The Wood Queen Read online

  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.

  “Shouldn’t you have been there all along?” Donna couldn’t resist asking. “You know, debating with them?”

  “They can do quite well without me for half an hour,” he replied, fixing her with a piercing look that Donna wasn’t sure how to interpret. “The other Orders don’t join us too often these days, so they probably got sidetracked into deciding on other matters before they even get to your … punishment.”

  Donna couldn’t hold back a snort. “Nice to know they’ve got their priorities straight.”

  Quentin’s mouth quirked behind his beard. “Of course, they’re alchemists. Nothing is done without discussion and an agenda as long as my arms.” He held up one of his arms, just to demonstrate quite how long that agenda might be.

  “You’ve been hiding from them!” Donna accused, realizing it was true as soon as the words left her.

  The Archmaster winked. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  Smiling now, she wondered if he would make her go with him.

  As Quentin walked toward the door, he hesitated—a slowing of his step she almost missed, it was so brief—as he passed the beautifully carved grandfather clock against the wall. His hand brushed the front of the polished case, perhaps an unconscious gesture of affection. He took the final few steps to the door and stopped with his fingers resting on the brass handle.

  “I trust you’ll wait here until someone comes to collect you?” His back was to her, but Donna thought she saw his shoulders tighten.

  “I will,” she replied. Her eyes flickered to the grandfather clock. Aliette’s words rang in her mind, as clearly as the chime of that clock when it struck the hour: the Magus hides many secrets.

  Quentin turned around to face her again, almost as though he could read her thoughts. “There are enough books to keep you occupied in here,” he said.

  “Of course. You know how much I love it here.”

  Apparently satisfied, he opened the door and stopped in the doorway, turning to look at her once more. “Speaking of books,” he said, “you might want to ask Paige about your mother’s journal.”

  “Mom’s … what?” Donna flushed, feeling her heart begin to race.

  “Her journal,” he repeated. “I know you’ve always kept one—you got that habit from her, you know.”

  Donna gripped her hands tightly together and forced herself to stay where she was. Why was he telli
ng her this? And why now? “I didn’t know that,” she said, speaking slowly and trying to sound like she didn’t have the urge to fly out of her seat and beg him to tell her everything he knew about Rachel Underwood.

  “Yes,” Quentin said, apparently unaware of the inner turmoil his words were causing. “Rachel filled pages and pages. I remember your aunt being particularly concerned about security, fearing your mother’s diary might be found one day.”

  Donna stared at Quentin as though she’d never seen him before. What the hell? He was telling her something potentially huge here, right? But as she felt a spark of hope that something of her mother might have survived—something more than the shell of humanity left at the Institute, now in that hospital bed—the hope faded. Surely if Mom had kept journals, Aunt Paige would have disposed of them long ago.

  Quentin stroked his beard and looked down at the floor, as though deep in thought. “You know, I remember Rachel was so worried that someone might read her journal, she took it to Maker and asked him to help her with a particularly powerful protective ward. I’m sure I’m not just imagining that.” He crossed his arms and fixed Donna with his blue gaze. “But then again, I’m just an old man. My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  And before she could reply—before she could ask him anything else—he left the room and closed the door firmly behind him. Donna allowed herself to sink back against the squashy cushions of the couch. She tried not to let excitement carry her away.

  Mom had kept a journal, just like her—and this journal might still exist, if Quentin was right. But if there really were diaries belonging to her mother, why hadn’t Aunt Paige given them to her on her sixteenth birthday, when she’d given her Mom’s other belongings? There was a trunk under Donna’s bed, filled with her father’s personal items and a few of Rachel’s, too. But there had never been any journals. And Aunt Paige hadn’t mentioned any—not even to tell her that maybe they were lost.

  Donna suddenly had a strong mental image of her mother’s red hair falling across her face as she leaned over a book, scribbling with an ornate fountain pen and filling the pages with looping handwriting that seemed at once familiar and strange.

  But first she had to figure something out, somehow.

  Donna let her gaze fall once more onto the grandfather clock that hid the secret entrance to Simon Gaunt’s laboratory. Temptation was brewing dark and thick inside her, rather like the strong herbal tea Maker always gave her whenever she went to see him for checkups on her tattoos.

  This was her chance.

  She wondered whether Simon had done something to protect the hidden catch that released the clock from the wall. She knew it would reveal a narrow doorway—a doorway that led to a long corridor under the grounds of the estate, all the way to the Magus’ laboratory. Simon’s lab contained ancient alchemical tools that she hadn’t previously believed truly existed, despite her upbringing and education.

  She stared at the grandfather clock and made a decision. Aliette had implied that answers might be found there … and, after all, hadn’t Quentin said she could make her own choices?

  He also said that I have to live with the consequences of those choices, she reminded herself firmly.

  The words brought to mind those spoken by her mother in last night’s dream—the dream that had seemed like more than a dream.

  Donna knew that if she intended to uphold her bargain with the Wood Queen and save her mother, she needed to learn how to access abilities she wasn’t even sure she possessed. “The Iron Witch”—that’s what Aliette had called her. Was there really more to being an Iron Witch than magically forged tattoos that gave you super-human strength?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Nine

  The corridor seemed to go on forever—and it was cold—but Donna reminded herself it wasn’t like she hadn’t been here before. The seemingly natural, multi-colored gemstones that lined the damp stone walls shed enough light that she managed not to stumble as she headed for Simon’s lab, growing more confident the closer she got.

