Darkwitch Rising

  “James, you may have run all your life from your responsibilities, but this land still needs you. You are still wanted. Louis will need you, James. I need you. The Stag God himself will need you. For the next few months, at the very least, your loyalty to your Christian god shall be severely tested.”

  “I will not—” James began.

  “What?” said Charles. “Are you about to say that you will not aid us?” He leaned forward, staring intently at James. “Are you truly saying to me that the land means nothing to you? That its health and survival mean nothing to you?”

  He paused. “Or is it that you’re jealous, eh? Didn’t you want this for yourself once? To be the Stag God reborn?”

  James’ eyes jerked back to his brother. “How did you—”

  “Kate told me. She said that in your previous life as Saeweald you’d harboured ambitions to be Eaving’s lover, to be the Stag God reborn. Is that true?”

  James dropped his eyes to his hands resting in his lap.

  “None of us have any say in what we grow into,” said Charles softly. “Not me, not Louis, not even Noah. All of us have accepted what we have, or will, become. As must you.”

  “And what am I to become?” said James bitterly. “Nothing! I am but someone to hand over power, not to attain it. When I was Loth, my father and Genvissa conspired to keep me from power, and all my successive lives have shown me that everyone else conspires in the same manner, no matter how much they protest themselves my friend.”

  “Then take the damned initiative and seize power, you cursed fool!” Charles all but shouted.

  Charles leaned even further forward in his chair, fixing James with eyes narrowed and passionate. “I need you, the land needs you, and even Louis needs you. Curse you, James. Louis murdered me in a former life. Am I sitting here sulking? Nay. Nay. If ever you want to see the stag run the forests again, James, then you need to help. If not for the land, then for yourself, for that is who you shall be aiding most of all. I am sure that your crucified lord shall harbour no grudges. He seems the forgiving sort. He’ll take you back again, if you want. But help us, James. Help us.” Charles gave a quirky smile. “I am certain you shall enjoy your duties.”

  Then he sat back in his chair, all his passion and energy spent. He sighed, shook his head, then seemed to remember he held an almost full glass of wine in his hand (some of the wine albeit spilled on the floor during his impassioned speech), and raised the glass to his mouth, and drained it.

  “Why was Anne Hyde at the Faerie Court?” he said. “Don’t misunderstand me. I like and respect her and do not begrudge her presence at all…but why should the Sidlesaghes deliver her an invitation?”

  “She was with me when the Sidlesaghe came,” mumbled James, his attention once again riveted on his hands.

  “With you?” said Charles. “But it was my understanding the Sidlesaghes extended their invitations very late at night, when all were abed.”

  James said nothing.

  Charles glanced at Louis, then looked back at James. “She was in your bed?”

  “And what of it?” James said, finally raising his eyes to Charles’.

  Charles slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair, making both Louis and James jump.

  “Damn it!” Charles said. “Anne Hyde is the only daughter of my most respected adviser. She is a noblewoman, and a virtuous one. What in your god’s name did you mean, taking her to your bed? Now she has lost all that is most precious to her, her virginity and her reputation, and ruined her chance for a great and noble marriage.”

  “I did not force her!” James said.

  “You could have, perhaps, refrained from issuing the invitation in the first instance,” Louis murmured.

  “Oh, fine words from you,” James snarled. “Did you ever ask Cornelia what she wished when you forced her to your bed?”

  “Enough,” Charles said tiredly. “James, you will marry Anne. I will accept no other course of action.”

  “Marry her? But—”

  “You took her to your bed, and for all you know she may be carrying your child,” Charles said. “I want no hint of scandal about this court and about my name. Gods, I have only just returned after more than half my life spent in exile—the last thing I need is my younger rake of a brother deflowering half the court while I try to run the country with an even hand.”

  James dropped his eyes, but said nothing.

  Louis looked at him, then at Charles. “Charles,” he said. “What do I do? Where do I go from here?”

