“Am I really so much worse than your precious alchemists? They deal in demon souls, I in human souls. We do what we must to survive—isn’t that the way of all things, whichever world they live in?”
Donna’s temples throbbed. “Demons? Now you’re telling me that Simon is summoning demons?”
“Ah, if it were only as simple as mere summoning,” Aliette said, a mysterious smile playing across her mouth.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then you are even more naïve than I thought.”
Donna’s mind was whirling as fast as the tattoos across the backs of her hands. Her confusion, combined with the nauseating pain in her fingers, forced her to lean her head forward and focus on nothing more than getting through the next moment.
She took a slow breath, not wanting to see the almost feral interest on the queen’s face. Ask her something else—distract both yourself and her, Donna thought. “Do demons even have souls?” she blurted out. It was the first thing that she could think of.
“Of course. All living things have a life force—a soul, for want of a better word. Your language is so limited …”
The desire to run rose up in her like a physical need. Some part of her begged her to do that very thing—right now: push back your chair, stand up, and walk away. Leave. Don’t look back. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.
But she couldn’t. Her shoulders slumped. She had to know the truth, and, no matter how much she wished things were different, she was pretty certain that Aliette knew something important. Something about her parents and about the alchemists, and about that terrible night in Ironwood Forest more than ten years ago.
Here goes nothing, Donna thought. “What happened to my parents; to Patrick and Rachel Underwood? You must have been there when my father died. What were we doing in the Ironwood in the first place?”
“You think it is so easy? That I will just solve your petty problems like … that.” Aliette snapped her fingers right in front of Donna’s face, making her jump.
“Why not?” She stuck out her chin and tried to look braver than she felt. “You know what happened; you must!”
The queen’s face lit up with a horrible combination of triumph and cunning. “It is not I who has the answers that you seek, child. Your Maker can tell you everything you want to know.”
Shaking her head with frustration, Donna felt like putting her gloved hands around the woman’s throat. This was getting them nowhere fast, and Mom might not have much time. Xan had said the curse worked fast.
“Fine. Then what do you want from me?” she said. “Why did you even want to meet me in the first place—I don’t believe you’d take the risk of exposure to the iron world just to drop mysterious hints and to screw with my head.”
Aliette’s glistening red lips spread into a gruesome smile. “Ah, so now we come to it.” She tapped her fingers on the table.
“So? Just say it.”
Tap tap.
Donna shifted in her seat and watched the queen’s fingers tapping on the cracked tabletop. Tap tap. Tap tap.
She was about to explode when Aliette leaned forward.
“I want your power, little girl,” she said, her voice dripping with a venom that left Donna breathless. “I want you to open the door to Faerie and send my kin back home.”
“Home?” Donna repeated, feeling stupid.
“They are still dying. Two more, gone so quickly; I held them as their lives came to an end … as they slipped away into an eternally iron-sick existence. Wraiths, forever cursed to walk between realms.” There was sadness—undeniable emotion—lingering beneath the queen’s words. “You can help them; send them back home where we will no longer sicken and die. Open the door, send my people back to Faerie, and I’ll return your mother’s soul.”
That was what this was all about?
“I don’t know how to do that,” Donna protested. “Opening the door to Faerie, I mean. You’ve made a mistake.” Her heart sank as she thought of her mother’s life slipping away.
“Really?” Green eyes glanced down at Donna’s hands. “I wonder if you have discovered something else about your pretty markings, in recent days. They are changing, are they not?”
Shock was beginning to make Donna’s head hurt. “How do you know about that?” There was no point in playing games—not with Mom’s life literally hanging in the balance.
“How do you think I could send the changeling to you so easily? I felt the shift in your true power—I have been … waiting.”
Shivering, Donna pressed back against the comfortingly real plastic chair. “You know what’s happening to me?”
Aliette laughed; even in her human form, it carried the sound of rustling leaves. “It is not something that ‘happens’ to you, girl. You are simply realizing the power that has always been there.”
Donna shook her head, not sure what to say to that.
“You are the Iron Witch, are you not?”
None of this made sense, but if there was any hope for her mother, then she would grab it with both hands. No matter what the cost. And the alchemists had hardly proved themselves trustworthy. She had to make her own choices.
Clenching her fists in her lap, Donna locked eyes with the Wood Queen. “You’re so sure that I can do what you need me to do?”
“Yes.”
“But … I don’t know how.”
Aliette cocked her head in a disturbingly birdlike gesture. “Then find out, child. The Magus hides many secrets—I’m sure, if you give it some thought, you will uncover the information you’ll need.” Her expression turned unpleasant. “You are not without your resources, as we have already seen.”
Donna ignored the jibe. She didn’t doubt that Simon’s laboratory held all kinds of esoteric knowledge, but a guide to her “true power,” as the queen insisted on calling it? Opening doorways to other realms … was that even possible? If it was, she had to find out now—and quickly. Mom was running out of time, and Aliette’s offer was tentative at best.
Donna knew better than to deal with this creature again, especially after the way things ended last time. But what else could she do?
