This was not the Mag Swanne had known in her earlier

life, but one infinitely more dangerous, far more powerful. This was, somehow, a youthful Mag,

a Mag at the beginning of her promise, a Mag who could grow into a true threat.

How had she done this? Swanne barely managed to keep herself still in her chair. She

had a wild urge to dash to the window and fling aside the shutters, and scream for Asterion.

No, no. She must be calm. He would be here soon enough.

And yet it wouldn‘t be soon enough, would it? No time would be soon enough to rid

themselves of this unexpectedly powerful enemy.

―Mag,‖ Swanne said again, her voice more controlled now.

Damson-Mag gave a slight nod. ―I am she who walks as the mother goddess of this land,‖

she said. ―Not dead, after all, Swanne.‖

―You always did know how to slip away from danger, didn‘t you?‖

―I draw on a long association with the Darkwitches, Swanne. I have learned well.‖

Swanne bared her teeth in equal amounts smile and snarl.

―And now you have come to gloat?‖ she said.

Damson shook her head. ―Swanne, I have come to make you an offer.‖

Oh! The smugness of it. ―An offer! And what might that be?‖

Damson took a deep breath. ―In return for your freedom from Asterion‘s malicious grip,

in return for your life, because Asterion is surely murdering you by degrees, I need you to teach me the ways and powers of the Mistress of the Labyrinth.‖

Swanne stared unblinking at Damson, her lips slightly parted, shocked into total silence.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that Damson could have said to stun her more.

―You… what?‖ she finally managed.

―The Game has changed,‖ Damson said. ―Altered.‖

Swanne said nothing, still staring at Damson as if she had turned into a frog before her

eyes.

Damson took a deep breath, as if coming to a decision within herself. ―The Game has

grown in the two thousand years that Asterion kept everyone within death. It has merged with

the land itself, allied with it. Now Game and land have a single purpose.‖

Swanne still said nothing. Her mind was racing, trying to take in all Damson was saying,

and what this was leading to. Mag? Wanted to be the Mistress of the Labyrinth? Why?

In her lap, Swanne‘s hands twisted over and over.

Again Damson took a deep breath. ―The Game wants myself and Og to complete it as the

Mistress and Kingman.‖

Swanne‘s mouth dropped open even further, and her eyes widened impossibly. It was not

so much that the Game and land had apparently decided between themselves that Mag and Og

should complete the Game as Mistress and Kingman, although that was unbelievable enough, but

that Og still lived! Og? Alive?

―Og…‖ she managed to get out, more a groan than a word. ―Og is… alive?”

Damson gave a single nod.

Swanne slumped back into her chair, unable for the moment to accept it. ―But Loth slew

him when he slew his mother, Blangan.‖

―He almost did, yes. But Mag was in that Stone Dance as well that night, secreted within

Cornelia‘s womb, and she cast an enchantment upon him that has kept him alive, just, all these

years. He rests, waiting.‖

Swanne noted that Damson-Mag still did not say ―I‖, but ―Mag‖. Why that distance?

―Where?‖ she said.

Damson hesitated, then apparently decided that truth would persuade Swanne more

quickly than falsehood. ―In the heart of the Game.‖

―Gods,‖ Swanne whispered. Her mind was still whirling. Asterion should know this!

Soon!

Damson mistook Swanne‘s shock for indecision, and she leaned forward and took

Swanne‘s hands in her own.

Swanne did not resist.

―Swanne, please, let me help you. You and I share no friendship, nor even a semblance of

respect each for the other.‖

True enough, thought Swanne.

―But I can help you. I can free you from Asterion. I know he masquerades as Aldred.‖

Swanne wanted to scream at the stupid bitch that Asterion was not Aldred, but managed

to hold her tongue.

―If I aid you to freedom, Swanne, I would that you teach me the ways of the Labyrinth in

return.‖

“Foolish” could not possibly encompass the inanity of this suggestion, Swanne thought,

allowing a frown of indecision to crease her forehead, as if she truly considered what Damson

offered. Hand to her my powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth? How could she ever have thought

that I would do such a thing?

―A deal, Swanne,‖ Damson said, now grasping Swanne‘s hands very tightly and leaning

in very close to her. ―In return for your freedom from Asterion, you hand to me your powers as

Mistress of the Labyrinth.‖

―I…‖ Swanne said, and then her eyes altered slightly, as if she saw something behind

Damson.

In an instant Swanne‘s hands twisted in Damson‘s, grasping them in a cruel grip.

Damson pulled back, but could not break free from Swanne‘s grasp, and in the next