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.