The Wood Queen (9 page)

“What does
that
mean?”

Aliette raised perfectly plucked brows. “Is it so hard to understand? I am not speaking in riddles.”

“Says you,” Donna muttered. She bit her lip and thought for a moment. “Okay then, let’s try this. Will you answer a question for me?”

The queen’s painted mouth quirked up at one corner. “Is that your question?”

Donna scowled. “No, of course not. But as a show of good faith, I want to know something.”

“You may ask.” Aliette arranged the sugar and cinnamon shakers into a neat line.

Taking a deep breath and plunging ahead before she could lose her nerve, Donna leaned forward. “Back in the Ironwood, and again just now, you kept trying to put doubts in my mind about the people in my life. About the Order. As though you know something I don’t. I want to know what you’re talking about—whether you’re just playing with me, or whether there really is something I should know.”

There, she’d said it. Her knees turned to liquid and she felt glad she was sitting down. Voicing her fears, especially to an enemy, was dangerous to the point of suicidal. Pandora’s Box seemed to be a recurring theme in her life, and Donna wondered if she was ready to truly take the lid off and see all the evils that lurked inside.

But hadn’t she already done that, just by being here?

The Wood Queen sat up straight and looked Donna in the eye. “Whether or not it is something you
should
know is another matter entirely, but I do not lie when I tell you that your precious magicians have kept important truths from you.”

“But how do you even know that?”

The woman’s painted brows rose in genuine surprise. “Because I have had dealings with the magicians for centuries. How else?”

Donna shivered, realizing how truly old the creature sitting before her was. It was sort of humbling.

She licked her lips, knowing that she wouldn’t have the chance to ask questions in this way again—Aliette obviously wanted something from her, and Donna needed to use that to her advantage.

“You might have dealt with the Order for centuries, but their ranks changed over time. You act as though this is … personal. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Perhaps their ranks have not changed so much as you think.”

What?
This was getting too weird, and Donna couldn’t help but listen to the rising fear that urged,
go back while you still can.
But of course she pressed on. What else could she do?

The comforting sounds of cups clinking and milk being steamed brought her back to the room. She took a deep breath of the freshly ground coffee scent wafting over them from the nearby counter.

“Who exactly are you talking about? No more games. No more riddles.”

Aliette’s fake human eyes gleamed. “You persist in pretending that you don’t know these things.”

“But I
don’t
know!” Donna glanced around nervously, aware that she’d practically shouted with frustration. She blew out a breath. “I really don’t.”

The queen shook her head, mockingly. “The Magus has you all well and truly in his thrall.”

The Magus. Simon Gaunt. “You’re saying that Simon has been around for … longer than it appears.”

“Of course; since when is anything about the alchemists what it appears?” Aliette’s tone was flint-hard. “The Archmaster’s power weakens daily as his life trickles away, like the sand of human life does. Each grain a moment, a year. A life. The Magus continues and continues, never changing. Never dying.”

Immortal. Simon was
immortal
. No wonder he was so furious about the loss of the elixir. He’d been using it for years. For centuries!

Donna frowned, leaning forward with interest despite her growing horror. “Why are you telling me this?”

Aliette’s red-tipped hand gestured at nothing. “A token of my good will.”

Donna snorted. “Right. You’re a monster who feeds on the lives—the souls—of innocent humans. You’ve been doing it for centuries. Why should I believe anything you say to me?”

“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 her 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.”

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 help 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.

Quentin’s smile was gentle, an old regret in his eyes. “You’ll think about it—you may even feel guilty if you go against the future that we have mapped out for you—but that doesn’t mean you absolutely can’t defy the desires of the Order.”

Donna slumped against the soft cushions and wondered if she dared to do that: to defy the Order. She
did
understand what Quentin was saying, but that didn’t make it any easier to contemplate following through on it. She had lived her whole life in the shadow of her parents’ reputations. Patrick and Rachel Underwood were legendary in the history of the alchemists; she had even seen their names appear in a book of alchemical lore published several years ago. She’d found the volume among the many books lining the walls of the Blue Room and studied the sections that focused on recent history of the Order of the
Dragon. It was clear that the Underwood name held very real significance—her father’s ancestors were among the founding members of the Order.

