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“I come to you as often as I can,” he said, bending down his face to kiss her.

  “I adore you,” she said, cradling his monstrous head in her hands, loving the bestial musk of his breath.

  “I know.”

  “I will do anything for you,” she said, moaning now as he thrust into her, feeling his darkcraft fill her.

  “Indeed you will,” he said, and then they fell speechless as their moans and groans consumed them.

  Later, as dawn broke and they heard Swanne’s women rise and move about in the outer chamber, Asterion nuzzled Swanne’s ear and said, very low, “Mag was here last night.”

  “What!” Swanne almost fell out of bed as she struggled upright.

  “She was watching you with Aldred, using her power to scry through the door. You did not feel it?”

  Swanne frowned, trying to remember, but all she could recall was the agony of Aldred. “Who is she?” she said.

  “One of the women within Aldred’s household,” Asterion said.

  “I’ll kill the bitch! I’ll kill them all, just to make sure.”

  Asterion laughed, and stroked Swanne’s naked back, feeling his palm bump over the ridges of her spine. She was getting too thin. Way too thin when Asterion needed her to seduce William into her bed. Perhaps he should pull the imp back a little, suppress his appetite a fraction. Even given Brutus and Genvissa’s history, Asterion doubted William would succumb to a walking corpse.

  “Shall I lay the trap for you, my dear?” he said.

  She turned her face to him, and smiled.

  That night, in the hour before dawn as monks and priests across Europe were filing in their cold, huddled groups into chapels and cathedrals to sing Matins, a great fire appeared in the sky.

  FIFTEEN

  Damson had gone back to Aldred’s palace, and now Caela sat white-faced and trembling before Ecub, Saeweald and Judith. Silvius was there also, having knocked quietly on the door a few moments after Caela returned. He was standing by a chair, his face dark with worry as he regarded Caela.

  The words tumbled out of her mouth. “Aldred is Asterion! Aldred is Asterion. He has Swanne. He has forced her to his will—I have no idea how. Oh, gods, gods…Silvius…my friends…what are we going to do? He has Swanne.”

  Silvius sat down on a stool with a thump. He exchanged one shocked look with Saeweald, then clenched his fists where they rested on his thighs. “Asterion has Swanne?” he said. “Asterion has the Mistress of the Labyrinth? No wonder the Game has felt so wrong.”

  “The entire world feels wrong,” Saeweald said. “The great fire in the sky is sure evidence of it.”

  There was silence, several among the group shuddering. Everyone had risen this morning to the news—Look! Look! Look to the sky! All London—all Christendom, surely—was jittery with nerves. It was a comet, the more learned said, but no one had ever seen anything like this before. The blazing fire covered almost a third of the sky. Who rode it? Some devil rider? A fiend from hell itself? And what if it crashed earthwards?

  Who had it been sent to destroy?

  “Caela,” Saeweald said. “Do you know anything of this?”

  She shook her head. “The fire in the sky is unfamiliar to me. It has nothing of the land or the waters about it. It is cold, angry, alien. Worse even than Asterion.” She gave a tight, humourless smile.

  No one returned it.

  “There is disaster coming,” muttered Ecub. “None can doubt it.”

  “We can only hope it prophesies disaster for Swanne and Asterion rather than for us,” said Silvius.

  “What if it means Asterion is going to destroy the Game and all our hopes with it?” Judith said. “Is it coincidence that on the night Caela discovers the truth about Swanne and her new lover this fire appears hanging above our heads?”

  “Asterion will use Swanne to destroy the Game,” Ecub said. “None can doubt it.”

  Silvius grunted. “And you should become a prophetess of doom, Mother Ecub. None should doubt that.”

  She shot him a black look.

  Saeweald looked at Caela, now with Judith’s comforting arm about her shoulders, then to Silvius.

  “If he has the Mistress of the Labyrinth,” he said, “and if he wanted to destroy the Game, then all Asterion would need to do is kill her. Swanne is the only woman alive who can command the powers of the Mistress. If Asterion has her alive, then there is a reason for that, surely.”

