Idol Lane, London

NOAH SPEAKS

Iwas numbed by all that had happened. The terrible agony when Weyland had set the imp to tearing his way free. Weyland’s subsequent healing of me. The story of his daughter.

Our shared vision atop the hill, where we both said too much.

Weyland’s two terrifying references to shelter.

Set against the uncertainty and terror of Weyland was the wonder of the Faerie Court, and the moment when Louis, knowing, finally had held me in his arms—and I had somehow, for some reason, held back from him.

In my current state I didn’t feel like exploring why I might have done that.

Then, so quickly following on that, Ariadne, telling me I was of her and Asterion’s blood. That I was a Darkwitch. That I was something that Louis and Charles both would naturally revile.

Then, Catling. My daughter, the lie. The Troy Game, making sure I did what it wanted. Nothing counted but what it wanted.

Yet more—Weyland, talking to me of a terrible price. I had told him that Jane was to teach me the ways of the labyrinth (I could hardly tell him about Ariadne, could I?) merely to distract him from questioning me too closely about Catling. Then he had wanted the bands. I had hedged (for all the gods’ sakes, I had wanted some space to think! Some time—was that too much to ask?), and then he had sprung, trapping me.

My entire world was utterly devastated. There was not a single element left that I could understand, or which existed to save me.

Amid all this chaos, where I drifted so vulnerable and fragile, stepped a saviour. Someone who offered me shelter, and time, and all the space I could ever need.

At a terrible price.