Contents

Cover

About the Book

Title Page

Dedication

Donna Underwood’s Journal

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Rachel Underwood’s Journal

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Rachel Underwood’s Journal

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Rachel Underwood’s Journal

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Donna Underwood’s Journal

The Council of Alchemists: Official Hearing

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Karen Mahoney

Extract from Falling from Ash

Copyright

For Mum, who reads everything I write but still always
asks, “When will you have the next thing finished?”

DONNA UNDERWOOD’S JOURNAL:

The Wood Monster is dead.

I know this is true because I killed it. And yet my dreams are still full of fear and pain, even though it is a different sort of fear and a new kind of pain.

This morning I woke at dawn with the covers thrown off, pajamas sticking to my body and sweat-soaked hair in my eyes. My hands and arms ached and I knew that, if I looked at them, the familiar silver markings would be writhing around my wrists like living tattoos. Sometimes it feels as though my tattoos really are alive, but that’s just the magic talking. Being marked by alchemical magic messes with your head at the best of times—and right now is just about as far as I’ve ever been from the best of times.

After I came to and switched on the light to chase away the shadows, I tried to recall what I’d been dreaming of—what nightmare had woken me this time—but the sights and sounds and twisted images were already gone. Melted away like the frost outside my bedroom window.

If only I could remember the nightmare more clearly. I’m sure there’s something important in it—something I’m supposed to know or do. It feels like a warning, but how can I heed a warning that arrives so fleetingly and disappears just as quickly? The only memory I’m left with is of my mother sitting beneath a dying tree in an otherwise empty wasteland. Her face, half concealed behind her tangle of red hair, is white as bone. The white streak in the front of her hair is braided into a bizarre plait, and the thread that runs through it is bright green.

And the crows; so many of them. A murder of crows? Circling round and round in an indigo sky, shedding oily feathers that look like black petals.

Maybe I’m just having anxiety dreams ahead of the trial. Aunt Paige gets mad when I call it that—my “trial”—but isn’t that what it is? She said it’s just an “internal investigation”, nothing more than routine after something serious happens. But really, what’s the difference? Representatives from the three other Orders will pass judgment on me when the hearing begins today, and if that’s not a “trial” then I don’t know what is.

My first thought, when I woke, was to talk to Nav about my dream; to tell him what I could remember of those fading images and ask him to help me figure it all out. But I sank back against the pillows as sharp reality hit me: Navin is hardly speaking to me. After what happened to him so recently, I can’t really blame him.

He still hasn’t told me the details of his abduction by the wood elves. He won’t open up to me the way that he used to. And I know I deserve this, given all the secrets I kept from him for the entire three years of our friendship. He’s right not to trust me. How can we truly be friends when I hid so much? How can he ever forgive me, after the magical realities of my stupid life dragged him into something so terrible that he can’t even bring himself to talk about it?

Xan says to give him time. Even Aunt Paige says to give him time; like she really cares. But as each day passes I can feel him slipping away …

I miss my best friend.

About the Book

Born into the mysterious world of an ancient alchemical order, Donna has always been aware of the dark feud that exists between the alchemists and the fey. Her own mother – bound by a dark Faerie curse – has been confined to a hospital bed for as long as she can remember … But now there is a chance to release her, and Donna will stop at nothing until she is free.

Armed with her own brand of powerful magic, Donna must face the fearsome Wood Queen in order to save her mother. But in the Ironwood – a place that haunts Donna’s dreams – there is far greater and more dangerous magic already at work …

About the Author

Karen Mahoney has been a professional Tarot reader, a college counsellor, a dating agency consultant, a bookseller and a webmistress. She is now a full-time writer and her first novel, The Iron Witch, was published in 2011. She is currently working on a new series about a kick-ass vampire called Moth, as well as the final book in the Iron Witch trilogy, The Stone Demon. She has a highly trafficked blog where she talks about everything from writing books to her lifelong love of Wonder Woman.

The Wood Queen is her second novel.

Visit Karen online at www.kazmahoney.com

One

DONNA SAT UP straight in her chair and tried not to look as though the last half-hour hadn’t already nailed up her coffin good and tight. Listening to Simon Gaunt drone on as he listed her “crimes” was almost as bad as being forced to listen to a lecture on Hermetic literature.

Almost.

