importance…ha!‖
Swanne‘s face hardened. ―You took your Matilda, did you not? I took Harold. There is no
difference.‖
―Matilda has no part in this deadly game we play! But Coel! That was something you
held back deliberately. I asked you about him,‖ William‘s voice hardened to granite, ―and you
lied to me. You lied. Deliberately.‖
―I was afraid. I did not want you jealous.‖
William‘s jaw tightened, and he looked away from her.
―Is that why you told him about you and me?‖ she said, watching William‘s expression
carefully. ―You were upset when you realised Harold was Coel, and that I‘d kept that
information from you. Is that why—?‖
―I did not tell Harold,‖ William said. ―He knew before he came to my court.‖
―He knew?‖ Swanne frowned, then her brow cleared. ―Ah, well then, it must have been
Aldred, no doubt hedging his bets against a Harold victory rather than a William victory.‖
―You were speaking of Mag,‖ William said, finally looking back at Swanne. ―Living
within Cornelia‘s womb, you said?‖
Swanne‘s mouth twisted, but she managed to bring her emotions under control. ―Mag hid
herself within Cornelia‘s womb. If Cornelia allied with Asterion, then that alliance was as much
an alliance between Mag and Asterion as between Cornelia and Asterion.‖
Now William‘s face was wearing a strange, unreadable expression. ―Cornelia carried
Mag within her womb? Truly?‖
Whatever that expression was, Swanne did not like it. ―Aye. Both the bitches conspired
against you. And me. But we need not worry now. Whatever assurances and promises Asterion
made to Mag, whatever reward he offered for her aid, he meant none of it. He destroyed Mag,
murdered her completely, a few months ago.‖
―And Caela?‖
― What of Caela? Why speak of her when—‖
―Because I need to know if she had the power to move that band!‖ William all but
shouted. ― I need to know who it was! ‖
Swanne‘s face set sulkily. ―Caela has no power. Believe me, William, she does not have
the ability to find and move any of those kingship bands. She barely has the capability to dress in the morning. It must have been someone else. Who?‖
―Very well, then,‖ William finally said, although his mind still rankled over what Matilda
and Harold had said about Caela; they had not described a woman who didn‘t even have the
power to ―dress in the morning‖. ―Not Caela, then.‖ He paused, thinking. Who?
Swanne gave a small shrug. ―I cannot tell. The puzzle has kept me awake at nights.‖
―Silvius,‖ he said. ―Perhaps it is Silvius.‖
―Your father? How?‖
William remembered how he‘d met his father in the heart of the Labyrinth during the
Dance of the Torches; how he‘d slain Silvius then as he had that day so long ago when he‘d been
fifteen years old. And he remembered what his father had said to him as he‘d faced Silvius yet
one more time that day Loth had challenged Brutus: I am your conscience, I am this land, and I
am the Game.
―I am the Game,‖ William whispered. Then he refocused his eyes on Swanne. ―Silvius
lives within the Game,‖ he said, ―and Silvius once wore those bands. He knows those bands, and
they him. He could have moved them.‖
He must have. Who else?
―Why?‖ said Swanne.
―To foil me,‖ William said, a sad smile hovering about his face. ―To murder my
ambitions.‖
Swanne cursed, foully enough to make William stare at her with barely disguised
distaste.
―What can we do to stop him?‖ she said.
―At the moment, not much.‖ If only it was Silvius. William wanted to believe that very much; it made everything so simple. Still, he was glad Matilda had her agent within
Westminster. Just in case… someone…was lying to him.
―If Silvius moved them then I can find them,‖ William said, trying to settle the matter in
his own mind. ―We are of the same blood, the same training. If he moved them, then I can find
them.‖
William forced himself to smile slightly. ―It is not as desperate as I‘d thought. It will not
be long before I can come,‖ he said. ―Do not worry.‖
Above them one of the seabirds, now circling much lower, gave a harsh cry as if of
laughter.
Swanne smiled, and lifted her face to William‘s. ―Kiss me,‖ she said.
