“Because I choose,” she whispered.
Noah opened the front door, and looked up the
flight of stairs.
Weyland was still standing at their head, as if he had not moved the entire time she’d been gone.
“Jane?” Noah said softly.
“Gone to market,” Weyland replied. “Noah—”
“I have it,” she said, and held it forth.
Weyland visibly sagged, and Noah realised how tense he’d been. She walked up the stairs, faced him, and held it out so he could see.
Weyland swallowed, then reached out a hand and touched it.
The instant his fingers made contact with the metal he sprang back, with a soft exclamation.
“What is it?” Noah said.
“It bit me!” Weyland said, looking between the golden band and the tips of his fingers, which were reddened and slightly swollen.
“Then I shall have to keep it safe,” she said, “if it will not allow you to touch it.”
“Noah—”
“I will shelter it, Weyland.”
“And when I ask for it?”
“Then I shall bring it forth, and we can see again if the band shall allow you to handle it. It will not go far. Trust me.”
Weyland opened his mouth to say something, but just then the front door opened, and before either he or Noah could react, Jane entered, looked up the stairs, and gave an audible gasp of horror. “Noah! What have you done?”
Noah sent a quick, hard look at Weyland—let me speak with her, Weyland, I beg you—and then she was running lightly down the stairs, one hand clutching the band, the other held out in appeal to Jane.
But Jane did not see. She slammed the front door closed and marched through the parlour into the kitchen.
“Jane…” Breathless—and that through shock rather than through exertion—Noah stood in the doorway between kitchen and parlour, watching Jane as she thumped goods out of her basket onto the table.
“I cannot believe what you have done!” Jane said.
Noah took a step into the room. “Jane—”
“You are giving Weyland the bands of Troy? You are giving them to him?”
“No,” said Noah. “I am taking them into my own hands.”
“Ha!” said Jane.
“I am no longer willing to allow the Troy Game to dictate what happens, Jane. The bands are too valuable to lie about various places.”
Jane stopped what she was doing and stared at Noah. “Has the power of the labyrinth gone to your head, Noah? Have you lost what little wits you possessed? I saw you! Standing there, holding out one of the bands to Weyland! How many of the other bands does he have? How many betrayals have you managed before I saw that particular little touching scene?”
“Jane—”
“What have you done, Noah?”
“For all the gods’ sakes, Jane, it is not what it seems!”
“No? Then explain it to me.”
“I—”
Noah got no further, for at that moment Weyland appeared behind her, and, sliding his arms about her waist, drew her close back against him.
Noah winced and closed her eyes, as if she could not believe Weyland’s actions. Not now, Weyland, not now…
“Noah and I have become…close,” said Weyland. He was sick of pretending. Moreover, some part of him felt that if he pushed, then he would discover sooner rather than later if he had left himself critically open to betrayal.
Jane was staring at the pair before her as if she could not believe this further development, either.
“You have been sleeping with him,” Jane whispered. “You lied to me.”
Before Noah could stop him, one of Weyland’s hands had cupped her slightly rounded belly. “She’s carrying my child, Jane,” he said. “A real child. Not an imp.”
Jane gaped, her face white.
“Jane,” Noah said, wriggling out of Weyland’s grasp. “Please, I need you to trust in what I am—”
“Trust?” Jane said. “Trust? Wait until Brutus hears what—”
“Jane!” Noah’s voice snapped out the distance between them. “Jane, I beg you…” Keep silent about this, Jane. Please!
“Why?” Jane said, very softly. She’d caught the unspoken words.
“Jane, I need you to keep this secret for me.” I need you to keep all my secrets, and tell no one.
Jane glanced at Weyland. He was looking between them, but Noah was using her powers as Eaving to send her thoughts, and Jane was fairly sure Weyland could not catch them. You want me to keep silent about the fact you are handing Weyland the bands, and carrying his child? You have lost all your wits, indeed.
“Please, Jane,” Noah said. Keep this secret for me.