Aliette gazed at her with those pitiless eyes. “Ticktock.”
And then she shifted her eyes downward, staring with undisguised delight at the elegant ivory watch that had just appeared on her bony, fake-human wrist. It was almost as though she’d never seen it before in her life—which she probably hadn’t.
More magical tricks. Tick-tock.
“Stop that,” Donna said, surprised at the strength in her voice. “If you thought I was capable of opening the gateway to Faerie—and if that’s what the elves need in order to survive, to go home—why didn’t you ask me that before? I mean, before you sent me for the elixir? We could have saved all this time …” And I could have saved Mom from going through whatever she’s suffering right now.
The queen raised those ridiculously perfect brows again. “Back then, the elixir of life was the only solution I could see—I didn’t know that your powers would emerge this late in your growth cycle.”
Growth cycle? Donna let that go, but couldn’t help finding the woman’s choice of words interesting. “We don’t know for sure that I even have these powers.”
“There were signs that I have been looking for, and now I am certain.” Aliette’s tone allowed no room for argument.
“But why go to all the trouble of taking Navin, before? And Maker. You could have used my mother against me at any time you wanted.”
The queen sneered, then flicked her wrist and a deck of playing cards appeared in her hand. She fanned them out with an impressive flourish. “Why play my strongest hand right away? Your mother was my insurance policy.”
Biting back a scathing retort, Donna watched as her enemy made the cards dance between her crimson-tipped fingers.
Make your choice and then live with the consequences. That’s what her mother had said, in the dream-that-was-not-a-dream.
Aliette snapped h
er fingers and the cards disappeared. She leaned forward and gripped Donna’s gloved wrist. “If you agree to this, there will be no going back. Your mother cannot survive longer than two more nights.”
Donna snatched her arm out of the queen’s grasp. “But I still need to figure out this so-called ability of mine. That’s not fair!”
“I seem to remember a similar conversation when we stood in the Elflands. Since when is life fair? What gives you the right to have life fall into place so perfectly?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“It hardly matters what you mean. You’re a child with too much power—power that you can’t control.” Aliette narrowed her venomous eyes. “But you will learn, and you will learn quickly.”
“Or?” Donna made it a challenge.
“Or your mother will die; it is as simple as that. Once the curse has been set, it kills the human host within three nights.”
Three nights. So the curse had been “cast” on Mom yesterday, which meant one night had already passed. Panic threatened to overwhelm her.
The queen placed her hands on the table, as though preparing to push back her chair and leave.
“Wait,” Donna said. “If I agree, how does this work?”
“Tomorrow night, we will meet in the Ironwood and you will open the gateway so that my people can survive.”
By then the hearing would most likely be over—including the verdict. So maybe spending some more time at the Frost Estate wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all … it could give her the opportunity to find a way past Aunt Paige and back into Simon’s laboratory, where she could hopefully find out what she needed to know about opening the door to Faerie.
Donna met Aliette’s unblinking gaze.
“Okay,” she said. “Give me back my mom, and I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”
Eight
Back at the Frost Estate, still shaking from her encounter with the Wood Queen, Donna knew she should head straight to the depressing Brown Room that Robert had taken her to yesterday. But she hesitated. She was early anyway, and she wanted to be alone to think. She’d always done her best thinking in Quentin’s library—the Blue Room.
The alchemists were no doubt busy talking about her over their civilized lunch of sandwiches and gourmet coffee, so she only had to worry about running into the mansion’s staff. Even if she did meet any of them while she was sneaking around, it was doubtful they’d care about what she was doing—it wasn’t like they were employed as prison guards. There was a cook that Donna knew she was unlikely to see, a housekeeper, and a couple of cleaning staff. Mrs. Lesniak, the housekeeper, had been with Quentin and Simon for as long as Donna could remember. She was a pleasant woman, though completely uninterested in children.
She made it to the Blue Room in a matter of minutes and breathed a sigh of relief. Pressing her ear to the door—and hearing nothing but the ticking of the grandfather clock that had caused so many problems two weeks ago—Donna slipped into the room. The door closed with a loud click, making her cringe as it echoed out into the corridor.
“Donna, how nice to see you,” Quentin Frost’s voice said from behind her.
Crap. She turned around slowly. Obviously, she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t hungry enough to spend time with the other alchemists.
Quentin was sitting in his favorite armchair with a large book on his lap. His silver hair glinted underneath the overhead lights, and his beard looked freshly trimmed. She realized that he was watching her, obviously still waiting for some kind of explanation.
“Archmaster,” she began, wondering how she was going to get out of this. “I just … um … needed a book.”
The elderly man’s eyebrows raised. “A legal volume, perhaps, to help you with something concerning the hearing?”
Donna’s shoulders slumped. “I know. I’m sorry—I was just trying to delay the inevitable.” Honesty was probably the best policy; at least, she hoped it was.
Quentin gestured at the couch placed at an angle near his armchair. “Won’t you join me?”
