Idol Lane, London

Even after two days, London remained in celebratory mode. The Venetian ambassador’s wine stores might have dried up, but most of the taverns stayed open well into the night and offered cut-price ale and beer while the coffee houses were packed with those wanting to hear news of what the king had done, who he had knighted, and if he happened to have opened the royal coffers enough to ensure that the streets of London should be paved with gold forthwith. Gossip spread like fire from one Londoner’s tongue to the next. Royal mistresses had been spotted on every street corner, royal bastards from every palace window.

Royalty had been reclaimed, and London revelled in the pageantry and colour and in the excitement of the restored court at Whitehall.

Jane hurried home, not wanting to be distracted by the celebrations. She was walking up Ludgate, concentrating on what she would say to Weyland, when a small white hand reached out from a darkened doorway and snatched at her.

Jane recoiled, but the hand had a good hold, and it pulled her close into the darkness of the doorway’s overhang.

“Jane,” said a voice, and Jane went rigid with recognition.

Catling stood there, still in the form of a small girl, but with vast knowledge and power burning from her eyes.

“Jane,” said the girl again, as Jane stared at her. “Jane—you want to reveal me to Noah, don’t you?”

“Why not?” Jane managed, feeling the menace emanating from Catling. “She has a right to know.”

“Tell her, and I will destroy your future.”

If Jane had been frightened when she had realised Charles’ deception, then it was nothing to what she felt now. This creature standing before her could create more havoc than five wrathful Asterions. Terrified, Jane nonetheless managed a sneer. “What future?”

“If you have any hope in this life, then I will destroy it, Jane. Do not tell Noah who I am!”

“She will find out soon enough.”

“She doesn’t want to see past the love of her daughter.”

“You fool!” Jane said. “One day she will discover your true nature, and then what? She will turn against you with everything she is.”

“She will see the necessity of what I have done soon enough. She is a sensible woman.”

Jane stared at Catling, wondering how the creature could not see what would inevitably happen. “She is a mother,” Jane said softly. “That is her nature, before anything else. All she wanted was her daughter to love. Would that have been too much trouble for you to arrange?”

And with that, Jane pulled her arm from Catling’s grasp, and stepped back into Ludgate.

Jane arrived back at Idol Lane well into the evening, having dragged her feet after her encounter with Catling, taking the time to consider what to do.

Elizabeth and Frances had long returned, and were upstairs in their bedroom, trying to cleanse it of the scent of years of sexual slavery and transform it into something more habitable. Catling and the imps were also home, playing quietly in the parlour with felt balls and linen skittles stuffed with rags.

Weyland sat at the kitchen table reading the description of the king’s triumphant entrance into London from a just-printed broadsheet, a small smile on his face.

Noah was at the hearth, where she had been cooking meat and pastry for their evening meal. She stared at Jane, her hands wiping themselves slowly on her apron.

Weyland looked, then raised one expressive eyebrow in question.

“I thought Brutus-reborn would kill me,” said Jane, brushing past Noah and taking her own apron from a hook to one side of the hearth.

“Brutus-reborn is not a tolerant man, it seems,” Weyland said, looking at Noah as he spoke.

She averted her eyes.

“But,” said Weyland, his eyes back on Jane who had elbowed Noah away from the cooking, “most apparently your fears were mistaken.”

“I gave the king your messages,” said Jane, frowning as she poked at Noah’s attempt at savoury meat encased in sweet pastry.

“And?” said Weyland.

“He will not go near the bands, nor step foot in the forests,” said Jane, “and he sends his thanks to you for your hearty congratulations on his restoration.”

“He fears for Noah,” said Weyland. “He still loves her.”

“Aye to both,” said Jane.

Weyland gave a soft laugh, apparently emanating from genuine humour rather than forced bravado. “The fool. He has no idea…”

At that, he finally managed to catch Noah’s gaze, and Jane was astounded to see that Noah blushed before hurriedly looking away. Gods? What had happened here while she was gone?

“And how is Charles?” said Weyland. “What manner of man is he in this life?”

Jane paused in her examination of the meat pastry. “He is more powerful than you believe,” she said. “When I knew it, I feared more for my life than at any other time, or in any other life.”

“Even more than when I have threatened you?” Weyland said.