  Charles seemed as glad of the change in conversation as much as Louis was glad to do it. “I will take you to the forests,” he said, “and show you the Ringwalk. From there, we step onto the Ringwalk—with James, I hope—and we do as the fates dictate.”

  “But,” said Louis, “Weyland will know that you—”

  Charles shook his head. “I will walk the Ringwalk with you as the Lord of the Faerie, Louis. Not as Charles. Weyland will not know. He has no sympathy with this land. He has no idea of the Lord of the Faerie’s presence and he will not recognise the Lord of the Faerie’s movements, or know when he walks abroad. Dear gods, half the land’s faerie creatures could crawl under Weyland’s nose and he wouldn’t know they were there. James…”

  James dragged his eyes back to his brother.

  “James, did you truly have no idea that the Lord of the Faerie walked, or that I was he?”

  James hesitated, then shook his head. “I may harbour a bitter soul, but in this I am happy for you, my friend. I can think of no safer harbour for either the Lord of the Faerie, or this land, than in your soul.”

  At that Charles smiled. “James,” he said very, very softly, “if the Lord of the Faerie asks for your aid, will you give it?”

  James took a long time in replying. “Yes,” he said finally, his voice tired. “I will aid you, if you promise that I may walk away in peace at the end of it.”

  Charles gave a short laugh. “I doubt that any of us shall get any peace at the end of this, brother.”

  Ten

  Idol Lane, London

  Noah sat down heavily at the table in the kitchen of Idol Lane and Jane, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down opposite her. There was no one else in the kitchen this early. Noah had her elbows resting on the table, her hands clasped tightly before her—to stop them trembling, Jane thought.

  In truth, she felt like trembling as well. Ariadne had borne an earlier daughter.

  And told no one.

  Until now.

  And what a daughter. Cornelia’s foremother. How…amusing.

  Jane raised a hand to her forehead and rubbed at her brow, unconsciously tracing out the faint marks where the ridges and hollows of her sores had once festered. What fools they had all been, Ariadne as much as anyone. How could Ariadne have thought that a second daughter born to Theseus would have had more potential than a daughter born to the Minotaur himself. Sweet gods…Noah had the dark power already within her! She, at least, did not have to prostitute herself to Asterion to get some of the precious darkcraft for her own.

  Or was this what Ariadne had planned all along? A wave of all-consuming hatred for her foremother washed over Jane. Ariadne had toyed with lives, had toyed with Jane’s life and all her previous lives.

  Had toyed with Noah’s life. Jane looked over at Noah, who was still staring at the table top, her face wan and strained.

  “Well,” said Jane in an even voice, “so now you are to carry the strain of Ariadne’s ambitions. Congratulations.”

  Noah raised her eyes to Jane. “You think I wanted this?”

  “I know you didn’t, and, frankly, I am somewhat pleased to discover that I am not wearing your shoes.”

  Noah gave a very small smile. “I would have no hesitation in offering them to you.”

  Jane chuckled, and gave her head a little shake, as if to clear her thoughts. “What a night, eh?” Then her smile faded. “Will you tell your lover, then, what you are?”

/>   Noah’s face went white. “Louis! Oh, what will he say when he discovers this? And Charles? Merciful heavens…neither of them will trust me! The blood of the Minotaur runs in me.”

  “And Weyland?” Jane said softly.

  Noah’s hand snaked across the table and grabbed Jane’s. “Promise me you will not tell. Please. Not Weyland. Not anyone. I…I have to think this through first. I cannot face…”

  You cannot face what Louis will do, Jane thought, when he discovers you are more Darkwitch than Mistress of the Labyrinth, more Ariadne than Eaving.

  And what would Weyland do?

  Jane shuddered. Suddenly she felt a tremendous relief that she, at least, had been shouldered off the path of power. If only she could just walk out that door, and lose herself amid the gathering London crowds.

  Would Weyland let her go if he knew about Noah?

  “So,” said a voice, “Ariadne has spoken to you, finally. At least someone shall be teaching you the craft of the labyrinth.”

  Both women turned. Catling had just entered the kitchen, her hair tousled from sleep, but her eyes bright and knowing. Jane could not help another small shudder.

