and Simon here at the meeting, apart from herself. What about the other invitations that had been sent? Where was her mother? She’d been hoping to see her so much, and the knowledge that Rachel wasn’t there after all made Donna feel incredibly lonely. And what of Quentin? As Archmaster of the Order of the Dragon, he was spokesman for the Council—surely he needed to be here, to speak for all the alchemists. And then there was what Xan had told her. The real Xan. When they’d talked on the phone yesterday, he’d said that Maker believed the wood elves would be represented. Yet another thing that didn’t make sense.
Demian’s eyes rested on her, making her feel hot and cold all at once. She straightened her spine and refused to look in his direction. This was all getting to be far too much; she was overwhelmed by the importance of the event. She didn’t know anything about diplomatic negotiations—if that’s what this meeting was even about.
Well, Donna thought. I need to get some answers, so I might as well start now.
She glared at Simon. “Where’s Quentin?” She knew it would do no good to ask about her mother, but he should at least answer for the Archmaster’s absence. “Why isn’t he here?”
The Magus sneered at her. “He is … unwell.”
“I don’t believe you,” Donna said. “I think you made him stay at the Estate so that you could take over.”
“Donna!” Miranda’s eyes were wide. “You mustn’t speak to the Magus that way.”
Donna swung around to face her mentor. “Why not? You haven’t had to live with him sticking his nose into your life for the past ten years. He’s got some kind of plan, and I want to know what it is.”
Demian narrowed his eyes as he watched them. “Donna Underwood speaks truly—Quentin Frost should be present. Perhaps he is afraid to face me. After all, it was his magic that contributed to the sealing of my realm two centuries ago.”
Simon’s hands were clenched on the table, his knuckles so white it looked almost as though the bones had burst through his skin. “He paid the price for it, demon. As you well know.”
Donna was torn between standing up and demanding to know—there and then—what the hell they were talking about, and letting the argument take its course so she could learn more. She opted to keep her mouth shut.
The Demon King shrugged one shoulder. “He brought it on himself. No alchemist should have been able to wield such power. It is incredible that he even survived.” Demian tilted his head, gazing intently at the Magus. “Though perhaps he has you to thank for that, hmm?”
Simon’s lips tightened, but he said nothing. Donna could see a muscle flickering in his scrawny cheek.
“Perhaps,” Demian continued, “your own ill-gained immortality is feeding both of you. Only I am given to understand that you are somewhat … mortal once again. What a pity. I wonder how that affects your beloved Archmaster?”
Donna’s eyes, by this stage in the verbal sparring, were almost bulging out of her head. She was suddenly glad to have been dragged into these so-called negotiations—especially if it meant she would find out more of Simon Gaunt’s secrets. Was he “mortal” once again because of her? Because she’d destroyed the remains of the elixir of life? Should she feel guilty about that?
No way. She didn’t feel guilty about doing anything to break Simon’s power, but she did worry about the possible effects on Quentin.
Demian’s steward continued the introductions, dragging her attention away from her fears for the elderly Archmaster. “From the Elflands, we welcome Aliette Winterthorn, Wood Queen and friend of the Otherworld.”
Aliette entered the room, her unglamoured face splitting into a nasty grin as her narrow gaze met Donna’s. She stood tall and straight, almost as though carved out of one of the tallest trees in the Ironwood. Her brown skin looked like the bark of an old tree, and her eyes were black slits of malice. She wore a cloak weaved of leaves and ivy, and she leaned on a tall staff made of sturdy-looking wood.
The Wood Queen was attended by two of her dark elves, hovering behind her as though they’d been left out of a particularly tricky round of musical chairs. The elves were much smaller than their queen, although they looked as much creatures of earth as she did with their tree-bark skin and mossy hair. One of them hissed at Donna when it caught her