is—”
“Unwell,” finished Demian. “So you said. As is the Archmaster of the Order of the Dragon. Perhaps there is a mysterious illness in existence that can affect both faeries and alchemists. Most interesting.”
Cathal pushed his goblet away from him and sat up straighter in his seat. “I too would like to know what both Faerie and the Elflands have to do with a disagreement between demons and alchemists. The Philosopher’s Stone is of no interest to us.”
Aliette turned her head toward Demian, looking truly engaged in the proceedings for the first time.
Demian smiled. “Isn’t it obvious? You all possess one of the crucial ingredients needed to create the Philosopher’s Stone. You each hold one of the sacred objects. I want you to give them to Donna Underwood so that she can complete her task.”
Taran scowled. “And of course you need our cooperation in this matter.”
Donna stared at him. “What do you mean?”
It was Cathal, the golden-skinned knight, who replied. “Each of the four races was given one artifact—one ingredient—
to take care of, ensuring that the balance of power between races was maintained. Even the Demon King cannot take them from us. There are protected by a combination of demonic, fey, and alchemical magic.”
“Who arranged for that?” Donna asked.
“A very wise man,” her mother muttered.
Donna turned to look at her enquiringly.
Rachel smiled, clearly having already forgiven Donna for arguing with her earlier.
Donna frowned. “You’re not talking about him.” She nodded in Simon’s direction, grateful that he’d been forced into silence for so long.
Her mother shook her head. “No, of course not. Maker split the artifacts between the races and came up with the plan.”
“Oh.” Donna thought about that for a moment. “But …
that must have been a long time ago.”
“Yes,” Rachel replied. “A very long time ago.”
Just how many “immortal” men were hiding out in the Order of the Dragon? Donna wondered. And she considered it interesting that they are all men. As usual, when it came to alchemy, women were second-class citizens. At least in her experience.
Leaning back in his chair at the head of the table, Demian crossed his legs in a human gesture that was both ordinary and unsettling. “Now that you have the history settled to your approval, am I to understand that you will all deliver the artifacts to Donna?”
Aliette tilted her head, her leafy hair rustling. “You know that each object must be freely given.”
Taran nodded his agreement. “Or fairly bargained for.”
Donna frowned. “Whatever these ingredients are, why would you even consider giving them to us?”
“Or bargaining for them,” Cathal reminded her.
She waved her hand. “Okay, yeah. As I see it, the king of the demons is free again, threatening humanity. If he doesn’t get the Stone he’ll start destroying us, city by city, country by country … most likely until he does get what he wants. Right?”
Miranda, sitting beside her pale but composed, nodded.
Donna took a deep breath and continued. “The faeries have something we need to prevent that from happening. As do the wood elves.” Here her gaze met Aliette’s. “And Demian is just expecting them to help us?”
Demian smiled. It was a slow smile that spread across his face like the threat of knives. Or something worse.
Donna glared at him, anger winning over fear. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Like what?” the demon asked, still smiling that awful smile.
“Like you’re crazy. Or like you’ve already won. Or both.”
Aliette Winterthorn pushed back her chair and stood up. “I suspect, Iron Witch, that the king of the demons is celebrating the fact that your humiliation is complete. I will take my leave of you all.” Her elves chattered with each other as they gathered close. “Good luck with your quest to create the Stone.”
Donna wanted to hit her, if only because she looked so smug.
Taran, too, rose to join Aliette, flipping his plait over his shoulder as though it was totally fine for everyone to just leave. “You’ll never get the blade from my queen, Donna Underwood. I can’t imagine what you could possibly have that would be worth the bargaining.”
Cathal stood at the more senior knight’s side, watching her, but he said nothing.
Blade? Donna needed to find out what these so-called objects—artifacts—ingredients were.
The steward stepped forward from behind his master’s chair. “Majesty, what would you have me do?”
The Demon King’s face was thoughtful. “Let them leave. They have served their purpose—for now.”
The goat-faced creature bowed low, then turned to the blank wall and sketched a door with one hand. The door opened and