Idol Lane, London

The rest of the day passed with relatively little incident. Noah dressed, and Jane set the table for dinner, ladling out from one of the steaming pots a vegetable and mutton broth and serving it up with a crusty bread she’d baked that morning.

Weyland did not reappear for the meal—Jane told Noah that Weyland spent most of his time on the top floor—and, overall, Jane, Noah, Elizabeth and Frances passed only enough words to ease the passage of the platter of bread here, the pat of butter there. Catling ate well, but Noah only picked at her meal.

Jane watched Noah out of the corner of her eyes as she spooned the broth into her own mouth.

She’d imagined this day for so long, through at least two lives—that moment when Noah could be trapped and made to suffer. How strange that she could only manage a vague sorrow that Noah was indeed now trapped.

I must, she thought, be losing my touch.

But how silly it seemed, now, sharing this silent meal with Noah, to have spent so long in antagonism with this woman.

So pointless.

Jane simply didn’t have the energy to feel much for Noah, save for a certain admiration at her earlier conduct. Jane was sure that Weyland meant to humiliate Noah the instant she stepped inside his domain. Yet nothing had happened as Jane expected. Noah had been both boldly defiant and tranquilly accepting. Weyland had been strangely mild.

After dinner Noah aided Jane to clean the kitchen, then sweep the parlour. At that point Elizabeth and Frances left for their tavern cellar, kissing first Jane, then Noah, on the cheek.

At that Noah smiled to herself a little. She had been accepted among the sisterhood of whores, it seemed.

Once they had left, Jane asked Noah if her back hurt.

“A little,” Noah admitted, and Jane nodded to herself and, as Noah put Catling to bed on a small pallet under the window, prepared a cooling poultice.

It was only when Noah was sitting down at the table, her back bared so that Jane could smooth on the poultice, that Jane initiated a conversation involving other than to pass a word about the dishes, or the cleaning.

“Who did heal you?” she said, resting a hand lightly against Noah’s skin. “There is power here in these scars, Noah. Who did this?”

Noah sighed. “I do not truly know. The man who was with me, John Thornton, said that a physician had come to me in the middle of the night, and healed me with his hands. When I questioned John about this man, he could barely remember his presence, let alone his name. His mind had been deliberately muddled.”

“Who do you think?”

“I don’t know. I’d thought the Sidlesaghes, but—”

“Who are the Sidlesaghes?”

Noah looked at her in shock, then explained. “They are the standing stones which comprise all the stone dances,” she finished. “Ancient creatures.”

“I had no idea,” Jane said softly. “None.”

“You did not want to see.”

“And you did? I thought all you ever wanted as Cornelia was to find Brutus in your bed every night. You never looked past his…Ah! Don’t patronise me, Noah.”

Noah was silent a moment, then continued. “So if this physician was not one of the Sidlesaghes, then I thought perhaps Charles.”

“You thought he would risk—”

“Why not? Why not?”

Jane sighed, and gave a slight shrug. “You are right. He might well have done that. He loves you dearly. But you don’t think it was him, do you?”

“No. The man asked a strange question of John. An intimate question.”

Jane raised her eyebrows.

“He asked John if I brought him bliss in our bedding. If I was delectable.”

Jane laughed, startling Noah. “Did John say yes?”

“Yes, he did.” She paused. “Do you have any idea who it might have been?”

“No,” Jane said after the barest of hesitations. “Tell me,” she continued, “where are Ecub and Erith? I assume they have come back as well.”

Noah glanced at the doorway.

“Do not worry,” Jane said. “Once he goes into his dark den, Weyland rarely comes out for hours.”

“They are reborn, and before they recently came to England lived with Charles as his lovers,” said Noah.

Jane arched her eyebrows. “How does that make you feel?”

Noah shrugged, then winced a little as one of the welts flared up in pain. “I do not mind. They were good companions for him.”

“Do you think they brought him bliss in their bedding?”

“There is no point to this conversation, Jane!”

“My, my, such a sharp tongue. Perhaps you mind more than you would have me believe.”

Jane finished smoothing the poultice, then she laid soft linen cloths against it to keep the mixture in place. Both the women prepared for bed in silence, Noah helping Jane to lay out the pallets and blankets, and then, as they were crawling into their bedding, Noah spoke.

“Jane, what does Weyland have planned?”

“I don’t know.”

“And these imps? Gods, Jane, what does he plan to do with—”

“I don’t know!”

Silence again, each woman lying awake in the dim light given out from the hearth, staring up at the ceiling.

“Noah?” Jane said eventually.

“Yes?”

“You did well earlier.” Great praise indeed, venturing as it did between women who had spent the greater part of three thousand years hating each other.

“I needed to survive,” Noah said. “If I came before him and trembled, then I would have betrayed myself.”

“Your daughter,” Jane said, “she is a strange one. Noah, I know when she was conceived. I know who got her on you. Catling should be but a toddler, and yet she looks five, or six. How is this so?”

“I do not completely understand Catling myself,” Noah said. “She has power of her own—having walked the paths between this world and the next—yet she has rarely shown it to me. She is an island, complete unto herself. I do not know what she wants for herself, or wants of me. I do not know why she is here. So to your question: why has she grown so fast? I don’t know. She is my daughter, and yet I do not know her.”

“I do not truly like her.”

Noah took a breath, as if to speak, but in the end remained silent.

“How strange,” Jane said, “that we lie here now, side by side, and do not think to plunge daggers into each other’s throats.”

Noah bit her lip, then could not help a small smile. “Perhaps that is what Weyland hopes for,” she said, and Jane laughed softly.

“How strange,” she said, “that we lie here side by side and share a companionable jest.”

“It is what we should have done so long ago,” said Noah.

To that Jane made no immediate response. After some minutes, however, she rolled over to her side and propped her head on a hand so that she could see Noah’s face as she lay on the other pallet.

“Noah…”

“Aye?”

“What did you see when Weyland slid his hand into your waistband?”

Noah hesitated, then described her vision: the exotically beautiful woman; Asterion; the way they stood so intimately close…

“It was Ariadne, wasn’t it?” Noah said.

“Aye,” said Jane after a moment’s pause. “That was Ariadne in the moments before she promised Asterion my soul, as well as those of my foremothers. That was Ariadne in the moments before she destroyed my life and handed it to Asterion.”

“Why did I see that?” said Noah.

Jane took so long to answer that Noah thought she would remain silent.

“I have no idea,” Jane said eventually. “But I do know this…that vision was given to you by Ariadne, not by Asterion.”

Noah drew in a sharp breath. “Ariadne sent me that vision?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

This time, Jane did not answer at all.