Her fingers curled inside the long velvet gloves that she always wore. Ten years of wearing them to hide the truth of what she was, and yet all she’d ever really wanted was something normal to hold on to; a regular existence. Recently, however, she’d begun to accept the idea that you don’t always get what you want; making the best of things was often the only practical option. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

Her life seemed to have become an endless rollercoaster of crazy, and it was really starting to piss her off.

Everything she knew—or thought she knew—was based on a finely spun web of secrets and lies, yet what choice did she have other than to go along with it? At just seventeen, Donna wouldn’t truly be free of the Order’s influence for another year, as much as she wished things were different.

Biting her lip, she looked around the makeshift courtroom; really, it was just an old dining room that had been converted into a meeting space some years ago. Dust motes glittered in the air and the sickly sweet scent of furniture polish made her feel vaguely sick. The room seemed to be full of crusty old men, apart from one young guy—a tall Asian dude wearing awesomely inappropriate Goth-style makeup. She couldn’t help feeling curious about him. And, of course, there was Paige Underwood, sitting quietly at the back looking pale and composed. But apart from that, the representatives from the four alchemical Orders were for the most part over sixty, white, and male. Donna let her eyes rest for a moment on the one other woman in the room, a petite blonde who looked about the same age as her aunt and who seemed to know Goth Dude.

Donna glanced at the gathered officials before meeting her aunt’s eyes and mouthing the question that had been bugging her ever since she’d watched each alchemist take his place: Where’s Maker?

For one moment, it looked as though Aunt Paige was going to either ignore the question or pretend she couldn’t understand, but then she pointed to her watch as her lips formed the silent word, Later.

Later? What was that supposed to mean? Scanning the room again, Donna couldn’t help feeling worried about Maker’s absence from the crowd of alchemists. He’d been her only real source of support leading up to this hearing, and it was something she was intensely grateful for. So it seemed more than a little important that he should be here now, especially considering that he was—oh, you know, nothing major—supposed to act as her freaking defense.

Of course, she wanted to count her aunt as on her side too, but, if she were brutally honest, Donna had to acknowledge that Paige hadn’t really spoken up for her at all. She hadn’t been supportive about the trial, either. It hurt to admit it, but Donna was nothing if not realistic: Aunt Paige was still furious with her for sneaking around behind her back.

Simon was supposedly the Order of the Dragon’s official secretary—sort of like an administrator—although Donna’s recent discovery of his hidden laboratory led her to suspect that there was a lot more to him than she’d always believed. Only a full-fledged magus would have a lab like that, one that the Order had obviously gone to great pains to conceal. Which begged the question: if it was true that Simon was a magus, why would they want to cover up the fact that there was such a powerful magic-user living within their diminishing ranks? It didn’t make any sense.

Pushing conspiracy theories out of her head, Donna was torn between thinking how ridiculous this whole thing was and feeling terrified about what an alchemist trial might involve. She’d cost the Order something valuable—maybe even priceless—and she’d also given up their secrets to a “commoner”. Not to mention befriended a guy with fey blood running through his veins.

Oh, I am so screwed.

She sighed and made an effort to tune back in to what was going on around her. Glancing at Quentin Frost, the Archmaster of the Order of the Dragon, she noticed that he looked tired—even more so than usual. He was old, it was true, but a new aura of exhaustion had settled around him like a thick gray cloud.

Simon had switched to using a more impressive inflection in his delivery, which was vaguely entertaining, at least. It was like he was on stage delivering a Shakespearean soliloquy, hands linked loosely behind his back as he paced up and down the nasty, patterned brown carpet. He cut an unassuming figure—average height and skinny, with thinning brown hair and plain wire glasses that caught the light each time he moved. He seemed to be taking great pleasure in recounting every single one of Donna’s transgressions.

When it came to the part about “fraternizing with the enemy”, she had to resist the urge to stand up and shout, I object! It probably wouldn’t go down too well, and this wasn’t a criminal trial—as Aunt Paige liked to remind her. A “hearing” was simply that: an opportunity for representatives from all the Orders to hear what Donna had done, and to decide on an appropriate punishment. Of course, according to the alchemists, Donna had betrayed them in just about every way imaginable. There wasn’t much room for compassionate consideration of her actual motives, though she could hardly be surprised.

