The Wood Queen (18 page)

So, Donna thought, feeling vaguely sick.
That went well, all things considered
.

Navin’s face was tight with barely repressed hurt and anger. She touched his arm and couldn’t help feeling the sting of rejection when he shook her hand off, despite knowing that she deserved it.

She had relayed the story of her meeting with the Wood Queen, and now they were heading to Maker’s workshop. Donna was desperate for answers, and she knew the old alchemist would have returned to his warehouse after the
verdict. Maker never hung out with the other members of the Order, not if he could help it. She’d invited Navin to come along in the hopes that it would help convince him that she really
did
want to share the truth with him.

So far, things hadn’t exactly gone well.

A muscle flickered in the smooth cinnamon skin of Navin’s jaw. “What were you even doing with her? I can’t believe you’d go for
coffee
with that … creature.”

Panic tightened Donna’s throat.
Here we go again
, she thought. Her connection with Navin balanced on a knife-edge. The very reason she’d lied to him about her life for three years—or at least, hidden the truth from him—was to protect him from potential danger and to preserve the blessed normality of their friendship.

She took a deep breath and tried to think calming thoughts. “Nav, I had to see her. It wasn’t like we were hanging out—she didn’t really give me a choice.”

His dark eyes glittered. “There are always choices, Don.”

“Okay, fine.” Anger flashed through her, and that felt better than fear or outright panic. At the same time, she wondered whether she might do her brand-new teleporting trick if she got too angry.

Everything was a mess, and getting more screwed up with each passing moment.

She blew out a breath and unclenched her hands. “You’re right, I
did
have a choice.”

Navin stopped walking and raised his dark brows, looking at her closely for the first time since they’d left Xan’s house. “Can we rewind just so I can hear that
again? You’re actually admitting I’m
right
about something? This is a huge moment in the history of our friendship, Underwood. I may need to make a note for posterity. I may even—”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes, weak-kneed with relief that he was teasing her. “You’re not right about much, but you are this time. I did choose to see Aliette, and I’m sorry you feel betrayed by that.” She rushed on before he could say anything else. “But I might actually have a way to save my mom—how could I let that opportunity go?”

He nodded, his expression more relaxed but still serious. “I know, you already told me that. I guess you couldn’t.”

“You don’t sound convinced …”

“She tried to kill me. She had a knife at my throat. She sent her pet aliens to abduct me then threw me in a pit in the forest. I thought she’d leave me there to starve—to rot, and nobody would ever know where I was. My dad … Nisha …”

His voice was almost too quiet to hear, but she detected the anguish in it.

“I’m sorry, Nav. So very sorry.” She felt tears in her eyes and looked down at the sidewalk. “I’ve betrayed you.”

“You haven’t betrayed me. No need to get dramatic.” He nudged her with his shoulder as he sat down on the graffiti-marked bench. There was only one other person waiting for the bus that went to the industrial park hiding Maker’s workshop.

“It feels like that.”

Navin touched her arm. “Seriously, I appreciate you telling me.”

She tried to smile at him, but she knew the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m getting there, Don. It’s a lot to process, but I’m trying—that’s the best I can promise for now.” He stretched his legs out and slouched down further against the seat. “Are
you
okay?”

That was just like Navin, checking on
her
at a time like this.

“Sure. Just tired.”

“And—?”

“And a little scared, I guess.” She looked at him again, seeing the understanding on his face. “Okay,
a lot
scared.”

Navin nodded solemnly. “Well, I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m absolutely terrified. Does that make me less manly in your eyes?”

She burst out laughing, relief flooding her whole body. “You’ll always be manly to me,” she replied through gasps of laughter.

And that was all it took, just that moment of typical Sharma humor to break the ice and bring them back to something approaching normality. Donna felt about a hundred pounds of weight lift from her very stressed shoulders. But she still needed to find a safe place for him to wait after talking to Maker; she couldn’t risk him interacting with the Wood Queen again.

“Me, Navin. You, Jane,” he declared, beating his chest.

Worried that he might start doing a Tarzan war cry right here on the street, Donna hit Navin on the arm (carefully) to shut him up. “Keep it down, Sharma,” she said, though without much conviction.

“I’m not a Red Shirt, Don.”

“What?” It wasn’t often he surprised her.

He ducked his head. “I said I’m not a Red Shirt. You know, like in classic
Trek
.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Your alleged retro sense of cool is fast becoming Geek Central, buddy.”

“Like I care about that,” he muttered. “I just … look, I know I’m a liability, and I hate that. Okay?”

“No you’re not! How can you even say that?”

“It’s true, and we both know it. I don’t have superhuman strength, and I can’t walk through doors that don’t even exist.” He held up a hand to stop her protest. “No, let me finish. I have to say this. I don’t have fey magic or alchemical magic or any of that cool stuff. I hate the thought of being nothing but cannon fodder. You know what I’m talking about—I’ve made you watch enough
Star Trek
episodes.”

“That’s true,” she replied, trying not to look like she found Captain Kirk hopeless rather than hot.

“I don’t want to be the one who’s always at risk on a mission, you know?” One corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny smile. “Especially when faced with green-skinned aliens.”

“They’re not aliens, and none of this matters anyway, because you’re not coming with me to the Ironwood. Just to Maker’s, okay?”

She hadn’t known this was how Navin felt, but it explained a lot about why he’d kept his distance after they got back from the Elflands. Maybe it had more to do with how he thought about his role in her life, rather than because of the trauma she’d imagined he’d suffered at the hands of the dark elves.