“Aye,” Jane said quietly. “I could not believe—”

“Believe what?” Weyland said.

“How he has grown,” Jane finished.

Weyland leaned back, watching her speculatively. She had been afraid, he could smell it about her. But now…he frowned, puzzled. He also sensed an excitement about her that he hadn’t expected.

"Was Brutus glad to see you?” he asked.

She gave a short laugh. “He drew his sword, and waved it at me.”

Weyland roared with laughter. “Then he has not changed so much, my dear. Come now, has he sent any messages for his sweet Noah?”

Jane glanced at Noah, who was watching her with bright, intense eyes.

“No,” Jane said.

Weyland shrugged a little. “Well then, now that you’ve returned, perhaps you can fix whatever it is Noah has done to that pastry. A goddess’ skill, most apparently, does not rest in the culinary arts.”

Later that night, Louis sought privacy in a small antechamber off the king’s public audience chamber within Whitehall. No one was here now—all had gone to the feasting hall. No doubt Charles and Catharine were there, along with Marguerite and Kate and, likely, James.

Louis sat on a bench seat thrust against the rear wall of the chamber. It was a plain chamber—even with its decorations of carved wooden panels of a far earlier period—dark and sombre, and it suited Louis’ mood.

Seeing Jane—Genvissa—had brought back memories. Too many memories, and too many of them bad.

There came a step at the door, and Louis lifted his head, more than half expecting Charles.

But it was a Sidlesaghe. Louis had seen them on only a few occasions: when, as William, he had brought Caela’s body to Ecub at St Margaret the Martyr’s Priory, and then once or twice during this life—when Charles led the Circle and Long Tom had appeared, and at Coel’s crowning atop The Naked.

This was not Long Tom, but clearly one of his kind. “Louis de Silva?” he said.

“Yes?” said Louis.

“You are required to attend a Council of England, to be held atop The Naked, on the night after next. Attend.”

He held out one of his extraordinarily long arms, and Louis saw that in his hand he held a rolled-up parchment that was tied, not with ribbon or cord, but with what appeared to be woven green light.

“The king bids me attend,” Louis said, unable to keep a twinge of bitterness out of his voice.

“The Stag God must rise,” said the Sidlesaghe. “You must be there.”

Louis stared at the parchment, then abruptly reached out and took it.

“You must be there,” the Sidlesaghe said again, his words now underscored with command, and Louis nodded curtly.

“I shall be there. Do not fret. I will do this one last thing for Charles and for Noah, and then let me be in peace, I beg you.”

The Sidlesaghe’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile, and then, as Louis wished, he was gone, and Louis was left to his self-absorbed solitariness.

James, Duke of York, brother to King Charles and formerly heir apparent to the powers and mysteries of the Gormagog of Llangarlia, rested in his bed in his luxurious bedchamber, one hand lying comfortably on the breast of Anne Hyde, the daughter of Sir Edward Hyde.

He didn’t love Anne, but he respected her, and liked her immensely (she had more wit than most of the court women he met). Most importantly to James, Anne had no connection at all with Games, Minotaurs, or dead, dying or newly risen gods, and thus had never acquired the, to James, enormously bad habit of constantly referring to past lives to justify what she did in this one.

For her part, Anne was desperately in love with James, and James had to admit the slightest twinge of guilt in taking her to his bed. She was of the nobility, she was of high education and wit, and here she was, destroying all hope for a virtuous life and a subsequent high marriage.

She looked at him and smiled shyly—this was their first time at bedding, and Anne had been a virgin.

“I am sorry if I hurt you,” James said, kissing her softly on the bridge of her nose.

“No,” she said. “You did not—”

She stopped, then suddenly tensed in James’ arms before giving a small half-shriek of total dismay.

Then she was sliding under the covers, pulling them to her chin, and staring wildly at James’ side of the bed.

James rolled over, sure that they’d been discovered by Anne’s father. Well, he thought, Hyde is a mere earl, while he was a prince and a duke. If nothing else he should manage to pull rank fairly easily on the aggrieved father.

The creature that stood there was not to be outranked at all—and most certainly not by James.

James took one look at the Sidlesaghe and cursed. Jesus Christ! How would he explain this to Anne?