Carrying on family tradition was important to the alchemists. It was maybe even the most important part of being born into a secret society—a society dedicated to finding and protecting the power of immortality while defending humanity from the fey throughout centuries of war. The war between the alchemists and the wood elves was a silent one—a
secret
one—but no less deadly for that.

Mulling over Quentin’s words in her mind, Donna frowned. This could easily be the most significant conversation she’d ever had with him—she needed to make sure that she understood everything the Archmaster was really trying to tell her.

“Are you saying that I
should
follow my own path?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I can’t tell you that, Donna, as much as you might wish it.”

“But you’re Archmaster. If anyone can give me that freedom it’s you, right?”

“If I did that, child, I would be betraying everything I have devoted my life to.”

Donna’s stomach hurt. “But what makes me so important? I’m just one girl … surely the Order can go on without me. Surely you can let me go.”

“It’s not my place to do that.” Quentin’s face creased into familiar lines of thought. “My responsibilities are greater than you could ever imagine, and part of that
responsibility is ensuring the survival of the Order. In an ideal world, you would be apprenticed to an alchemist and become a full initiate—a ‘moon sister,’ to use the ancient term—as soon as you graduate high school.” He fixed her with his familiar bright eyes. “But, as you well know, we do not live in an ideal world.”

Donna smiled as it dawned on her. He wasn’t giving her permission to leave—he couldn’t do that without going against his duty—but he was giving her permission to make her own decisions. That didn’t mean things would be easier for her, because to leave the Order would mean a very real betrayal. At least, it would mean that to the alchemists, and certainly to her aunt and to people like Simon Gaunt. But if Quentin said she could choose, then perhaps that meant she could find the courage to do it; to go against everything she’d been brought up to believe her life would be.

The thought filled her with equal parts excitement and terror, but it gave her hope that there might be another path for her life.

“Of course,” Quentin continued, and Donna immediately felt her heart sink, “we have invested more than just time and energy in your upbringing. Your tattoos—the magic that runs through your body, magic crafted by Maker as a result of his lifetime of work and experience—are the legacy that you will take forward with you on your journey through this life. What has been done cannot be undone.”

Donna licked her lips and leaned toward the old alchemist once more. She knew he was telling her something important, but her mind was racing and it was difficult to think straight. “Legacy? Do you mean my strength?”

Quentin slowly shook his head. “Not just your physical strength. There is so much more that I could tell you, if it were … permitted.”

“Whose permission do you need to tell me things, Quentin?” Donna was genuinely confused. “You can do anything you like.”

Quentin released a sharp bark of laughter. “Ah, dear Donna, if only it were that simple.” He chuckled again, shoulders shaking with the knowledge of something she didn’t understand.

“Do you mean … Simon?” There, she’d said it. She’d asked him.

All trace of humor was wiped from Quentin’s face; it was as though his laughter had never existed. “Simon is more powerful than you have been led to believe, that’s certainly true. But I think you know that already.”

And you’re not answering my question
, Donna thought, narrowing her eyes. Not really.

“But
you’re
Archmaster, not Simon. No matter what he’s capable of when it comes to the magic he can craft. Right?”

“Simon has more invested in the Order than you realize. I’m afraid I can’t tell you more than that. But regardless”—Quentin leaned forward so that he could touch the back of Donna’s gloved hand—“you don’t have long to
wait before you can make your own decisions. No matter what the consequences of those choices might be.”

In other words, the shit will most definitely hit the fan if I try to leave the Order when I’m eighteen
, Donna thought. She almost laughed, because Quentin wasn’t really telling her anything she didn’t know already. And yet, despite that, it had still been a strangely enlightening conversation.

“Anyway,” Quentin said, withdrawing his hand and using the arms of the chair to push himself to his feet, “I should really get back to the others. Who knows
what
important matters they are debating over lunch.” A wry smile crossed his face.