Susanna’s mouth tightened. “What if I have, Goody?”
“Then you are a fool. Witches see the truth plainly—even if their husbands are full of nonsense.”
“It is not such an easy matter as you make it out to be,” Susanna muttered.
“Nor does it need to be so difficult. The long-awaited weaver is among us, and we must make plans.”
“Thank you, Goody Alsop,” Matthew said. He was relieved that someone agreed with him at last. “You are right. Diana must learn what she needs to know quickly. She cannot have the child here.”
“That isn’t entirely your decision, Master Roydon. If the child is meant to be born in London, then that is where it will be born.”
“Diana doesn’t belong here,” Matthew said, adding quickly, “in London.”
“Bless us, that is clear enough. But as she is a time spinner, merely moving her to another place will not help. Diana would be no less conspicuous in Canterbury or York.”
“So you know another of our secrets.” Matthew gave the old woman a cold stare. “As you know so much, you must have also divined that Diana will not be returning to her own time alone. The child and I will be going with her. You will teach her what she needs in order to do it.” Matthew was taking charge, which meant that things were about to take their usual turn for the worse.
“Your wife’s education is my business now, Master Roydon—unless you think you know more about what it means to be a weaver than I do,” Goody Alsop said mildly.
“He knows that this is a matter between witches,” I told Goody Alsop, putting a restraining hand on his arm. “Matthew won’t interfere.”
“Everything about my wife is my business, Goody Alsop,” said Matthew. He turned to me. “And this is not a matter solely between witches. Not if the witches here might turn against my mate and my child.”
“So it was a witch and not a wearh who injured you,” Goody Alsop said softly. “I felt the pain and knew that a witch was part of it but hoped that was because the witch was healing the damage done to you rather than causing it. What has the world come to that one witch would do such a thing to another?”
Matthew fixed his attention on Goody Alsop. “Maybe the witch also realized that Diana was a weaver.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that Satu might have known. Given what Goody Alsop had told me about my fellow witches’ attitude toward weavers, the idea that Peter Knox and his cronies in the Congregation might suspect me of harboring such a secret sent my blood racing. Matthew sought my hand, taking it between both of his.
“It is possible, but I cannot say for certain,” Goody Alsop told us regretfully. “Nevertheless we must do what we can in the time the goddess provides to prepare Diana for her future.”
“Stop,” I said, slapping my palm on the table. Ysabeau’s ring chimed against the hard wood. “You’re all talking as though this weaving business makes sense. But I can’t even light a candle. My talents are magical. I have wind, water—even fire—in my blood.”
“If I can see your husband’s soul, Diana, you will not be surprised that I have also seen your power. But you are not a firewitch or a waterwitch, no matter what you believe. You cannot command these elements. If you were foolish enough to attempt it, you would be destroyed.”
“But I nearly drowned in my own tears,” I said stubbornly. “And to save Matthew I killed a wearh with an arrow of witchfire. My aunt recognized the smell.”
“A firewitch has no need of arrows. The fire leaves her and arrives at its target in an instant.” Goody Alsop shook her head. “These were but simple weavings, my child, fashioned from grief and love. The goddess has given you her blessing to borrow the powers you need but not to command any of them absolutely.”
“Borrow them.” I thought over the frustrating events of the past months and the glimmers of magic that would never behave as they were supposed to do. “So that’s why these abilities come and go. They were never really mine.”
“No witch could hold so much power within her without upsetting the balance of the worlds. A weaver selects carefully from the magic around her and uses it to shape something new.”
“But there must be thousands of spells in existence—not to mention charms and potions. Nothing I make could possibly be original.” I drew my hand across my forehead, and the spot where Philippe had made his blood oath seemed cold to the touch.