Two weeks ago, Donna had stolen a vial—containing the final drops of the supposedly mythical elixir of life—from the alchemists, to give to Aliette, the Wood Queen, in exchange for Navin’s life. But as they fled from the Ironwood, she’d broken the vial and thrown it as far as she could into the trees, beyond Aliette’s grasp. True, she had destroyed the only hope the wood elves had of lengthening their fading existence, but what the alchemists cared about was that she had destroyed the elixir of life itself.

She’d spent the intervening days grounded by Aunt Paige and agonizing not about her impending trial, as her aunt no doubt expected, but about what sort of revenge the Wood Queen might be planning for the girl who’d tricked her. Aliette wasn’t the sort of creature to take betrayal lightly.

Yet Donna felt fully justified in her actions. She’d had to save Navin, but she also couldn’t just give away everything the Order had fought for over the centuries. Even though she had doubts about the work some of the alchemists were doing—and whether or not she was truly on the side of “good”, as she’d always believed—she still couldn’t actually hand the Wood Queen the elixir, betraying the people who were, for better or worse, her family.

Of course, it didn’t seem to matter how many times she tried to reassure everybody of this, and it hadn’t made a bit of difference when Maker spoke up on her behalf. In the eyes of the Order, she was a traitor—no matter how good the reasons had been for her actions.

Donna suspected that the alchemists were all secretly more worried about the fact that she’d gotten involved with a half-fey guy, someone who already knew far too much about the conflict between the wood elves and the Order of the Dragon. As the child of a human woman and a father who had long ago returned to the faerie realm, Alexander Grayson’s halfblood status made him something even worse than a commoner in the eyes of the Order—since alchemists immediately classified anyone with even a hint of fey blood as dangerous.

Every time she thought too much about it, Donna felt like her head might explode.

Yet despite the sickening anger that had come with this realization, it also somewhat explained why Simon was so disapproving of her: not only was her best friend, Navin Sharma, just a commoner, but her maybe-sort-of-boyfriend was, by the very nature of his birth, their enemy.

She rested her chin on her cupped hand and waited for a break in Simon’s oratory; she was dying to go to the bathroom.

Simon was now describing the schedule for the coming days. Donna fought the urge to roll her eyes; there was so much pointless ritual involved. It seemed that the members of this emergency meeting of the Council would stay at the Frost Estate until a final verdict about her punishment was reached. The matter was set to be resolved within the next few days.

She knew she should be paying more attention, but it was difficult when her mind kept wandering. Back when she’d been allowed to attend Ironbridge High School (before getting kicked out for trashing school property and threatening a fellow student), her class had studied the horrific witch trials that took place in seventeenth century New England … perhaps the alchemists would take a page from Massachusetts history and dunk her in the local river to test for demonic influences. And knowing my luck, all the iron in my body will mean I’ll sink without a trace.

Smiling ruefully at the gallows humor she would normally share with Nav, she realized that Simon might actually be winding things up. Donna almost breathed an audible sigh of relief, but just managed to check herself in time.

But then he rubbed his hands together in a horribly familiar gesture, the sound of his dry palms suddenly too loud in the small room, and said, “Next, we will hear from the representatives from the Order of the Lion. If you could—”

“Simon.” It was Quentin who spoke. His voice was low but implacable. Just speaking Simon’s name was enough; everyone knew, in that moment, who was Archmaster and who was the Order’s secretary.

At least in name, Donna couldn’t help thinking.

Quentin stood slowly and faced the room’s occupants: the Council of alchemists. Simon, the slimy bastard, smiled thinly and perched dutifully on his chair. Watching this unappealing man with his watering eyes that always seemed too big in his narrow face, Donna honestly wondered—and not for the first time—what on earth Quentin saw in him. She also found it hard to imagine Simon as potentially more powerful than the Archmaster himself. Maybe even more powerful than Maker. Not that she knew any of that for sure. It was just a growing suspicion, but she was becoming more aware of how listening to her intuition could be such an important thing. It had certainly gotten her out of more than one tight spot during the race to save Navin.

The Archmaster took a few steps forward, his long crimson robe swirling behind him. “The Order of the Dragon speaks for all the alchemists gathered in this room. Are you in agreement?”

A murmur passed around from alchemist to alchemist, as each representative nodded.