  Poor Noah, to think she believed this creature her daughter.

  “You knew?” Noah said softly, staring at Catling.

  “Mother—”

  “Don’t ‘mother’ me! I have had enough of this pretence. How did you know?” Without waiting for an answer, Noah whipped her head back to Jane, and her hand, still about Jane’s, suddenly tightened. “You told me that you knew precisely what it was I had birthed. Tell me now, I beg you, and hand me all my shocks in one day. By the gods, I cannot go through another day like this.”

  Jane glanced at Catling.

  “Jane—” Catling began. “Do not—”

  “Catling is not your daughter, Noah,” Jane said, still looking at the little girl. “You have suspected it for a long time, I think. What daughter is this, eh? No, Catling is—”

  “Jane!” Catling said again, her voice seething with warning.

  “Do you think I care for your threats?” Janes said to the child. “What care I that your secrets are shared? Noah,” her voice softened, and she looked back at Noah, “Catling is not your daughter, although she assumes the glamour of her. Catling is the Troy Game incarnate. The Troy Game made flesh. Your flesh and that of Brutus-reborn. Child of the Mistress and Kingman that the Game has chosen. Here to meddle and manipulate. Here, apparently, to ensure that someone teaches you to be what it needs—a Mistress of the Labyrinth.”

  Jane had not thought that Noah’s face could get any whiter, but somehow it managed the feat.

  And then it suffused with red, and Jane saw Noah’s eyes glitter.

  Suddenly Noah stood up, sending her stool skittering against the far wall, stepped up to Catling, and dealt a sharp blow to the girl’s cheek. “You hateful little—”

  “Don’t!” Jane said, rising herself and grabbing at Noah’s hand before she could strike Catling again. “You will not do any good, either to yourself or to this land!”

  “What I have done has always been for the best,” Catling said softly, her eyes on Noah. “Sometimes it is not easy to see, but—”

  “I thought you were my daughter,” Noah said, and very slowly, agonisingly, sank to her knees. “I thought you were my daughter!”

  Jane knelt down and put her arms about Noah’s shoulders. Coming on top of all the shocks Noah had received in the past hours, this was probably just too much to bear.

  Noah was weeping now, and she looked up and stared at Catling. “Why weren’t you honest with me?”

  Catling shrugged. “It wasn’t important…and I had to be careful, after all.”

  “Don’t think that now I will do what you want, what you have manipulated me into—”

  “You must,” said Catling evenly. “For this land, for the good of—”

  Noah spat out an obscenity, and Jane almost reeled back in shock. “I will not be your pawn!” Noah said.

  “You will do what is necessary,” Catling said. “You have no other choice.”

  “Does my daughter still live somewhere? Within you? Trapped elsewhere?”

  Catling hesitated, then shook her head. “No. She died truly that night that Genvissa swept her from your body.”

  “You led me to believe…Mag led me to believe…all those visions of my daughter in the stone hall. I was to have her, eventually, once all had succeeded.”

  “You led yourself to believe,” Catling said. “There was never any hope for your daughter. She was lost thousands of years ago, Noah. Accept it.”

  “I led myself to believe? I will not ‘accept’ that. I saw my daughter—or was it you all this time?—in the stone hall long before I ever became pregnant with her. I have been tricked. Tricked. And this trickery was laid down almost three thousand years ago. You have been planning this deception for almost three thousand years. You just wanted to use me.”

  She lunged forward, and Jane thought then that Noah would have reached out and clawed Catling’s eyes from her face if Jane had not physically held her back—and that took every ounce of strength that she could summon.

  “I would have done everything for this land had you but asked,” Noah shouted. “Everything! Why wrap me about in so many lies and secrets? Why feel the need to force my hand? Why lead me to believe I could have my daughter back?” She paused, then almost screamed the next. “Why lead me to believe I could ever have a daughter? Was it Genvissa who murdered my daughter, you hateful, hateful, piece of creation, or was it you all along?”