“Why, Noah?”
“Because I ask it, Jane, and because…”
“Yes?”
“Because, Jane, as a favour to me, Weyland shall grant you your freedom when I have completed my training as Mistress of the Labyrinth. He will have no further need of you, then. He will let you go.”
“I will?” Weyland said.
“A bribe?” said Jane. “How tasty.”
Noah inclined her head very slightly Weyland’s way. She didn’t look directly at him, but somehow the movement conveyed such emotion, and such appeal, that she might as well have thrown herself to her knees.
“Do this for me, Weyland, and for our daughter,” she said, low. “Promise that you will grant Jane her freedom once I have attained full powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth. Why not? What need shall you have of her, then? Grant me this boon, Weyland, I pray you.”
Weyland looked at her, a look of such hopelessness passing over his face as he did so that Jane was momentarily stunned, then he looked at Jane.
“Very well,” he said. “Your freedom, Jane, once Noah ceases to need you.”
Jane didn’t know what to do or say. She’d never dared to even consider the notion of freedom because she had been certain, all this life, that Weyland would eventually kill her once he’d done with her.
All the time she’d been learning the Ancient Carol in the Realm of the Faerie, she’d feared that Weyland would murder her before she could escape entirely into the Faerie.
Could she trust his promise now? Freedom?
Gods, freedom…Jane suddenly wanted it so badly she felt it as an ache in her belly.
But was freedom worth what Noah asked her to do?
She wanted Jane to keep her secrets. And what secrets…and kept from so many people. Hide from all—save the Lord of the Faerie, at least he knew this—that it was Ariadne who taught Noah, not Jane. Hide the fact that Noah was Ariadne’s blood daughter-heir. Hide the fact that Asterion was her forefather. Hide the fact that Noah was a Darkwitch bred and born. Hide from the Lord of the Faerie and from Louis, as all their allies, that Noah was handing the bands to Weyland. Hide from the Lord of the Faerie and from Louis the fact that Noah was pregnant with Weyland’s child. If and when any of these people found out what secrets she had been keeping…gods, she would be dead.
But, by the gods, what she would achieve if she succeeded.
Freedom.
Freedom to do as she wished.
Freedom to be what she wanted, where she wanted. Freedom from the Troy Game and all it meant.
Freedom to stand behind the throne on the summit of The Naked, to carol in the dawn and the dusk.
Freedom to stand and watch the Lord of the Faerie as he lifted his eyes to hers, and smiled.
She swallowed, looked at Weyland, then nodded at Noah. “Very well,” she said, “I will do it.”
Weyland smiled, but Noah didn’t, and, looking at her, Jane realised that she knew the risks Jane was taking.
“Thank you,” Noah said, and Jane looked away, not knowing if that “thank you” was enough.
Three
Idol Lane, London
The Lord of the Faerie knew Noah had shifted a band. The next time Jane saw him, which was two days after Noah ha
d asked her to keep her secrets (all her damned, cursed secrets), the Lord of the Faerie greeted her by the scaffold, kissed her, and asked instantly why Noah had moved a band. Was Weyland forcing her to it? Was she in danger?
“Weyland is not forcing Noah,” Jane said. “Noah told me she was ‘sheltering’ the band, and that you were not to worry.”
The Lord of the Faerie nodded. “Ah. Then I shall not worry. Noah is sheltering them.”
Frankly, Jane didn’t know what Noah was doing with them, but if Noah was witless enough not only to sleep with Weyland, but also to fall pregnant with his child, then she wasn’t at all certain that Noah wasn’t also handing Weyland the kingship bands.
“Coel,” she said, “Noah has made Weyland promise that once she has completed her training as the Mistress of the Labyrinth, then I can have my freedom.”
The Lord of the Faerie stared at her, then his mouth slowly curved in a smile. “Has she now? Do you believe him?”
Jane meant to say something bland, but all she managed to do was burst into tears. She was terrified that Weyland didn’t mean it, that he was taunting her, and that the day Noah finished her training would be Jane’s death day.