Quentin gripped the carved wooden lectern in front of him, only the whites of his knuckles betraying the fact that he was holding on for support rather than just to make him look more official. He always reminded Donna of Santa Claus, and he sort of had the right personality to go with the image. He had never been anything but kind to her, and she had fond memories of him reading to her while she was recovering from the magical operations that had created her tattoos and saved her arms and hands. Quentin had been ill for several months last winter, and he hadn’t been quite the same since—he’d seemed to age several years in the space of weeks, and the alchemists had feared for his life. Donna remembered how worried Aunt Paige had been, and there had even been talk of choosing a new leader in case the worst happened.

But now the Archmaster cleared his throat authoritatively and let his blue eyes meet Donna’s for a moment. She felt her spine automatically straighten, and tried desperately to detect something—some sign of hope or forgiveness—but then his gaze swept past her, over the rest of the gathering.

“As Archmaster of the Dragon alchemists, and as the duly appointed spokesperson of this Council assembled here today, it is my duty to guide us toward a verdict in the matter of Donna Underwood’s recent actions. This judgment will be reached by the representatives from the Orders of the Dragon, Crow, Lion, and Rose.”

Get on with it, Donna thought, wishing she could be anywhere but here. She noticed a middle-aged man from the Order of the Rose tapping continually on a computer keyboard, only lifting his head when there was a pause in the proceedings. The Rose alchemists were glorified record-keepers, in Donna’s opinion, but all the other alchemists seemed to hold them in high regard.

Her cheeks flushed as Quentin talked briefly about the loss of the elixir and what that could mean for all four Orders. She tapped her foot and wondered if her black-sequinned sneakers could be magicked to work the same way as Dorothy’s ruby slippers. Strangely, just as she was wondering that, a warm feeling flooded her chest and her stomach tightened in an unfamiliar way. The tips of her fingers tingled and her wrists began to ache.

Donna shook her hands and tried to will the odd sensation away, just as Quentin’s even tones reached her again. Sometimes her tattoos did pull some weird crap, but now wasn’t a good time for them to start acting up.

“Before we continue with Simon’s rather impressive schedule, there is someone I need to officially introduce.” Quentin lifted one hand from the dragon-carved lectern. “Miranda Backhouse, the newly appointed first-level alchemist of the Order of the Crow, would like to say a few words.”

The petite woman Donna had wondered about earlier rose and joined the Archmaster by the lectern. Quentin sank almost gratefully into his chair, and Donna couldn’t help noticing that the normally cold and distant Simon Gaunt laid a steadying hand on his partner’s shoulder.

And then Miranda was speaking, filling the space with her gentle voice. Despite how soft-spoken she was, there was an undeniable thread of power running through each word, and Donna let herself imagine what it might be like to have someone like this working within the ranks of the aging Order of the Dragon. There had always been a shortage of women around her. Apart from her aunt and her tutor—the rigid though well-meaning Alma Kensington—Donna had lacked female mentors in her life among the alchemists.

Then Miranda Backhouse turned to face her, her intelligent blue eyes missing nothing. “It’s nice to meet you properly, Donna, despite the difficult circumstances. I knew your parents, back when they were stationed in England for a short while not long after you were born.”

Clearly, she was waiting for some kind of a response, but Donna wasn’t sure if she was even supposed to be speaking at this point. But when has protocol ever stopped me before? “I don’t remember ever being in London …”

“Oh, you were just a baby. I have lovely memories of Patrick and Rachel, though.” Miranda stopped for a moment and smiled, a genuine expression that filled her heart-shaped face with warmth. “It was truly a pleasure spending time with them.”

“Thank you,” Donna said. “I miss them.” A simple truth, but one that made her feel stronger after sharing it with this stranger. Glancing at Simon and noting his pinched brow, Donna was pleased to have taken the spotlight off him for a moment.

Miranda nodded and the moment passed. Simon took over once again, and events moved on.

Donna sighed. What the hell had happened to the recess? She was sure she’d heard something about a scheduled morning break, but it was hard to remember amid all the other tedious pronouncements.

It was going to be a long day.

Two

CLOUDS FILLED THE late morning sky, stealing the light, and Donna kept her head down, watching her step on the icy path. The cold air was sharp against her cheeks and she blew out a breath, idly watching the white mist slowly drift away. She tried not to think about all the official crap going on inside the house, simply glad to be free for a few precious minutes. The recess had finally been called, and the moment Simon had rung that stupid ceremonial bell, she was out of there.