  She’d been prepared for the rotten-egg stink of sulphur this time, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant.

  The door to the lab greeted her with its familiar, doom-laden plaque:

  OUR WORK BEGINS

  IN DARKNESS AND IN DEATH

  She still couldn’t understand why it had been so easy to open the clock and get all the way down the corridor. There was no way, after what had happened last time, that Simon wouldn’t have added security. She hoped it was possible that he was so engrossed in the deliberations of the hearing that he simply hadn’t noticed her tripping an invisible ward, although that was highly unlikely.

  Frowning as she stepped into the laboratory, Donna looked nervously around. She scanned the shelves for signs of Simon’s freaky alarm system, but she couldn’t see the screaming bronze statue that had alerted the Magus of her and Xan’s presence last time.

  Slow Henry, the huge oven—or “athanor,” as the alchemists called it—was puffing away to himself in the center of the room. There wasn’t much about the ancient art of alchemy that was cute and fuzzy, but the giant furnace that served as the focal point of most alchemical experiments was given an affectionate nickname.

  Donna shivered in the cool atmosphere and wrapped her arms around herself. She took a step back, toward the doorway, and hit something warm and solid—

  “Hey, watch it!”

  Spinning around, Donna came face-to-face with Navin.

  “Oh my God, Nav!” She threw her arms around him in relief. “I thought someone had found me.”

  He held himself stiffly in her arms for a moment, before relaxing against her and resting his hands on her shoulders. “Someone did find you.” He pushed her away so he could look at her, and his familiar grin brightened his whole face. “Me.”

  Donna wanted to cry with happiness. Not only was Navin here, not only was he hugging her back, but he was smiling at her—the first real smile she’d seen from him since the fallout after his rescue in the Ironwood. Here he was standing in front of her in his wonderfully familiar jacket, grinning from ear to ear.

  In Simon’s lab, of all places.

  “Nav, what are you doing? How did you get down here?”

  He looked mildly surprised. “I followed you, of course.”

  She hugged him again, checking that he was as real as he looked. She felt a rush of confidence with her friend at her side. No more tears over Mom’s condition, Donna vowed; no more dark thoughts about not having a mom. She was going to save Rachel Underwood no matter what.

  Pulling away, Donna suddenly noticed that Navin was looking at her like she was crazy.

  “What?” she said, rather too defensively.

  “Where were you just then, Don?” There was concern on his face now, a genuine concern born of the bond they shared. It wasn’t the same sort of bond that she’d felt growing between herself and Xan, but it was no less important—and she’d certainly known Navin a lot longer than she’d known the mysterious Mr. Grayson …

  “Sorry,” Donna said, trying to focus on what was going on right here and now. Simon’s laboratory. Navin. Danger of discovery at any moment. Business as usual, really. “I was just thinking about how cool it is to see you.”

  Navin ran a hand through his thick black hair and did the single-eyebrow raise she’d grown so fond of. “Yeah? Well, most people don’t stare off into space and drool when they’re happy to see someone.”

  “Shut up, Sharma.” Donna shoved him playfully, purposely doing it hard enough to make him stumble.

  He grinned again. “I know you like attacking me—I can’t blame you for not being able to restrain yourself. I am, after all, undeniably attractive—but could you go a little easy today? It’s been a weird and screwed-up kind of weekend.”

  Donna was gasping with laughter at this point. “Are you asking me to be gentle with you?” She was hardly able to get the words out.

  “Pretty m
uch, yeah.”

  They looked at each other for a moment and then cracked up.

  Donna tried to get herself back under control, reminding herself where they were. “Stop it, we have to be quiet. And what are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I was looking for you. I gave Maker the slip and tried some of the public rooms—I saw the Blue Room on my way in today, which made me remember what you said about that grandfather clock.”

  Donna frowned. “I actually meant, what are you doing here at all? I thought your part in the hearing was over.” She blushed, conscious of what he’d done for her. “Thank you, by the way. For testifying. When I saw you, I—”

  “Was overcome by my total awesomeness?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Something like that.”

  He bumped her shoulder with his, and that was all it took for her to feel that everything was right with the world. Despite the fact that it very clearly wasn’t.

  “So, you’re here because …?”

  “Oh,” he said. “I asked Maker if I could be here for the verdict. They don’t know exactly when that will happen, so I get to stick around.”

  Donna almost cried with gratitude. “Really? You wanted to be here to support me?”

  “Actually, I was kind of hoping to see you hauled off in handcuffs. Handcuffs are hot.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or hit him. She decided to take the non-violent option, and it wasn’t long before they were both giggling like little kids.

  Then his expression turned serious again, his dark brown eyes offering the empathy she’d missed so much. “Hey, I’m sorry about your mom. How is she? I wanted to ask you yesterday, but I couldn’t get anywhere near you. I tried to come see you, I really did.”

  “You did?” She tried not to look as dejected as she felt. “Nobody told me that.”

  Navin reached out and touched her cheek. “Of course I did. You really think I’d let a little bit of magic keep me away?”

  Donna didn’t know what to say to that. “Mom’s in a coma,” she blurted out. There would be no more secrets between them. “Xan says Mom’s under an elf curse, which confirms what Maker suspected all along: that the Wood Queen must have a lock of Mom’s hair. That’s what the elves use to drain humans of their life force, but Xan says it’s Aliette’s way of keeping her people alive.”