  “Shush!” Jane said. “Weyland will hear!”

  “All I have wanted,” said Catling, “all I have ever needed, was to make sure that all plays out as I want.” Suddenly she seemed not the little girl at all, but something massive and ominous that filled the kitchen with its power. “What you wanted was totally unimportant.”

  “Get out,” said Noah, very low, staring at Catling.

  “Noah—” Jane began.

  “Get out,” Noah said. Her voice was low, but it was trembling with power, and with hatred. “Get out!”

  Catling looked once at Jane, bleakly, as if promising retribution. Then she turned, and left.

  Eleven

  Idol Lane and Whitehall Palace, London

  Something had happened during the night, something powerful, but Weyland did not know what it was.

  “What have you been doing, Noah?” he whispered as he walked silently from the Idyll. Had he revealed too much? Had he been too kind?

  Had she taken advantage?

  He paused at the door to Elizabeth and Frances’ room, putting a hand to its wood.

  They were still there. Asleep and unwitting.

  Weyland dropped his hand, and looked to the head of the stairs.

  He could hear voices from the kitchen. Noah’s voice, raised. Jane’s, soft and cajoling.

  Weyland raised an eyebrow. Jane—soft and cajoling?

  There was a movement behind him, and Weyland turned.

  The two imps had appeared, both with worry lines creasing their faces.

  “What is it?” Weyland said softly. “Catling is gone,” said one.

  “Run away?” Weyland said. He felt a slight sense of relief. He hadn’t liked the girl.

  “No,” said the other imp. “Gone, chased by angry words. Her mother sent her away.”

  Weyland gaped. Damn it, this had happened while he slept? “Why did Noah chase her daughter away?”

  Both the imps shrugged, although they looked discomforted and awkward. What did they know?

  Weyland stared at them a moment longer, then he turned and ran lightly (but, oh, so silently) down the stairs, crossed the parlour, and entered the kitchen.

  Noah and Jane sat huddled together on the floor before the hearth. Both looked up as he entered, Jane looking shocked, Noah angry and distraught all in one. Her face was tear-streaked, her eyes swollen.

  “What has happened he
re?” Weyland said.

  “We live in your house,” Jane said tartly. “You must expect tears now and again.”

  “Catling has gone,” Weyland said, watching Noah as he said the words.

  She turned her face away, her expression now wooden.

  “Jane,” Weyland said softly, not moving his eyes from Noah, “you may leave us now.” “Weyland—” she said. “Leave us!”

  Jane gave Noah’s shoulders a squeeze with her hands, stood, sent Weyland a baleful stare, then brushed past him.

  A moment later he heard her cross the parlour and start up the stairs.

  Weyland walked over to where Noah sat on the floor, and held out a hand.

  Very reluctantly, Noah allowed Weyland to aid her to rise.

  He pulled her close, noting well how she averted her face from his, and laid a hand lightly on her waist. Gods, how she trembled!

  “Why?” Weyland said, very softly. “Why send Catling away? She is only a child, Noah. Your child…”

  Noah said nothing, but, if possible, averted her face even more from his.

  “What did she do?”

  “I have had a poor night, Weyland. I would like to be alone.”

  “Tell me.” His face was so close to her now that his breath brushed her ear as he spoke. She tensed.

  “Tell me,” he whispered, pulling her yet closer. “What could be so bad that you sent away a little girl?”

  She laughed shortly, the sound harsh and grating.

  “Perhaps I have more of Ariadne in me than you imagine, Weyland. Perhaps I, too, can send a daughter away.”

  “You are nothing like Ariadne. You loved your daughter.”

  “She did not wish to be loved.”

  “Noah…”

  “I did not want her here, Weyland! Can you not understand that? How could I want a daughter trapped with me in this…in this…”

  “But you brought her here willingly.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “What happened during the night? Everything is…different.”

  She finally looked at him, her eyes overbright, her smile strained and hard. “Jane has finally agreed to teach me the ways and traps of the labyrinth, Weyland. Aren’t you pleased?”