The Lord of the Faerie pulled her to him, and cuddled her close. “You will be well,” he murmured. “You will live to stand behind my throne.”
Jane tried to calm herself. One of the Lord of the Faerie’s hands was stroking up and down her back, and she slid her arms about him, and rested her face against his shoulder, and dared to believe that all would, indeed, be well.
But how could it? How could it?
What would happen when she told the Lord of the Faerie all that she knew? Noah a Darkwitch. Noah a descendant of Ariadne and Asterion. Noah carrying Asterion’s child.
What would the Lord of the Faerie do when he knew all that? Would he loathe her? Throw her from the Realm of the Faerie?
And what possibility freedom when Weyland found out that not only was Ariadne—his mortal enemy—teaching Noah, but that Noah was herself descended of Ariadne and Asterion, and was a Darkwitch besides?
“I know more than you think, beloved,” the Lord of the Faerie said softly, his hand still stroking, and Jane began to weep once more, softly, despairingly. He couldn’t possibly know it all.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
Jane wanted to. She wanted to more than anything. But she was too scared. She was caught in a web of lies and deceit, and she was certain that sooner or later that web would strangle her.
Over the next weeks Noah retrieved three more kingship bands. While Jane did not see her with another of the bands, she knew because the Lord of the Faerie remarked upon it on each occasion.
“Noah retrieved another band yesterday, Jane. She is sheltering it?”
“Of course,” Jane said, knowing that is what the Lord of the Faerie wanted to hear. In reality, Jane had little idea what was happening to the golden bands of Troy. She saw Noah only infrequently: Noah and Weyland spent most of their time in his den (their den, Jane supposed) when Noah was not at her training with Ariadne, and both Noah and Weyland made sure that Jane never surprised them as she had on that first occasion. For all Jane knew, Weyland and Noah spent their time sitting in the Idyll, playing hoops with the damned things.
Whenever Noah went to Ariadne, Jane went to The Naked and learned more of the Ancient Carol from the magpie. She threw herself into her learning, using the magic of the music to empty herself of all her fears. From time to time the Lord of the Faerie asked her what was wrong, but she always evaded his questions.
At home in Idol Lane, Jane hummed to herself as she stood over the hearth, using the music to blot out the faint sounds of Weyland and Noah.
Gradually, as the months passed, Jane grew more withdrawn, and far thinner than ever she had been. The kitchen of Idol Lane had grown into a lonely, desolate space.
Noah’s pregnancy progressed. Jane saw relatively little of her (mostly on their way to and from the Tower of London), but what she did see showed her a woman blooming in anticipation of her forthcoming child. Sometimes they talked, briefly, of the baby. Succinct as these conversations were, Jane had no doubt how greatly Noah loved her child, and how greatly she anticipated her arrival.
It made Jane fear for her. To love this deeply, to want this badly…it left it too easy for Fate to step in with its ruinous quirks, to destroy hope, and to ravage love.
Jane wondered how Noah explained the baby to Ariadne, or even if she felt the need to explain it. Noah would need to give birth to the baby before she underwent the trial of the Great Ordeal, the culmination of her training as a Mistress of the Labyrinth. Noah could cope with learning the arts while pregnant without harming the baby, but she could not undergo the Great Ordeal. That would be too dangerous to both mother and child.
So Jane counted the months of Noah’s pregnancy. When she gave birth and then underwent the Great Ordeal in the Great Founding Labyrinth so would Jane be free.
When Noah gave birth so would Jane be free.
When Noah endured the Great Ordeal so would Jane be free.
If Weyland kept his word.
Four
The Tower of London and Idol Lane, London
NOAH SPEAKS
Ariadne knew, the first time I came to her after I conceived, that I was carrying Asterion’s child. She was angry and deeply frightened, which disconcerted me.
“Why bring Asterion’s child to the labyrinth?” she demanded.
