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 here?” 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?”

Weyland narrowed his eyes. “Truly? How…courageous of her.”

“How courageous of me to accept,” Noah muttered. She was stiff and unyielding in his arms, but suddenly Weyland did not care. Finally she would become his Mistress, and Weyland was never so glad of anything in his life. They would dance together, control power together…

“I am glad,” he murmured, and kissed her cheek, and then, softly, lingeringly, her neck. When she pulled away he did not try to hold her back.

“Perhaps,” he said, “we should fetch those kingship bands today.”

“No. Not yet.” She was several paces away now, her face averted.

“No?” He moved over to her, taking her arm as she tried to evade him. “Noah, don’t make me force you. Please.”

She turned her face yet further away, and said nothing.

“You know, surely, that the hold I have over you is as strong as ever it was when the imp rested inside you? That I can—”

At that she looked at him. “I don’t believe you will do that again. I don’t think you are capable.”

A complete stillness fell between them.

Weyland could hardly bear it. He wanted to scream at her that yes! he was capable. That, yes! he could send her shrieking to the floor any moment he chose. That, yes! she was his creature as much as ever she had been.

And yet not a word left his mouth.

“Weyland,” Noah said softly. “It would be better to leave the bands until I attain my full powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth, surely?”

He did not answer, nor did he shift his eyes from hers.

“Leave the bands for the time being, Weyland. Believe me, Charles will not try to take them.”

He did believe her, although he fought against it. She was telling the truth. Charles would not try to take the bands.

“If I asked a price for leaving the bands be,” he said, “would you agree?”

There was the faintest glimmer of panic in her face, then she had control over herself again. “What price?” she asked.

“A terrible one,” he all but whispered, and he leaned close, his mouth brushing hers.

And then he let her go and walked away, leaving Noah staring after him.

Once Jane had passed them on the upper landing, the imps scuttled down the stairs and out the front door.

What had gone wrong? Why had Catling left them?

Idol Lane was all but empty, but the street beyond was half filled with people hurrying early to market. The imps went this way and that, finally discovering Catling waiting for them by the cross in St Paul’s churchyard. She played with her red wool, and appeared unconcerned.

“Is it over?” one asked, breathless with worry. “Has—”

“Our pact still stands,” she said. “I will do for you what I promised. Now, hurry back to your master’s house, but come when I ask.”

Both imps grinned, immensely relieved. They turned, leaving Catling standing beside the cross.

Weyland climbed the stairs to the first floor of his house in Idol Lane. His movements were slow, his expression thoughtful.

Noah had sent Catling away? It still didn’t make sense to him, nor, if he were honest with himself, did Noah’s sudden dramatic announcement that Jane had decided to teach her the ways of the labyrinth. It was what he wanted—gods, it was what he wanted—but…there had been something else in that room this morning. Something distracted about Noah, something desperate in her eyes. Whatever it was, it had to be serious if it had caused her to send away her only child, and to beg of him that the bands be left until she had attained her full powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth.

On the other hand, Weyland could understand her request. Whatever happened, Noah would not want him to get his hands on the bands.

But to send her daughter away.

Her daughter?

If Weyland knew anything about Cornelia-Caela-Noah it was that she loved children. He hadn’t been surprised to find she’d had a child in this life, although he had been surprised to find she’d drag her into his house…

Yet now the child was gone. Thrown out with vicious words.

That was not Noah at all.

Something was happening. Something he couldn’t quite glean or scry out, and that made him wary.

Weyland reached the top of the stairs and paused outside the door to Elizabeth and Frances’ chamber. He lifted a hand and rested it against the wood, fingers tapping slowly, thoughtfully.

Then he opened the door and stepped inside. Both girls were sitting on the bed, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Pack whatever you need,” Weyland said. “I have no need of you here.”

“We can leave?” Frances said. “Return to Essex?”

“That was not what I said. Look lively now, don’t sit there. Pack!”

Another glance at each other, and then the girls rose and began to fold what pitiful belongings they had.

Weyland leaned against the doorjamb, studying them, grateful that he hadn’t so overworked them that they were rendered completely undesirable.

“You’re going to the palace at Whitehall,” Weyland announced.

“The palace?” said Elizabeth.

“Yes. You are to find yourselves employment there. And you will find yourselves employment there. Once ensconced within the royal household, which you shall achieve by this evening,” Weyland’s tone gave the girls no doubt that he would brook no delay in this schedule, “then you shall be my eyes and ears. You will note what our good king Charles eats, when he farts, and what he does to while away the time when not drafting royal proclamations.”

“But, Weyland,” Elizabeth said, “every girl in London wants a place within the royal household. How can we—”

“For gods’ sakes, Elizabeth, you’re a trained whore! Offer yourself. I’m sure he’ll snap. You’re still young and pretty enough.”

Elizabeth and Frances glanced at each other again, and Weyland saw their uncertainty. He sighed, and his posture relaxed a little. “Do this,” he said, “and you will earn my gratitude. Watch the king for me. Be my eyes and ears. Insinuate yourselves into his graces, and if you do this, if you do it well, then I shall consider you free of all bonds and obligations to myself.”