Feeling nervous again, Donna sat on the very edge of the blue velvet and folded her gloved hands in front of her. She waited for Quentin to say whatever it was he was going to say. If he was about to tell her off for wandering around the estate when she was supposed to be on trial, there wasn’t really much she could do about it. Except to feel grateful that it was just the two of them, perhaps; no Aunt Paige and no Simon.
Quentin placed his book on the rosewood coffee table, next to the elemental chess set that had always seemed so mysterious. Donna craned her neck to see what he’d been reading, and couldn’t resist a smile when she saw that it was an ancient-looking copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. Typical Quentin reading material.
“I’m glad we ran into each other,” he said. For a moment, Donna thought she saw a glimmer of the mischievous humor that the Archmaster occasionally displayed, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure. “It’s nice to have an opportunity to talk to you without all the ceremony.”
She wanted to agree, but thought it might be better to say nothing. She nodded carefully, wondering where he was going with this.
He smiled. “I knew you’d find your way here—I wanted to make sure it was me who caught you, not Simon or your aunt.”
Donna’s heart beat faster. She tried to sit still, but this was getting way more interesting than she’d thought it would be. “Why? Why wouldn’t you let Simon have yet another excuse to call me insubordinate or a … a traitor?”
Quentin’s face was serious, but she didn’t think his expression was accusatory. “You’re not a criminal, Donna. And I certainly don’t believe you’re a traitor.”
Hope flickered to life inside her. “You don’t?”
“Of course not. I know you love your aunt and care about the Order—as much as you can.”
“What do you mean, ‘as much as I can’?”
“You’re seventeen years old—you’re not even a legal adult yet. When you turn eighteen, you’ll be expected to take up your parents’ legacy and become an initiate. But …” His voice trailed off as he seemed to choose his words more carefully. “Don’t you think I know how much you want to leave? And perhaps even go to a regular university? But of course, you know how difficult that would be. Times are changing out there in the world—don’t think I’m not aware of that—but not so much here within the Order.”
Donna’s hope sputtered and died, but only because she could hear the unspoken subtext in his tone: he understood how she felt, but it wasn’t likely she would ever get to choose her own life—her own path. Sure, he was being kind about it, but Quentin Frost was still the leader of the most powerful of the four alchemical Orders.
A dark thread of suspicion wove its way into her thoughts: unless Quentin isn’t really the leader. Maybe in name, but now that she knew the truth about Simon Gaunt’s power—his immortality—it was difficult to figure out the dynamics that she’d long taken for granted.
The old man watched her carefully as he rubbed an age-spotted hand across his beard. “Responsibility can be a heavy burden; I know that more than many people in this world. And yet … still … even with that weight on our shoulders, there are always choices.”
Donna jerked upright in her seat. Choices? She immediately thought of her dream—and of the choice that she’d only just made. She wondered if Quentin could read the guilt on her face.
Anyway, when it came to the Order, surely she didn’t have a choice in the direction of her life. Hadn’t he just said that? Feeling confused, Donna wondered how best to approach this. She rarely got the chance to speak to the Archmaster alone; he was either in his small laboratory at the top of the house, or right here in the Blue Room reading, or in the quarters that he shared with Simon.
She bit her lip and wondered how much she could say to him. And then she just thought, screw it. What had happened to the Underwood spirit?
“Quentin, may I speak freely?” She couldn’t he
lp showing him respect; he was just about the only person within the Order that she did feel genuinely respectful toward.
He nodded, smiling slightly.
She leaned forward and tried to get her thoughts straight before speaking them aloud. Sometimes she rushed in and then had to backtrack; maybe she could do things differently this time. “I don’t really have a choice in my future, do I? You know that better than I do.”
“Since when have you lacked the power to make your own decisions?” His voice was firm, but still there was the echo of kindness in it.
“Aunt Paige has never made a secret of what is expected of me.”
“Just because there are expectations of us doesn’t mean we can’t make our own choices.” Quentin raised his brows and leaned forward in his chair. “Do you understand?”
Donna thought she was beginning to, but that didn’t make this conversation any less … unexpected. “You’re saying that I don’t have to stay with the Order?”
“I’m saying that, even though all of us want you to stay with the alchemists—even me, Donna, I won’t pretend otherwise—you will still make your own choice in the end. We cannot keep you against your will.”
She tried to focus on what Quentin was saying. “But if I have the freedom to choose, why has my aunt always told me that I don’t have a choice? This doesn’t make sense.”
“Dear girl,” Quentin replied, “you are far more intelligent than this. Don’t you see what I’m saying? It is not up to me—or Paige or Simon or anyone else in the Order—to give you permission to make your own way in life. I think that’s what you want to hear from me, but that permission is not mine to give. Once you’re an adult, at least in the eyes of the law, you will be able to do whatever you think is right. That doesn’t mean that the alchemists will agree with you, but perhaps that won’t be something you think about.”
“Of course I’ll think about it!” Donna twisted her hands together, finally beginning to understand what the Archmaster was saying. It was a strange and disturbing conversation to have, but maybe it was one that she should have had with Aunt Paige a long time ago.
The Wood Queen Page 9