“Because she happens to be in my body, and this is where I need to be at the moment,” I replied.
Ariadne stared at me, her fury unabated. “You are a Darkwitch—”
“Not that I’ve ever touched the darkcraft,” I murmured.
“And you have bred back to the father who gave you the darkcraft in the first instance. Imagine what this child shall be!”
“Loved. Cherished. Wanted,” I said, although Ariadne’s comments somewhat dismayed me. I hadn’t thought of that. Darkcraft, bred twice as powerful in this child. Twice fathered by Asterion…
Yet when I was with Weyland, all the doubts fell away. My pregnancy both terrified and exhilarated him. Although I knew Ariadne’s betrayal had damaged Weyland, his constant fear that I would do the same to him, all over again, made me realise just how deeply Ariadne had wounded him. He wanted this child, yet was terrified in the wanting. It made me feel humble…and scared, lest I should misstep and hurt him when all I had wanted to do was heal.
This child would mean a great deal to both of us. I am not sure precisely what Weyland thought to receive from our daughter—unconditional love? Respect? Not obedience, for he knew he could command that through fear—but all I anticipated was that simple joy of a child’s unquestioning love.
At night, when we lay naked together in the Idyll, Weyland would place his hands on my swelling belly, an expression of wonder mixed with fear on his face as he felt our daughter move. I never saw that expression on Brutus’ face. Never.
Weyland was vulnerable. Brutus had never been. Not where our children were concerned. They were merely commodities.
“What will you name her?” he asked me one night when I lay half propped up on pillows. My belly was so huge now that this was one of the few ways I could find comfortable rest.
I smiled, and ran my fingers softly through his hair. “You name her,” I said.
He raised his face to me then, happiness and wariness competing for dominance. The joy of, He could name his daughter! tempered with, What does Noah hope to gain from this?
“Why me?” he said.
“Why not? Just allow me the right to sulk if I don’t like it.”
He laughed, and the joy won the battle in his face. “I wish…” he said, his voice drifting to a close as he thought of all the things he could have wished for.
“We all wish,” I said, and thought of all the things that could have been.
I went into labour on May Day, which gave me immense joy. My daughter would be
born on the rise of spring, which was cause for great celebration.
Unlike my labour with Catling (with that foulness which had pretended to be my daughter) this labour was painful and debilitating and undignified—just like all true labours should be. Weyland was so horrified he ran from the Idyll and fetched Jane—that he brought Jane into the Idyll was a true indication of how unsettled he truly was.
In her lives as Genvissa and Swanne, Jane had borne many children and, frankly, was far less interested in me than she was in the Idyll. To Weyland’s dismay she kept wandering out of the bedchamber to explore other areas. I imagine that Weyland’s creation as drastically altered her perception of him as it had altered mine.
How could a creature of pure, innate evil create such a magical world of beauty?
Eventually Weyland managed to drag her back to my side, where Jane sighed, sat down, and prepared to wait.
“Is there not something you should be doing?” Weyland said, his voice cold as a touch of the old malevolent bully emerged.
“Waiting is all any of us can do,” said Jane. “Except, on Noah’s part, to curse, which is her right.”
I laughed…and then did indeed curse as a red-hot vice closed about my belly.
My daughter was born ten hours later, just as the sun set on London. Jane was a good midwife and the baby herself did all that was asked of her. Still, it was painful, and messy, and sweaty, and I swear I was never so glad of anything as I was the instant I felt my daughter slide free of my body into Jane’s hands.
At that point Jane did something extraordinary.
She began to sing. Just softly, under her breath, but it was the most beautiful melody I had ever heard. I stared at her, and Jane looked sideways at me.
Slyly, which was Jane all over.
“Your daughter is at the dawn of her life,” she said. “I was carolling her in.”
I knew then what she was doing with the Lord of the Faerie. My mouth dropped open (although maybe it was already open, for I’d been grunting and huffing far more than was dignified), then I collected my senses, and managed to pull my mouth into working order.