“Can we trust you?” said Frances.

“No,” said Weyland softly, “but what choice do you have? Remember what happened to Jane and Noah when they crossed me. You will do this.”

Both the girls had paled, and Weyland nodded, satisfied. “Go,” he said. “I’ve had enough of you lingering about Idol Lane.”

He stared at them a moment longer, ensuring they were properly cowed, then left the room, leaving the door open. He continued up the stairs towards the Idyll, hearing the girls move about their chamber, whispering. He would use the imps to keep an eye on them, make sure they did as he asked.

He opened the door to the Idyll and walked inside, his face relaxing the instant he crossed the threshold.

Now there was just Jane, Noah and himself left within Idol Lane—discounting the imps who Weyland thought he might leave to scamper about the streets until he needed them.

Weyland smiled, the expression making his face surprisingly soft. Just Jane, Noah and himself.

And, once Jane had done her task and taught Noah the ways of the Mistress of the Labyrinth…just Noah.

Weyland stood, and looked about the strange place he called his Idyll. “I think it is about time,” he said to no one in particular, “that I introduce Noah to my Idyll. Our Idyll, one day.”

As soon as that single, simple statement was out of his mouth, Weyland staggered, almost losing his balance. The floor felt as if it had shifted suddenly beneath him, as if there had been a shudder through the very earth beneath the house’s foundation, as if…as if his entire world had suddenly cracked apart before re-forming into something not quite what it had been but a moment before.

He spun around, staring, panicked, wondering what had happened.

Then stopped, stunned, as he realised what it was.

The Idyll was complete. After all these years, the Idyll finally felt whole. He could feel it, almost as a sigh of contentment running through the Idyll.

Weyland went very still, hardly daring to believe what he felt. “I will bring Noah to you,” he whispered.

Again, that strange, eerie sigh as if of contentment, as if of satiation.

The Idyll had been waiting for Noah.

All this time, the Idyll had been waiting for Noah. She was what would make it complete.

Weyland sank to his knees, his hands over his face.

King Charles II was holding court within his main audience chamber when he halted in his conversation with the Venetian ambassador just long enough to murmur a few hasty words to one of his valets. The servant hurried away, and Charles resumed his conversation as if nothing had happened.

Seven hours later, when it was late at night and Charles had retired to his private chambers, he called to him the same valet, and spoke again a few quiet words.

The valet nodded, as he had earlier in the day, and left the chamber.

Twenty minutes later he returned, bringing with him two ill-dressed girls in their late teens.

“Elizabeth,” Charles said, “and Frances.” As the valet left, Charles advanced on the two astounded girls, who remembered their manners just in time to make hasty curtseys.

“Your majesty,” Elizabeth said, stumbling over the words. “I cannot imagine why…how…”

“Why I knew you had stepped forth within my palace, and then had you brought before me, so privately?” Charles said.

Elizabeth nodded.

Charles smiled, gentle and kind. “Lovely ladies, I am far more than you think.”

“You are our majestic king!” said Frances, feeling she needed to say something, and blushing for the stupid naivety of her words.

Charles’ smile widened. “Indeed,” he said. “England’s faerie king.”

Then, as the two girls watched wide-eyed, his form shimmered and changed, and Elizabeth gave a startled “Oh!” as the Lord of the Faerie materialised before her. Both Elizabeth and Frances scuttled back several steps.

“Welcome to my court, ladies,” the Lord of the Faerie said, moving forward and kissing each softly on the mouth. “I am sure I know why you are here. Weyland sent you, yes?”

The girls nodded, still too dumbstruck to answer with their voices. Some of their fright was beginning to pass, and their regard now was more curiosity than fear.

“What provoked this?”

“There was an argument in the kitchen this morning,” Frances managed to say, amazing herself that she actually had managed to speak. “We were not there, but we heard some of what happened. Noah sent her daughter away, threw her out of the house. The next thing, Weyland sent us here. Your grace, who are you?”

The Lord of the Faerie opened his mouth to answer, but in fact it was Elizabeth who spoke, her voice full of wonder. “You are the Green Man,” she said. “The Lord of the Forests.”

The Lord of the Faerie smiled, pleased. For centuries the simple folk had worshipped the Lord of the Faerie as the Green Man, honouring him every May Day with dancing and song and branches gathered from the woods. “Aye,” he said. “That is one of my names, although my realm stretches far further than just the forests.”

Elizabeth smiled, the expression making her beautiful. She sank once more into a deep curtsey. “My great lord, I am your servant!”

“And I!” cried Frances, aping Elizabeth’s curtsey.

“What may I do to please you?” asked Elizabeth, looking up at the Lord of the Faerie with shining eyes.

“Only that you do as I ask,” the Lord of the Faerie said. “Now, tell me, do you know who Eaving’s Sisters are?”

The girls glanced at each other, then shook their heads.

The Lord of the Faerie smiled. “Then I have some introductions to make. Come. You are about to be inducted into a sisterhood far greater than the one you have known hitherto.”