She needed to breathe, and out here, on the sprawling grounds of the Frost Estate, was as good a place as any. Miranda Backhouse’s gentle words had prompted memories that Donna believed to be long buried, and she suddenly felt terribly alone.

A lone, tall tree with winter-stripped branches cutting the sky brought her up short, and she shivered in the chill breeze. The dream-image of her mother seemed to taunt her. Her mother … permanently institutionalized, yet with startling moments of clarity that still gave Donna a cruel sort of hope. Knowing her father was dead was a pain she carried almost daily—though of course it was a pain that had faded over time. But with Mom, it was completely different. She wasn’t exactly gone, and yet … you could hardly call her presence a nurturing influence. Not any more.

Much as she missed Navin, the person Donna wished she could talk to right now was Xan. On the one hand, it felt good to have someone care for her the way that Xan seemed to—she could hardly deny it now, after all they’d shared in such a short space of time. But on the other … well, if she was honest, she felt nervous whenever she thought about Xan and their intense connection.

No, it was more than that. The real problem came down to this: Donna didn’t know whether she could let down her guard enough to allow herself to be protected, by Xan or anyone else. She was so used to looking out for herself; a large part of that was because she’d been taught to be independent by the Order. Sometimes she found it difficult to allow herself to truly have faith in another person. Navin had been that person for the last few years, but even then their friendship had lived in the shadow of all the secrets she’d been forced to keep.

Trees reared up on Donna’s left, one of the little copses that had been relocated from Ironwood Forest a couple of years back after part of the woods had been torn down to make way for a new road. Simon had insisted that some of the trees be brought to the Frost Estate for replanting—trophies of a sort, marking how the wood elves’ last home was slowly being destroyed.

Shivering, Donna couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her from the trees. She tried to persuade herself that it must just be her imagination; it wasn’t as though the estate was short of protective wards, after all.

But when she passed another cluster of Ironwood trees, with their wintering branches like sharp knives, looking suspiciously similar to the ones she remembered, Donna came to a dead stop and bit her lip. This was sort of disturbing. It could just be coincidence, but she was almost certain she’d already been this way. Sure, the grounds were huge, but were they big enough for her to get turned around so quickly?

She walked a slow circle, trying to pinpoint her location and get the main building back in view, but stopped again when the air between two of the largest trees in the copse began to shimmer. With her heart beating hard enough to make her dizzy, Donna took a hasty step back and cursed as her foot hit a fallen branch, tripping her; she ended up on her backside on the hard earth.

A humanoid shape, small and slightly built, seemed to flow out of the foliage, and Donna gave up any hope of reaching help before the new arrival reached her. There weren’t many things that could move that fast and that … inhumanly.

Except wood elves.

She scrambled to her feet, trying not to focus on how much the bones in her arms had begun to throb, and stood frozen in place as the fey creature approached.

If it was a wood elf, it had to be wearing a glamour, although it wasn’t the strongest elfskin Donna had ever seen. The form this one had taken could pass for human at a glance, but it was undeniably strange-looking. As with all alchemists-in-training, Donna was beginning to learn how to see the sometimes-blurred edges of weaker glamours. She gazed at the creature, suddenly wondering if it could be something other than an elf. Fascination bloomed within her, helping to keep terror at bay.

The wild-looking teenage girl—because that was what she looked like—seemed to scamper rather than walk, her green hair glowing in the morning mist and shedding eerie light on the rest of her appearance. It was as if the creature had tried to assume the shape of a slender, emo kind of girl, but had only gotten things partly right. The features were all human, but her skin was emerald tinted and her eyes were huge and viridian-bright. She was clothed in camouflage pants designed for combat and a tight khaki tank top. She was all skin and bone, with autumn leaves in her green hair.

Donna swallowed and glared at this imposter. How dare she just walk into the home of alchemists, and how had she even managed it? Was she solitary fey, or did she have something to do with the Wood Queen? And if that was true, how had the wood elves known where to find her? This thought almost wiped the bravado from Donna’s face, but she squashed her fears about Aliette’s revenge and raised her chin defiantly. The ethereal creature stood before her, watching her with a bold sort of curiosity.

Then the strange girl spoke. “Donna Underwood of the alchemists, I offer you greetings. My queen requests your presence.”

