The Wood Queen

by Karen Mahoney

  And even though the last two weeks apart had been tough, perhaps it had done their friendship some good. Navin had discovered so many crazy truths about her, and, more than that, he’d learned that the world isn’t the nonmagical place he’d once believed it to be. He must have needed time to process everything. But he was here today, as part of her defense. Donna was dying to know how Maker had arranged that with Quentin—and right under Simon’s nose, too!

  It was as if Navin had come for her, in the same way that she’d gone in search of him in the Ironwood. In stealing the elixir from the alchemists, she’d been willing to give up everything—and now she knew it hadn’t been for nothing. Donna wanted to cry; she wanted to throw her arms around Navin and ignore the watching alchemists. She needed him to know how grateful she was, how much she still cared about him.

  But Navin wouldn’t look at her—not even once, no matter how hard she willed him to glance her way.

  Swallowing a rush of bitter disappointment, she watched Navin as he studied the gathered alchemists with an expression of curiosity. Stop being so selfish, she told herself sharply. Nav was here, that’s all that mattered. Maybe if they spoke—or even made eye contact—it would put him off.

  Simon was staring at Navin like he was something particularly unpleasant. His almost non-existent top lip curled upwards in a sneer as he turned back to address Maker. “Why have you brought a commoner before our Council?”

  Donna had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from calling Simon Gaunt something a lot worse than “commoner.” She was quite impressed with her restraint.

  Maker frowned. “I thought it prudent that we hear all the evidence—and that includes listening to Mr. Sharma’s experience and his account of why Donna was in Ironwood Forest in the first place.”

  There was a pulse beating in Simon’s temple, and for a very pleasant moment Donna wondered if he might have an aneurism. She immediately felt guilty for having such a nasty thought, even though she was pretty sure the man hadn’t done much good in his life. Well, apart from apparently making Quentin happy … but was the Archmaster happy? He didn’t seem particularly filled with joy lately, but maybe that was more due to ill health.

  Simon was still droning on about rule-breaking, or something equally boring. “Not to mention the fact that you have exposed our secrets to someone who has no right to be admitted to our inner circle of knowledge. This boy is not worthy. He—”

  Maker cut in. “This boy, as you insist on referring to him, almost became a casualty of our war with the fey. We owe him the courtesy of listening to what he has to tell us.”

  “Rubbish!” Simon was practically shouting. “We have heard all the evidence against Underwood. This is outrageous! Who authorized this?”

  “I did.”

  Everyone turned to look at the speaker. Quentin Frost had stood and was moving slowly into the center of the room. There was no denying the man’s presence, despite his ill health. Even Simon stopped talking and looked chastised—at least for a moment.

  Quentin cleared his throat. “I believe it is in the interests of the alchemists to hear the full story behind Donna’s actions. Surely we cannot stand in judgment based only on the consequences of those actions; it is important to know why she took the elixir in the first place.”

  Simon risked his partner’s anger. His face was set in determined lines as he said, “But we have heard this already; we know that Underwood went after the Sharma boy.”

  “But,” Quentin replied, more firmly this time, “there are some in this room who doubt the truth of the abduction in the first place. Now we can hear from Navin himself, and the alchemists can draw their own conclusions.”

  Donna risked another glance at her friend, fully expecting him to be as entranced by the Archmaster’s sudden activity as she had been. But Navin wasn’t looking in the same direction as everybody else.

  Navin was looking right at her.

  The cliché “time seemed to stand still” was invented for moments like this, Donna would later think. But right then, in that moment, it really did feel as though everything slowed down. She met Navin’s eyes, and she was almost certain that the two of them were communicating without words, no matter how stupid that might sound. Not that she seriously believed they’d suddenly developed psychic powers—although that would be cool—but the connection between them was so strong and clear that it made her sit up straighter in her chair as she tried to read the expression on his face.

  As they locked eyes, and the room and everyone in it dropped away, she tried to tell him how sorry she was and how much she still cared; how much she hoped that he still cared about her. She hoped he knew how grateful she was that he was here, now, when she most needed him.

  The moment passed—as all moments do, no matter how magical—and finally, something began happening around them. The room came back into focus and it appeared as though Quentin’s intervention had silenced Simon’s complaints. Simon was blatantly unhappy, but he was done arguing. For now.

  Maker indicated that Navin should sit in the uncomfortable chair positioned in the center of the room.

  “Don’t worry,” the old alchemist said, placing a deceptively gnarled hand on Navin’s shoulder. Donna knew the true strength of those hands, after months and years of iron-forged operations. “Just tell the truth—that’s all you need to do.”

  Navin tried to smile, but then Simon was standing in front of him and the questions began.

  In fact, it was the answer to the very first question that made Donna’s heart sing. “Why on earth,” began Simon, with an expression of theatrical disbelief on his face, “did you agree to come here today?”

  Navin glanced over at Donna one more time. Very slowly and very deliberately, he winked at her. She almost burst out laughing, but was glad she hadn’t so that she could hear his reply. His voice didn’t shake in the slightest as he turned back to Simon.