He did so, but not as deeply as Swanne would have liked. She drew him close, meaning
to kiss him again, but William pushed her back. ―Go now,‖ he said. ―Go. And don‘t ever dare
this again. It is too dangerous. It won‘t be long until I can be with you in truth. It won‘t be.‖
―You said that fifteen years ago.‖
―Fifteen years ago I was a fool.‖ Two thousand years ago I was a fool, too. ―It won‘t be
long now, we can both feel it.‖
―William…‖
―Go!‖ he said, and gave her shoulders a push. ―Go.‖
When she finally disappeared, William was not so very surprised to feel a profound sense
of relief sweep through him.
Deep within the Game, Og‘s heart beat infinitesimally stronger.
Asterion slowly recomposed his awareness from the seabird—after all, he was the master
of glamours—back to his own body, sprawled in a great chair before the fire in his hall.
The silly witch, thinking he would not have known she would do something like that.
In truth, Asterion had been expecting it ever since Swanne had forced herself on Aldred,
the obese buffoon, and had been mildly surprised she‘d waited as long as she had.
He thrust thoughts of Swanne aside, and concentrated on the matter to hand. Silvius?
They had decided Silvius was moving the bands.
Asterion grinned, staring into the flames. Silvius…
Damson was down at the river‘s edge, carefully folding wet linens and placing them
within her basket, when the waterman poled his craft close to her.
―Damson!‖ he called softly, and she set her washing aside, lifted her skirts, and walked
over to him.
―A new challenge,‖ he said. ―Our mistress requires you to watch the queen as well as the
Wessex witch. What company do they keep? Do they slip into the night unattended?‖
Damson rolled her eyes. ―A fine request indeed, and to come at such a time! The Lady
Swanne has been bundled out of Westminster and has found solace within the Archbishop of
York‘s house within London‘s walls. What does our mistress expect me to do? Scurry back and
forth, back and forth, and expect no one to notice?‖
The waterman leaned on his pole and regarded Damson speculatively. ―In the past weeks
I have seen you scurrying often between Westminster and London. What is one or two more
scurries among those you already accomplish?‖
―I have not left Westminster in months!‖
The waterman chuckled. ―So you have a lover, then, and seek to deny it. I hope you do
not confess our mistress‘ secrets to him.‖
Damson glared at him. ―I have not left Westminster.‖
He shrugged. ―As you will, then. But, listen, there is more. Pray watch carefully, if you
can, among the queen‘s and Lady Swanne‘s possessions for a golden band or two, with a
spinning crown over a Labyrinth set into them.‖
―She wishes me to steal it?‖
The waterman shook his head. ―Just to observe its presence.‖
―I can do that.‖
―Give my best to your lover,‖ the waterman said, standing up straight and hefting the
pole. ―He must be good if you seek to deny him so mightily.‖
Damson scowled, marched back to her basket, then stalked off, leaving the sound of the
waterman‘s laughter ringing over the river.
THIRTEEN
It was the night of the winter solstice, the death of the year. The night which marked the
nadir of the sun‘s journey through the heavens; the shortest day and the longest night. That
moment when the sun would either triumph against the darkness and rise the next morning
towards an eventual spring, or it would fail and plunge the world and all creation into
never-ending gloom and death.
It was the night when the land held its breath. If the sun failed, then the land failed, and
spring would never grace its body again. If the sun failed, then the land would wither and die,
and all who lived on her would wither also.
It was the night when the land strived for the dawn, for the light, for its resurgent fertility.
It was the night Caela could act, where she could do for the land.
―My lord?‖
Edward, who had been contemplating something unfathomable in the middle distance of
the Great Hall in the palace of Westminster, turned to study his wife. They sat on the dais,
digesting their evening meal, listening to some minstrels play.
The hall was all but deserted, and this emptiness had put Edward in a foul mood.
He knew that celebrations were planned tonight for the fields and hills beyond the
northern walls of London to mark the solstice. Fire dances and games were to be enacted by all