Her voice was one of the creepiest things Donna had ever heard—and she’d seen and heard a lot of weird stuff. The fey girl sounded like she was speaking from very far away. Her voice whispered and rustled, and every word seemed to be accompanied by the sigh of a cold wind.

Donna raised her eyebrows, unable to keep the cynicism out of her voice. “She requests, does she? Really? I wasn’t aware that Her Majesty made such polite things as requests. Isn’t she above all that?”

The girl’s face contorted into an expression that Donna interpreted as confusion. “My queen has a message for you.”

Taking a steadying breath, Donna wondered if she could expect help from anyone inside the mansion. Maybe she should play for time, at least see what Aliette wanted. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her own strengths.

“Do you have a name?”

Again, that near-comical expression of confusion crossed the creature’s face. “A … name?”

“Yes. Like, you called me Donna Underwood. That’s my name. What’s yours?”

“Oh. I’m Ivy.” The creature nodded as though confirming something to herself, and dislodged a small pile of leaves from her hair.

“Ivy. Okay, good.” This was freaking surreal, but Donna could hardly walk away without finding out why this girl had been sent to her. And anyway, the Wood Queen was a cunning being—with the potential for immense cruelty. It might not be so smart to disrespect her messenger and, by extension, the queen herself. At least not until she’d heard what she had to say.

“So, come on then; what does she want?”

Ivy’s huge green eyes widened even further. “The Queen of the Wood, she whom you know as Aliette Winterthorn, has a proposition for you. She asks that you meet with her.”

Donna’s mind was racing. Aliette “Winterthorn”? That part was news to her. She knew of the queen’s chosen first name, of course—the one she gave to humans so they could pronounce it—but she didn’t know that the Wood Queen had a last name. Was it information she gave freely, or had Ivy slipped up somehow?

In any case, it was interesting. Donna filed the name away for future reference and squared her shoulders.

“Her Majesty is mistaken if she believes I will ever set foot in the Elflands again,” she replied. “And anyway, I was forbidden to return and told that the Old Path we used to gain access last time would be moved. How does she expect me to visit when I won’t be able to find a way in?”

Ivy jigged from one foot to the other. She either needed to go to the bathroom really badly, or she was uncomfortable standing in the open wearing such a weak glamour. Was that even a glamour? Maybe this was what she really looked like.

“No, no, you misunderstand.” The fey girl stopped moving and clutched her hands before her as though imploring Donna for something. “The queen comes to the city—she will be here tomorrow.”

She was coming here? Whoa. Donna felt her whole body flush with heat as shock threatened to short-circuit her already struggling brain. How could Aliette come here, to the human realm? Didn’t the Wood Queen have to stay with her people in the Elflands, hidden away in the Ironwood?

Donna didn’t know all that much about the specifics, but her understanding was that Aliette’s power was the only thing keeping the elves alive, stuck as they were between dimensions and stranded on the outskirts of the human world. The entrance to their temporary home could only be found through the dwindling remains of Ironwood Forest, with the Elflands sort of running adjacent to it but not visible to the human eye. The only way to gain access to it was by using one of the Old Paths and crossing the magical barrier between realms.

Finding an Old Path was, of course, the real trick—which is where Xan had come in, last time.

Xan … She had to give herself a mental shake; no time to get sidetracked by thoughts of the new guy in her life, and what he might mean to her.

How could the queen leave her people, then, and enter Ironbridge? Perhaps with the same power that allowed her to send a messenger to the Frost Estate …

If Ivy noticed or understood Donna’s silence, she gave no sign of it. She just stood there still as a stone, all her fidgeting gone in an instant. Waiting.

Donna needed to snap out of it, and fast. She had to do something—say something. “Tell Her Majesty that I need to know more about this meeting. How do I know she’s not setting me up?”

Ivy fixed her with that disturbing gaze. “My queen expected you to be afraid, which is why she offered to meet you on your own territory. She will take human form—something she hasn’t done for almost a century—and is prepared to meet you in a public venue of your choosing.” Ivy’s expression turned sly. “My queen says that she has something you desire, and that you will go to her in the end.”

Donna scowled, all fear momentarily forgotten as she fought the temptation to say something cutting and just walk away. Why risk getting caught up in Aliette’s games again? But there was something in Ivy’s bright expression that Donna couldn’t quite bring herself to ignore, no matter how crazy she was to listen to the twisted words of her enemy.