  “I didn’t have to agree to anything—I wanted to come. She’s my best friend. When my mom died—and all through her fight with cancer—Donna was there for me. When the wood elves took me … Donna came and found me. That’s why I’m here today. This is my job, dammit. To support her; to protect her. To be there for her in the same way that she always is for me.”

  Navin stared at Simon, his expression a good imitation of the disdain on the older man’s face. He raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Next question, please.”

  Six

  Donna never thought she’d be so happy to see her own bedroom again.

  She all but collapsed onto the bed and stripped off her gloves, clenching and unclenching her fingers to ease the sudden shooting pains in them. She was exhausted. So much had happened: the opening session of the hearing; Ivy’s message from the Wood Queen; Mom’s collapse; seeing Xan again after all this time; and then finally, miraculously, Navin’s appearance. It was a lot to take in.

  The timely dismissal of the afternoon session was a bonus Donna hadn’t expected, but Quentin needed to rest and everyone had seemed more than happy to take a break. She had been relieved when Aunt Paige said they could finally go home.

  Donna kicked off her sneakers and crawled under the comforter fully clothed, hoping that her aunt wouldn’t bother her for the next twelve hours. At least. In fact, Maker had told them that the schedule for the next day wouldn’t include her again until the afternoon; during the morning session, each of the representatives from the other Orders would have their say. Donna had been too tired to even be pissed off that it was a “closed session.” As in: closed to her. I’m only the accused, she thought bitterly, but really couldn’t work up the energy to worry about it no matter how hard she tried.

  Whatever happened now, she felt a little more able to handle it. As long as Navin was by her side.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, trying to chase the day’s tension away, though all she could really think about was how sick her mother was
—and what could be done to save her. Rachel Underwood had been attacked by magic; the darkest, most insidious sort of magic imaginable. Perhaps there really wasn’t anything you could use to fight that.

  No, there was always a way. Her father had taught her that.

  She finally managed to fall into a fitful sort of half-sleep. It was strange—she knew she wasn’t fully asleep, and yet somehow she was dreaming. She had heard the term “lucid dreaming” before, and although she didn’t know much about it, there was a part of her that wondered if this was it. It was like being “in” the dream and yet … not. Dreaming, but also watching the dream at the same time … a dream that unfolded in the same too-real way that most of her nightmares had lately:

  She is running in a field. No, a forest. No. Neither of those. She is at least aware that she’s running on grass, and the only visible boundary is the night sky. There aren’t any stars at all, not a single point of light in the unfathomable indigo-blackness. She hears a sudden sound, sharp and clattering like the sound of birds—lots of birds—taking flight together. Or perhaps it isn’t birds at all, but snakes. Snakes made of flickering shadows, hissing as they slide toward her. And then she isn’t running anymore because she’s lying flat on her back on the hard ground. The darkness, like hundreds of cold hands, is pressing down on her. She can’t breathe. She will drown in all this blackness if she can’t get back on her feet. Her mother’s voice says, from somewhere out there, “There’s a storm coming. Can’t you feel it? Make your choice and then live with the consequences.”

  Donna woke with a start.

  For a moment, the bedroom’s darkness got all tangled up in her head with the darkness from her dream, but then she remembered where she was, and that she was awake, and that she was safe.

  A cold hand closed over her mouth. “You won’t make a sound,” a voice whispered in her ear.

  Instinct took over and Donna wrenched her body to one side, flailing out with her right arm and making contact with something soft. Whoever had hold of her loosened their grip in a hurry, and she heard them gasp. Hopefully in pain.

  Donna slid onto the floor and crouched with her back to the wall, trying to see through the thick blackness of the room. It seemed impossibly dark, especially considering she hadn’t bothered to close the curtains before sleeping. It shouldn’t be this dark.

  She opened her mouth to call for help—

  But nothing happened. No sound came out and she coughed silently, sort of choking as she tried to push something out from between her lips. Anything—any sound at all to reassure herself that she wasn’t going crazy, or that she wasn’t still dreaming.

  She thought of those whispered words, strange words chosen with care: You won’t make a sound.

  Shit. It was magic, it had to be. She tried again to yell, just to be sure, but she couldn’t speak a single word; couldn’t scream or even cough. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, just as the suffocating darkness made her feel trapped like an insect in amber.

  Movement, then, in front of her—she could sense it even if she couldn’t see it.

  Come on, Underwood, Donna told herself. Just because you can’t see or speak doesn’t mean you can’t still fight.

  Whoever was in the room ran at her. Donna heard soft footsteps and felt something brush past her knee; she kicked out, using her hands for leverage against the floor. Being abnormally strong had its benefits, even though she hated to use that physical strength. But now wasn’t the time to think about past mistakes.

  She missed her target. But it seemed she’d deterred them enough that they’d backed off, at least for a moment.

  Going on the offensive now, Donna scrambled to her feet, still keeping the wall at her back so nobody could come up from behind. She clenched her fists and held her hands in front of her, elbows bent, sort of like a boxer or a martial artist. Feeling only slightly ridiculous, considering that she didn’t know the first thing about martial arts, Donna strained her ears for any sign of her attacker.