  There was a silence, disturbed only by Caela’s deep, tremulous breathing as she brought her emotions under control.

  “What do you mean?” Silvius said eventually.

  Saeweald shrugged. “For the gods’ sakes, Silvius, do you not sit in the heart of the Game? Were you not once a Kingman? What I am saying is that if Asterion wanted to destroy the Game, and if he controls Swanne, then all he needs to do is to kill her.” He paused. “And if he hasn’t, then there is a reason for that, and we should determine what that might be.”

  “What does Asterion need in order to destroy the Game?” Caela said to Silvius. “Could he accomplish it by Swanne’s murder?”

  “No,” Silvius said. “He would need both Swanne and control over the kingship bands. That means he needs control over both Swanne and William.”

  “Then that is why he hasn’t killed Swanne,” Caela said. “He needs to take William as well; whatever else, Asterion can’t leave William free.” She looked at Silvius, then as quickly looked away again.

  “But you are moving the bands,” Saeweald said.

  “William can still find them easily enough,” Caela said. “He is their Kingman. They call to him constantly.”

  “So Asterion needs William to find the bands,” Saeweald said. “And for this he has—somehow—taken Swanne. She is both bait and trap. Ah! We may as well assume William’s loss now, for he will fall into Swanne’s arms as easily as if he were a babe seeking his mother’s milk!” He looked at Caela. “And what do we need to control the Game, to wed it to this land forever and trap Asterion in his turn?”

  “We need Swanne to pass on her powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth to me, and we need—”

  “William to pass over his powers as Kingman to…to whoever shall rise as Og,” said Saeweald. One of his hands raised momentarily to his chest, as if to touch the tattoo beneath, then dropped back to his lap.

  “Yes,” said Caela, her voice flat.

  “Let us concentrate on Swanne for the moment,” said Ecub. “We cannot let her remain within Asterion’s grasp.”

  “Do you suggest we somehow rescue her?” said Saeweald.

  “A rescued Swanne would be a very grateful Swanne,” Judith said. “Prepared, perhaps, to hand over her powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth?”

  Silvius nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” He turned to Caela. “Saeweald and Judith are right, Caela. You told us earlier that you should have recognised Swanne’s scream for help when you heard it. Well, now you have heard it. We know that Swanne wants to be rescued from Aldred-Asterion’s grasp. One of your, and this land’s, problems has always been in the persuasion of Swanne to hand over to you her powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth. Now, perhaps, Asterion has handed us our bargaining power. If Swanne has the choice of handing the power to Asterion, or handing it to you…”

  “I don’t know,” said Caela. “For many months I have sought out the means by which Swanne might be persuaded to hand me her powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth. I was—am—sure that when I saw or heard of this means, I would recognise it. This does not feel right.”

  “Why?” said Saeweald.

  Caela made a helpless gesture.

  “You can’t ignore it,” said Silvius. “Swanne must be desperate for release from Asterion. This could very well be the chance you’ve been waiting for, Caela.”

  “Silvius is right,” said Saeweald. “We offer Swanne freedom in exchange for her wholly handing to Caela the powers of Mistress of the Labyrinth. Then, once William realises Swanne has handed on her powers, he will do
so as well.”

  Ecub’s mouth twisted. This all sounded very naive to her. “I’m sorry to disagree,” she said, “but surely Swanne would prefer to see the world destroyed before she handed over any of her powers? And why do you assume that she wants to escape Asterion? Did she not boast to Saeweald of her new lover? Of how she apparently preferred him to William? Does none of this sound a note of danger to any of you?”

  “There is no way that Swanne could ever want to ally herself with Asterion,” Silvius said forcefully. “None whatsoever. Why? He wants to destroy the Game, Swanne wants to use it to achieve immortal power. She wants Asterion destroyed. She cannot possibly want to ally with him.”

  There was a silence, finally broken by Caela. “Yes,” she said, “I agree with Silvius. Swanne cannot be allied with him. If she has boasted of her new lover, then they were words Asterion forced her to speak. What I saw in that chamber was not an act of love and consent, but of violence and domination. Asterion is murdering Swanne by slow degrees.”