Of course, the queen would dangle a potentially tempting morsel in front of her, but surely it was a trap—this had to be a lame attempt to draw her out.

But if it wasn’t a trap, what on earth did she have that Aliette could possibly want?

“Listen, Ivy,” she said, making the only sane decision there was. “I don’t care about what your queen wants from me. We did a deal, and it’s over now. Tell her that this time I won’t hesitate to go to the Order. Whatever she’s really after, it can’t possibly be worth starting a war over.”

“You might be surprised.” The fey girl nodded before heading back into the mist-covered trees. “She said you would refuse her.”

Relief made Donna light-headed. “Is that it? You’re leaving—just like that?”

Ivy stopped and looked over her shoulder. “But she also said that you will not refuse her a second time.”

Minutes later, Donna found the right path and headed back toward the main part of the estate. She knew that if she uncovered her tattoos right now, the iron markings would be flashing with their own inner light and power. Pins and needles filled her arms and hands, buzzing like angry wasps.

Something in her chest felt heavy and restricted—as though a metal band was being slowly wrapped around her chest and squeezed. Donna gasped and tried to breathe through the strange sensation. Pain in her arms and hands was hardly a new experience, but this pain was entirely different.

This new feeling seemed to affect the whole of her.

Breathing through the pain, Donna forced herself to be calm. At least she knew enough to be sure that whatever this sensation was, it had something to do with the tattoos, with the iron that laced her skin and bones and held her together in ways she couldn’t even begin to understand. Probably it was something triggered by Ivy’s presence.

Maker had fixed her before, which meant he could do it again.

Even though it must be getting close to midday, it seemed to be getting colder. She picked up her pace, knowing that her aunt was going to be angry she’d been gone for so long. They’d probably already sent out a search party.

Donna remembered a story her father used to tell, about a totally kick-ass princess held prisoner at the top of a tower in a strange country far from home. But this princess didn’t need to be rescued by the handsome prince. No, the princess in Patrick Underwood’s tale was more than able to take care of herself—which was lucky, considering that the prince she’d been expecting never did arrive in time to save her. She tore her prison’s moth-eaten velvet curtains into strips and tied them together to make a rope long enough to climb all the way down, then escaped back to her own land. She had many perilous adventures on the long journey home, but of course she kicked everyone’s ass with her superior martial arts skills.

When the handsome prince finally rode into town and asked for her hand in marriage, the princess told him to get lost; she was quite happy by herself and, anyway, what use did she have for a husband who was afraid of heights?

Donna smiled as she remembered her father’s face and the laughter that crinkled his eyes. Sometimes she couldn’t help wishing that there was more of Dad in his younger sister. Aunt Paige did her best, but she wasn’t really cut from the same cloth; it was strange to think of them being brought up together.

As that thought crossed Donna’s mind, she caught sight of her aunt striding toward her, her pale face pinched with barely repressed fury.

“Where have you been? You were told to take ten minutes—not half an hour!”

Donna almost rolled her eyes at the blatant exaggeration. “It was hardly that long. I was just—”

“You were just trying to test everybody’s patience.” It was a cold statement.

Cheeks flushing, Donna resisted the impulse to clench her fists. Aunt Paige had no idea what she’d been doing out here, and she wondered if now was the time to come clean and tell her about Ivy. Perhaps telling her the truth would do something to start repairing the broken trust between them.

But seeing the open hostility in her aunt’s eyes shocked her, and made her resolve fade before it could even get started. “Aunt Paige, I really was just getting some air.”

Pursing her lips, her aunt glanced back at the house. “I thought you might have done something silly.”

Donna raised her eyebrows and tried to look innocent. “Like what? You thought I was going to try and make a break for it—really?”

“These days, Donna, I really don’t know what to think when it comes to your behavior.”

Donna tried to get a grip on the sudden flash of anger that hit her, intentionally ignoring how tired her aunt sounded. “You talk like I’m just a kid.”

“You’re not eighteen yet, Donna. Not for quite some time. Until then, you’re my responsibility.”

“So when I reach eighteen, I can leave home?” Donna made it a challenge, knowing full well what her aunt’s response would be but unable to resist baiting her.