“And it’s not like you’ll need me on future missions, anyway. Not now that you’ve got Xan as your new co-pilot.”

“Do you see Xan anywhere here right now?” Donna’s voice came out more sharply than she’d intended.

“True. He disappeared pretty fast, didn’t he?” Navin leaned toward her with a conspiratorial wink. “I think he’s scared of me.”

Donna smiled but said nothing.

“So, what else aren’t you telling me?”

The smile dropped from her face. “Um …”

“I know you, Underwood. You forget how well, what with your new boyfriend being on the scene all tall and floppy-haired.”

She really didn’t want to think about Xan any more. “Something else
has
been going on that I should probably tell you about.”

He nodded. “With the Shirtless Wonder?”

“No, I mean with me! With these.” She held out her arms.

“Oh.” A strange expression crossed his face. “Okay, spill. You got a new tattoo somewhere …
interesting
?”

She bumped his shoulder with hers and saw the bus approaching. “You wish. I’ll tell you about it on the bus—move it, Sharma.”

As they stood and waited for the doors to hiss open and take them to Maker’s workshop-disguised-as-a-warehouse, Donna wondered how many more discoveries she could take. It had been the longest few days of her life, and even now it wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Maker opened the door and squinted up at them from his wheelchair. “Well, don’t just stand there. The two of you had better come in.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and Navin let out an audible breath. “Now or never, right?”

Donna smiled. “Right.”

“Carpe Diem!”

She was glad that Maker had already gone back inside. “You’re on a roll with the clichés today, aren’t you?”

Navin shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound. Who knows what the heck we’re going to find out in here. Might as well throw in a few clichés for good luck. You always know where you are with a good cliché.”

Shaking her head, Donna followed Maker into the workshop.

They soon found themselves perched on high-backed chairs pulled up to the central workbench. The surface of
the desk was usually covered in all sorts of crazy-looking paraphernalia, but for once it seemed relatively empty. There was a large sketchbook and pieces of graphite, but not much else that Maker appeared to be working on. This was a nuts-and-bolts, get-your-hands-dirty,
practical
workshop. There was so much scrap metal piled up against the walls that Donna half expected to see an ancient car, its bodywork in need of a paint job and its engine stripped.

She jiggled her neck from side to side, trying to release knots of tension that were a near-permanent feature. She briefly wondered if it might be possible for her neck to seize up entirely. She glanced across at Navin and realized he’d been watching her as she tried to get comfortable. He flashed her an encouraging smile.

Maker rolled out of the little corridor off the main room, sitting upright in the sleek wheelchair that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie and carrying a tray of mugs on his lap. It was just like the old alchemist to refuse to have any sort of discussion without refreshments. Maker had always said that a hot drink could solve most problems—Donna had heard that many times throughout the endless months of her rehabilitation—but she was pretty certain even Maker’s famous herbal tea had met its match today.

The clatter of metallic wings jolted her out of her thoughts, and Navin’s sharp intake of breath reminded her that there was more to Maker’s workshop than just the old man himself. The converted warehouse was cavernous; deep shadows danced across the ceiling, making it difficult
to see in the flickering candlelight. But you couldn’t really miss the clockwork birds that flapped around their heads and swooped back up toward the high ceiling, noisily circling the rafters. They made a
clack-clack-squawk
sound, over and over again. She knew they spent most of their time up there in the darkness, but had no idea if they really had a …
consciousness
. She’d never thought to ask, and it was only now that Donna realized how strange that was. Out of character, really, for someone like her, who cared deeply about living things.

Perhaps she’d never really seen the birds as truly living. That was pretty shortsighted, and she felt ashamed of herself. It was as though the strange creatures were a reminder of the many incongruities in her life, and she’d purposely—probably unconsciously—closed her mind to the realities.

Watching them swoop low again, Donna suddenly thought how much Xan would like to see them. Once this was all over, she really should bring him here. She might be feeling let down by him today, but that didn’t mean she would stop helping him in his quest to regain his wings.

She tugged off her coat and laid it on the corner of Maker’s workbench, pushing aside an old sweater that had been lying in a crumpled heap.

Wait a minute.

Donna recognized that sweater. And, to be honest, even if she hadn’t recognized it, she would have no doubt about its owner due to the musky pine scent that lingered
in the air. It seemed like she didn’t need to bring Xan to Maker’s workshop after all.

He had already been here.

Maker’s intelligent blue eyes followed her gaze and his lips thinned.

Donna raised her brows, challenging him to lie to her. “That doesn’t look like your usual style,” she said, nodding at the sweater.

The old alchemist placed the tray in front of her. “Could you pour please, Donna?”

He isn’t even going to answer me? Fine.
She could deal with Xan later; there were other things to figure out first. But at least she was getting a clearer picture of where he’d been running off to lately.

Secrets, always secrets.

Pushing down another blast of anxiety, she poured herbal tea for the three of them and focused on what she’d come here for in the first place: finding out the truth about her tattoos and also, perhaps, something about her “abilities.” Abilities beyond anything she could truly understand, powers that the Wood Queen wanted to use for her own purposes.

There were only hours left before the day would be over. Newton had told her that everything she needed to know was already inside her, but she didn’t find that entirely helpful. She wished there was something like an
Iron Witch User’s Manual
with a handy step-by-step guide to opening magical doors. That thought almost made her
laugh out loud, and she pressed her lips shut to stop what would probably be a hysterical sound from escaping.