  “Aye,” said Saeweald. “She is ill. This cannot be ‘want’ on her part.”

  Ecub sighed and nodded. “Very well.”

  Caela gave her a smile, then addressed the group. “If we manage to free Swanne, can we hide her from Asterion?”

  “Yes,” said Silvius. “I think so. We can conceal her within the Game itself. There she can teach Caela.”

  “Possibly,” said Caela. “I, for one, still doubt that any rescue, even one of this magnitude, will make Swanne so pathetically grateful she’ll just pass over her powers. Ah, no need to look so concerned, Silvius. I agree we should at least try. Who knows? Miracles can happen.”

  There were nods from Silvius, Judith and Saeweald, and a mild shrug of agreement from Ecub.

  “How do we free her from Asterion?” Caela asked. “Surely, if it was a simple matter of walking away…”

  “We need to know just what power he holds over her,” said Silvius. “Caela, you will need to speak to her. Let her know that she is not alone. That she will be rescued.”

  Caela nodded.

  “As Damson.”

  “Oh, no! Silvius…I do not want to do that! It was enough that I risked her as much as I did when—”

  “You cannot go as yourself!” Saeweald said. “It is too dangerous—especially since Swanne now knows Mag is not dead. What if she has told Asterion? Caela, if you use Damson, then you will have the chance of escape should…”

  “Should Asterion discover what I do,” said Caela, her tone bitter. “In which case Damson will be killed.”

  “Better her than you,” Silvius said. “You know that.”

  “I owe Damson more than this.”

  “You owe this land more than Damson,” Silvius retorted. “Never lose sight of that.”

  There was a long silence, then Caela gave one single, reluctant nod.

  In the event, it was almost seven weeks before Caela could do anything about approaching Swanne. On the morning that she told Silvius, Saeweald and Judith of what she’d discovered in Swanne’s bedchamber, Harold ordered Aldred north to his see of York. Rebel sentiments were stirring, and Harold needed Aldred to return to York to work on Harold’s behalf.

  Swanne went with him. A few days after Swanne and Aldred had left, the great fire in the sky faded and then vanished, and everyone breathed a little easier.

  Doom had been averted, it appeared.

  In itself, Swanne’s journey north need not have delayed Silvius’ plan to use Damson to approach Swanne, but Damson herself had unexpectedly travelled to her home village in Cornwall where her mother lay dying. Until Damson and Swanne were within the same town, it would be impossible for Caela to use Damson to approach Swanne.

  Meanwhile, and now knowing who Asterion was, and, most importantly, where he was, the Sidlesaghe and Caela moved a fourth band. This time Caela took a band from its hiding place close to London Bridge and shifted it five miles to the south-west of London to a small village called Clopeham where Caela handed the band to a Sidlesaghe sitting mournfully on a stool at the junction of two roads.

  There was no interference, no trouble, no disturbance. The move was effected quickly and smoothly.

  Asterion made no attempt to halt them, and Caela supposed that this time it was because he was so far distant.

  SIXTEEN

  Swanne arched her back, stretching out her stiff muscles, then bent her elegant neck slowly from side to side. The journey back from York had taken three days of hard riding, and three nights of…

  Swanne forced her mind away from Aldred. She would not think about those nights.

  She wouldn’t.

  Swanne sat down in a chair as close to the fire as she could manage without setting her rose-coloured gown ablaze, thinking on Asterion. She hadn’t seen him for over a week. He’d appeared now and again while she and Aldred had been in the north, but far more infrequently than he’d come to her here in London. Swanne missed him—and resented his absences—horribly.

  It was not only that Asterion’s gentle touch soothed Aldred’s agonies, nor even that when he lay with her he increased her darkcraft a fraction more, it was that Swanne simply missed him.

  How could she ever have lain with Harold…and borne him six children?

  How could she have ever thought she loved William, and believed him her true mate in power?

  How could she have ignored Asterion for all these years? How could she never have realised?

