chair, entirely in control and at ease. “Now,” he said. “As I was saying, there is a precedent for creating the Philosopher’s Stone very quickly. I believe there is even a known method for it.”
Miranda spoke, her voice calm. “Yes, but that’s assuming we can get all the ingredients that are needed. Is that why you have invited representatives from the fey courts here? So that we—”
“This is irrelevant,” Demian snapped. “I asked about the method, not the ingredients. We will get to that.”
Rachel clenched her hands before her on the table. “I know the method you’re talking about, Your Majesty, but the Blackening is very dangerous, even for the most experienced alchemist. Donna is seventeen years old—an Initiate who has only just begun her training. If she creates the Philosopher’s Stone outright and enters the Blackening, I can’t even begin to imagine what would happen—”
“But I can,” the demon replied. “I can imagine it very well. Perhaps that is your problem, alchemist. A lack of imagination.”
Rachel’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t back down. “It’s impossible,” she said, her voice final.
Donna sat quietly for a moment, letting them argue about her. She felt one step removed, as though she were inside one of her dreams and couldn’t quite participate in what was going on around her. The Blackening? That was an alchemical term she knew very little about. It had something to do with the power wielded by one who could create the Philosopher’s Stone—once the Stone was in their possession—but at this stage in her education, she didn’t know what that actually meant. As with most things, she still had a lot to learn.
Demian was still speaking, equally as determined as her mother. “It is possible. Especially for someone who already possesses the most crucial element. Most alchemists would need to produce the first matter before they could even begin, which is the most difficult part of the procedure—but Donna already has the first matter inside her.”
Rachel shook her head. “But—”
Miranda rested a hand on her arm. “I don’t think he’s going to change his mind.”
Rachel took a deep breath, continuing in more level tones. “I will not allow my daughter to risk her life.”
Demian laughed. “And how exactly do you plan to stop me?”
Donna pushed back her chair and stood. “Okay, have you all finished arguing about me while I’m right here? If it’s possible that I can help create a new Stone—and if that will save the lives of millions of people—shouldn’t I try?”
Millions of people. Just saying it made Donna feel dizzy, and she regretted doing the dramatic-standing-up thing quite so quickly. She grabbed the edge of the table to stop herself from swaying. But she was sick of being pushed around like one of Quentin’s alchemical chess pieces. This wasn’t an entertaining little diversion, no matter how much beings such as Demian enjoyed playing their screwed-up little games. Human beings weren’t chess pieces.
“Sit down, Donna,” Rachel said.
“Mom … ” Donna stayed on her feet, trying to make her mother see that things had changed now. She had changed during the decade of Rachel’s illness.
Miranda spoke up. “If you won’t listen to your mother, perhaps you’ll listen to me. I am your mentor. You are my apprentice, Donna. Please sit down again and let’s try to come to some kind of agreement. We cannot give that kind of power to the demons—would you have them re-grow their ranks so soon? You cannot trust anything the Demon King says, surely you know this.”
Donna pursed her lips but did as Miranda asked. She took her seat, but perched on the very edge. Just in case. She pressed on regardless. “Aren’t we talking about saving a lot of lives if we can give Demian what he wants?”
Miranda placed a cool hand on Donna’s shoulder. “And who is to say whether he’ll keep his word and stay away from our world if we do make a new Stone? Even if it were possible.”
Taran spoke up. “This is all fascinating, I’m sure, but what does the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone have to do with Faerie? We have no interest in such things. What care we for the fate of humans—or for the alchemists?”
Demian’s black eyes narrowed. “It was your queen I wanted here, but as you have been sent in her place I suppose I have no choice but to speak with you. I dislike not having choices.” The threat in his beautiful voice was clear.
Taran’s face paled. “My queen