  And that was when a tentative voice, speaking more clearly now, said, “Donna Underwood, why are you attacking me?”

  Ivy! How had she gotten inside the bedroom? Did the Wood Queen’s supposedly weak power really stretch so far?

  Donna wished she could say something in reply, but her voice still wasn’t working. Whatever the hell Ivy—or Aliette—had done, it clearly only affected her and not anyone else in the room.

  “If I release the charm,” Ivy whispered tentatively, “will you call your aunt?”

  Shaking her head, Donna wondered if the fey girl could see the movement. Perhaps she had night vision.

  Something tightened her throat from the inside out, and then the sensation was gone. Donna coughed, experimentally, and was relieved to hear the sound cut through the quiet. At the same time, the unnatural blackness lifted, and by the light of the window she could see it was already past dawn—though early enough that Aunt Paige would still be sleeping.

  “Thanks,” Donna muttered. God, that had been too weird. “What did you have to do that for, anyway? I would have talked to you without raising the alarm; there was no need to throw Aliette’s magic at me.”

  Because now that she knew the truth—thanks to Xan—she would do pretty much whatever it took to save Mom.

  “I expected you to give me trouble. The queen prepared me,” Ivy said. She had an expression suspiciously close to embarrassment on her strangely pretty face.

  Donna tried to glare at her, but she still felt too tired to bother.

  Ivy was wearing all black this time: black leggings and some kind of stretchy tunic, as though this was her ninja outfit for special operations. Her feet were bare.

  Donna shook her head. “How can you walk around like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “You’re not wearing shoes.”

  Ivy looked genuinely puzzled. “This is quieter.”

  “But it’s winter. Aren’t you cold?”

  The strange girl shrugged her thin shoulders. “I am fey—I do not feel the cold.”

  Making a mental note of that, Donna moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Ivy folded her legs beneath her and sat on the floor.

  “You’re not a wood elf, though,” Donna ventured.

  “No,” Ivy said.

  “So?”

  The fey girl’s already huge eyes grew even wider. “I … don’t understand.”

  Donna sighed. “I’m asking what kind of faery you are, I guess. I’m sorry if that seems rude …” Was it rude? It probably was.

  But before she could feel too bad, Ivy actually smiled. Her white teeth made a startling contrast against her pale green skin. “You are curious about me?”

  “Yeah, seems that I am.” Almost smiling in return, Donna shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “I am a changeling.”

  Oh. She hadn’t been expecting an answer at all, and, honestly, that hadn’t been the one she thought she’d get in any case. “There are adult changelings? Well, young adult, anyway.”

  “We grow to adulthood, yes. Sometimes.” Ivy wasn’t looking her in the eye any more, and Donna wondered whether she should push her luck and ask for more information.

  But then she thought of her mother lying in the hospital, and all curiosity about what the hell a changeling was doing working for the Wood Queen slipped from her mind.

  “So, Ivy. What brings you here?” And how did you get through Aunt Paige’s wards?

  Ivy crossed her legs and sat up straight. “Her Majesty requests that you meet with her—this is the second time of asking.”

  “Okay,” Donna said, keeping her voice level. “Where does she want to meet?”

  Victory flashed across the changeling’s expressive face. “You will go to her?”

  “If she’s the one behind my mother’s curse, I hardly have much of a choice, do I?” Anger was only a breath away, but Donna held it together. “The Wood Queen could have chosen a different kind of mes
sage—my mom isn’t her plaything.”

  “‘Plaything?’ I believe the word Her Majesty used was … ‘insurance.’”

  Insurance. Donna swallowed, wishing she could let her fury off the tight leash she had on it. Just for a moment.

  They sat in silence, and Donna half-imagined she could hear her aunt breathing from the other side of the wall.

  “How did you get into the house?” she asked Ivy suddenly.

  The changeling seemed surprised. “The window.”

  “And that didn’t wake my aunt? Why didn’t the wards break?”

  Ivy’s gaze slid away. “There were no wards.”

  Donna shifted her position on the bed. “Of course there are wards. The whole house is surrounded by various magical protections—they alert Aunt Paige to intruders.”

  The petite girl seemed to deflate. “I have an … ability.”

  “You can pass through wards without breaking them?”

  “Some,” she whispered.

  That was a pretty cool “ability” to be in possession of. Donna gave the changeling an appraising look. She could certainly see why Ivy would be useful to the Wood Queen, and it also explained how the girl had entered the Frost Estate’s grounds undetected earlier today. It was also interesting that, when pressed, she seemed reluctant—or perhaps unable—to lie.

  Ivy met her eyes again. “My queen said you may choose the meeting place within Ironbridge, as a sign of good faith.”

  How very kind of her, Donna thought snarkily, but resisted the temptation to take out her frustration on Ivy. Whatever the girl’s involvement, she wasn’t a dark elf and she didn’t seem … bad. If anything, she seemed simply lost. Donna couldn’t help feeling sympathy for her, even though she didn’t exactly know why.

  “Mildred’s Café will do well enough. It’s just off the main—”

  “She will know where to find you,” Ivy cut in.

  “But—”

  “She didn’t ask for directions. Just the location.”