“Leaving home doesn’t equal leaving the Order, and you know it. Your life belongs to us—with the alchemists—wherever you might one day move to.” Aunt Paige’s expression softened. “You know how important you are to us, how important you are to Quentin.”

Donna had heard it all before. Young alchemists were in short supply as more and more of the older generation died without passing on their genes. Not to mention the huge investment of resources that had gone into saving her life—she was under no illusions about the money and time spent on her recovery.

Paige waited impatiently, pulling her tailored jacket more tightly around herself and tossing her shiny dark hair. “Come on. We need to get back inside.”

Donna fixed her with a determined expression. “You’re really going to make me go through with this?”

Genuine surprise slackened her aunt’s face. “Of course. What did you expect? That I could just wave a magic wand and make it all go away?”

“Honestly? I was hoping that maybe you could show a little trust in me. Can’t you do that, just this once?”

Aunt Paige’s eyes became guarded. “How can I trust you? After everything you did …” Her voice trailed off, but not before Donna heard the thread of uncertainty running through it.

“What I did, I did to save Navin. And Maker. Why can’t you understand that?”

“I do understand, Donna.” She took a hesitant step forward. “That’s just it. It’s not that I don’t understand; the problem is that I think you were wrong.”

It was as if her aunt had slapped her. Shocked, Donna tried to rally herself. “How can you say that? They would have died!”

“Then so be it. If that’s what was meant to be.”

Donna’s whole body stiffened. “Even Maker?”

“Even him.” There was no doubt in Aunt Paige’s voice now; her faith in the greater good—of whatever freaky higher consciousness the alchemists believed in—was absolute. And absolutely unshakeable.

Barely able to catch her breath, Donna slowly shook her head. “Then I feel sorry for you,” she whispered, feeling like she might cry.

Before Aunt Paige could reply, the shrill tones of a ringing phone cut through the frigid air between them. At the same moment, Simon emerged and stood on the steps of the main entrance, looking like he was about to implode. Paige held up a hand to him and pulled out her cell phone.

“Underwood.”

Donna gritted her teeth. Her aunt was all business now, no doubt expecting a call from the Mayor’s office.

Aunt Paige suddenly looked at her, her face drained of color. Now what?

“I understand. Thank you.” She tucked the phone back into her pocket and took a deep breath.

“Well?” Donna asked, feeling sick. Fear clawed at her throat and she wanted to grab her aunt’s arms and shake her. “What is it?”

Somehow, even before Paige spoke, Donna knew exactly what she was going to say. She didn’t fully understand how she knew, but she suspected it had a lot to do with the crazy dreams that had been haunting her.

“I’m sorry, Donna,” Paige said, all signs of anger deflated. “That was the Institute—I’m afraid it’s your mother.”

Three

DONNA WAS RUNNING by the time she reached the glass doors of Ironbridge General’s privately funded Special Care Unit. Her mother had been rushed there from the Institute just this morning, as soon as her condition had turned “critical.”

“Wait,” Aunt Paige called, struggling to keep up in her high heels. “Slow down!”

Ignoring her, with all thoughts of the trial scattered behind her somewhere back in the parking lot, Donna scanned the waiting area and fixed her attention on a group of nurses who didn’t seem to have much to do. Everything looked calm and quiet; surely Mom couldn’t be so sick in a place as tranquil as this?

She marched toward them, only vaguely aware of her aunt’s footsteps clattering just behind. “I need to see Rachel Underwood.”

One of the nurses—Nurse Valderrama, according to her nametag—raised dark eyebrows. “And you would be …?”

“I’m her daughter.” Donna tried to look composed and in control, but her heart was hammering almost painfully and she knew she must look young and scared.

The nurses exchanged a look that she couldn’t quite interpret, but it certainly didn’t indicate anything good. Aunt Paige appeared at her side, acting all official, and showed them some identification. Things moved along more smoothly after that, especially given how the SCU came by their funds—Quentin was a significant benefactor, which granted the alchemists privileged access to the facilities. It never ceased to amaze Donna how the four Orders had fingers in so many different pies throughout the world. Wherever they operated, you could pretty much guarantee their influence was working behind the scenes in a variety of institutions.

Within minutes they were standing at the foot of her mother’s bed. The room felt chilly but was pleasant enough. Sort of peaceful. There were actually two beds, and an intimidating collection of hospital equipment that Donna didn’t want to examine too closely. All she cared about was seeing Mom.