“Greetings, Lady Anne,” said the Sidlesaghe, bowing slightly as he saw Anne’s eyes peeking at him from over the top of the coverlet.

Then the Sidlesaghe turned his attention to James. “Greetings, Loth.”

“Loth?” said Anne. “James, who is this?”

“What do you here?” James said, sitting up in bed.

The Sidlesaghe extended a hand, holding a rolled up parchment tied with emerald light. “You are hereby invited, Loth, to a Council of England to be held atop The Naked on the night after next. Be there.”

“What?”

The Sidlesaghe patiently extended the invitation once more.

“I have nothing to do with…Sidlesaghe, I am not among those who now battle this particular Game. I have chosen Christ over my past allegiances—”

Anne was now regarding James with huge eyes.

“—and renounce all former rights and privileges that I had. I want nothing to do with—”

“Be there,” said the Sidlesaghe.

“I—”

“You still have the power. You must be there.”

James sighed, and rubbed at his eyes. God. Would he never escape this?

“No,” said the Sidlesaghe, softly. “Not until the Troy Game is played to a conclusion.”

Highly reluctant, James reached out a hand and took the parchment. “How do I find my way to this…‘Naked’?” Despite himself, and despite his reluctance, James felt the smallest twinge of curiosity.

More of Anne’s face emerged from the coverlet. “May I come?” she said. All fear had vanished from her face, and now she looked more curious than anything else.

“No!” James cried.

“You’re a faerie creature,” Anne said to the Sidlesaghe.

He smiled, and inclined his head slightly.

“And Charles’ court is going to convene at this…Naked?” she said.

“Anne…” James began.

“England’s Faerie Court, aye,” said the Sidlesaghe.

“That’s enough!” James yelled.

“You may come, madam, if you wish,” said the Sidlesaghe. “The invitation shall include you as well.”

Anne sat up, forgetting in her excitement that her breasts were totally exposed.

“For God’s sake!” James muttered, hauling the coverlet up to her shoulders.

“But,” the Sidlesaghe continued, his voice now rigid with warning, “you shall tell no one of this invitation. No one.”

She nodded. “I will tell no one.”

James groaned.

“She shall make you a fine wife,” said the Sidlesaghe.

“I—” James said, then stopped, knowing that any denial spoken now would devastate Anne. He’d only wanted to bed her, not wed her…and most definitely not get her caught up in the machinations of the Troy Game.

“I am so tired,” James finally said, meaning that he was not physically tired, but that he was tired of everything he had been battling for three thousand years.

“Then I shall share your weariness,” said Anne, one of her hands on his upper arm, and she very gently kissed his cheek. Anne may have understood very little of the hidden meanings and depths behind this strange conversation, but she felt as if she suddenly knew James a great deal better.

“Be there,” said the Sidlesaghe. “Do it for all that once you were, and can yet be.”

Then he was gone, and James was left sitting in bed, Anne Hyde at his side, staring at the enchanted invitation in his hand.

“What can you tell me?” Noah said very softly, lying on the pallet beside Jane.

Jane, who was obviously awake, did not immediately reply.

“Jane…”

“Charles was not quite all I had expected.”

“Ah.”

“‘Ah’? You knew?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you not tell—”

“Would you have told, if our positions had been reversed?”

To that, Jane said nothing for some time. She lay there, seething that she’d been left to think that Brutus-reborn was Charles, when all the time he’d been Louis. Oh, intellectually she knew the reasons why she hadn’t been told. But, emotionally, Jane could not help the hurt at discovering she had been deliberately left unknowing.

“And you?” Jane finally said. “How did you spend your day, Mistress Noah? It seemed quite the domestic scene I came home to this evening.”

“We talked.”

“Oh, aye. But of what?”

Noah hesitated. “Of what he wants.”

“Aye? And that is?”

“Me,” said Noah softly.

At the softness in Noah’s voice, Jane rolled over and looked at Noah. “And this surprises you?”

“No. You were right. He wants me to become the Mistress of the Labyrinth so that he and I can together control the Troy Game.”

“Well,” said Jane. “As for learning the craft of Mistress of the Labyrinth, then I shall see about that. I—”

At that moment both women jumped nervously. A tall figure had appeared from nowhere at the foot of their pallets.

“I come bearing an invitation,” said the Sidlesaghe.