  Swanne’s mind was now so consumed with Asterion, with the need for his presence and touch, that her conscious mind was no longer aware that Aldred and Asterion were one and the same.

  Aldred she feared and loathed beyond measure. Asterion she craved as much as life and power itself.

  Another band had been moved during her absence from London (by Silvius, Swanne supposed). The night it had been moved Asterion made one of his rare visits to Swanne while she was in York. Aldred for once had left her alone—he’d gone to spend a day or so at a monastery just to the west of York where he suspected the abbot was fudging his estate accounts.

  Asterion had come to Swanne, and soothed her and held her and loved her and said that the band’s movement did not matter.

  “William will be able to find it soon enough,” he’d said. “As he will all of them. And when William has the bands…”

  “We pounce,” Swanne had whispered into the beast’s mouth as he bent to kiss her.

  “William will do anything for you,” Asterion said.

  “Anything,” Swanne murmured.

  “And when we have him…then he will do everything for us. Tell me, my love, do you think the bands will look elegant encircling my limbs?”

  Swanne had run her hands over the creature’s thickly muscled biceps. “They were meant for you,” she’d said, and Asterion had smiled, and had given her more of the darkcraft that night than he had hitherto.

  Now Swanne sat by the fire, shivering despite its heat, and waited.

  Mag would come to her today. She could feel it—not merely that Mag would come, but that the trap she and Asterion had set was about to be sprung.

  Swanne closed her eyes, blessing Asterion for the renewed sense of darkcraft within her, then composed her face and put upon it the expression of the battered victim—that of equal parts fear, hope and submission.

  The door opened.

  Swanne took a deep breath and opened her eyes…then could not help widening them as she saw who it was.

  Damson?

  Ah! Mag had ever had a penchant for obscure, worthless fools.

  “Damson?” Swanne said in her most chilling voice—she could not let the tiresome witch know she’d been expected. “What do you here? The linens have already been changed and I have no further use for you. You may leave.”

  But Damson did not leave, as Swanne knew she would not.

  “Madam,” Damson said, carefully closing the door behind her and looking about the chamber to ensure they were alone.

 
“Damson,” Swanne said again, stiffening in her chair as if deeply affronted. “You may leave!”

  “I cannot, Swanne,” the Damson-who-was-not-quite-Damson said, and she came directly to Swanne, hesitated, then pulled up a stool close to Swanne’s chair and sat herself down.

  “How dare you sit in my presence!” Swanne said, allowing a note of anger to creep into her voice.

  “I am not Damson,” said the woman. “Not entirely.”

  And she looked directly into Swanne’s eyes.

  Swanne did not have to fake the surprise that flared across her face.

  “Gods!” she whispered. “Mag?” This was not the Mag Swanne had known in her earlier life, but one infinitely more dangerous, far more powerful. This was, somehow, a youthful Mag, a Mag at the beginning of her promise, a Mag who could grow into a true threat.

  How had she done this? Swanne barely managed to keep herself still in her chair. She had a wild urge to dash to the window and fling aside the shutters, and scream for Asterion.

  No, no. She must be calm. He would be here soon enough.

  And yet it wouldn’t be soon enough, would it? No time would be soon enough to rid themselves of this unexpectedly powerful enemy.

  “Mag,” Swanne said again, her voice more controlled now.

  Damson-Mag gave a slight nod. “I am she who walks as the mother goddess of this land,” she said. “Not dead, after all, Swanne.”

  “You always did know how to slip away from danger, didn’t you?”

  “I draw on a long association with the Darkwitches, Swanne. I have learned well.”

  Swanne bared her teeth in equal amounts smile and snarl.

  “And now you have come to gloat?” she said.

  Damson shook her head. “Swanne, I have come to make you an offer.”

  Oh! The smugness of it. “An offer! And what might that be?”

  Damson took a deep breath. “In return for your freedom from Asterion’s malicious grip, in return for your life, because Asterion is surely murdering you by degrees, I need you to teach me the ways and powers of the Mistress of the Labyrinth.”