you not, Magus?” Taran, the dark knight, put in.
Simon glared at him. “You know nothing about me.”
Taran shook his head. “You are mistaken. I see the Hand of Time upon your shoulder. You have lived beyond your nature and are now suffering the consequences.”
Aliette, who had been surprisingly quiet, turned her inhuman gaze Simon’s way. “Immortality has a price, does it not, Magus?”
Donna didn’t understand everything that was being said, but she knew enough to fill in some gaps. Simon Gaunt had been drinking the elixir of life to prolong his normal human lifespan. She had no idea how old he actually was—he had the appearance of a middle-aged man—but who knew how long he’d looked that way. When Donna was bargaining with the Wood Queen for Navin’s life, she’d had to resort to throwing away the final drops of the elixir, rather than hand it over to the dark elves.
And to make a new elixir, you needed the Philosopher’s Stone.
Donna frowned at the Demon King. “Why would you want the Philosopher’s Stone, anyway? You’re already immortal.”
Demian’s steward hissed at her. “His Majesty does not answer to a child.”
His Majesty raised a hand, stilling his attendant. “No, I will answer.” He turned to Donna as if she were the only person in the room. “The wood elves are not the only race suffering the ravages of time and confinement. My people are weak as well. We are fewer in number than ever before, our ranks made up mostly of shadows. Pure-blood demons have sickened over the past two centuries of our captivity. I need the Stone to restore health to my people, and also to create new demons.”
Donna swallowed. “You can do that? With the Philosopher’s Stone? Create demons?
Rachel touched her arm. “The Stone can be used to make life. Alchemists of the past could make homunculi .”
Donna remembered the book in Miranda’s library. “But … what are the demon shadows? Are they sick demons?”
It was Taran who answered this question, taking Donna by surprise. “No. The shadows are all that remain of the humans we sacrificed in each tithe.”
“The Tithe to Hell,” Donna whispered, her mind racing.
Cathal nodded, taking up the story. “The tithe is how the demons swell their own ranks. Demons cannot procreate.”
“Which is why they want the Stone,” Donna said.
“But,” continued Cathal, “what I want to know is this: why is Aliette Winterthorn here? What does the dying Court of Earth have to gain by being part of these negotiations?”
Aliette sat up straighter in her chair. “I was invited by the king of the demons. That is all you need to know, cousin .”
The way she said the word “cousin” left Donna in no doubt that the Wood Queen wasn’t speaking fondly to a family member.
Demian waved a hand in the air, as though dismissing their argument as nothing more than a petty annoyance. “The wood elves are here—as are you, representatives of Faerie—to resume payment of the tithe you owe me and mine.”
The Wood Queen drummed her woody fingers on the table so hard that Donna thought they might splinter. She didn’t look happy to have Demian telling everybody her business.
Taran gazed at Aliette, his blue eyes bright with curiosity and disdain. “Why would you be willing to pay the tithe again? Trying to ingratiate yourself with the demons so that you can return to Faerie?”
The Wood Queen turned away from the dark-haired knight, fixing her attention on one of the blood-stained paintings hanging from the wall.
Demian answered for her with questions of his own. “And why are you here, Taran? Why would Queen Isolde agree to send two of her knights to my gathering? Perhaps you should think on that. Perhaps you should think about what you all owe me.”
The two men of Faerie exchanged a glance filled with foreboding, but before Donna could find out more, her mother put her cup down with a clatter.
“Enough of these riddles,” she said. “We
Simon glared at him. “You know nothing about me.”
Taran shook his head. “You are mistaken. I see the Hand of Time upon your shoulder. You have lived beyond your nature and are now suffering the consequences.”
Aliette, who had been surprisingly quiet, turned her inhuman gaze Simon’s way. “Immortality has a price, does it not, Magus?”
Donna didn’t understand everything that was being said, but she knew enough to fill in some gaps. Simon Gaunt had been drinking the elixir of life to prolong his normal human lifespan. She had no idea how old he actually was—he had the appearance of a middle-aged man—but who knew how long he’d looked that way. When Donna was bargaining with the Wood Queen for Navin’s life, she’d had to resort to throwing away the final drops of the elixir, rather than hand it over to the dark elves.
And to make a new elixir, you needed the Philosopher’s Stone.
Donna frowned at the Demon King. “Why would you want the Philosopher’s Stone, anyway? You’re already immortal.”
Demian’s steward hissed at her. “His Majesty does not answer to a child.”
His Majesty raised a hand, stilling his attendant. “No, I will answer.” He turned to Donna as if she were the only person in the room. “The wood elves are not the only race suffering the ravages of time and confinement. My people are weak as well. We are fewer in number than ever before, our ranks made up mostly of shadows. Pure-blood demons have sickened over the past two centuries of our captivity. I need the Stone to restore health to my people, and also to create new demons.”
Donna swallowed. “You can do that? With the Philosopher’s Stone? Create demons?
Rachel touched her arm. “The Stone can be used to make life. Alchemists of the past could make homunculi .”
Donna remembered the book in Miranda’s library. “But … what are the demon shadows? Are they sick demons?”
It was Taran who answered this question, taking Donna by surprise. “No. The shadows are all that remain of the humans we sacrificed in each tithe.”
“The Tithe to Hell,” Donna whispered, her mind racing.
Cathal nodded, taking up the story. “The tithe is how the demons swell their own ranks. Demons cannot procreate.”
“Which is why they want the Stone,” Donna said.
“But,” continued Cathal, “what I want to know is this: why is Aliette Winterthorn here? What does the dying Court of Earth have to gain by being part of these negotiations?”
Aliette sat up straighter in her chair. “I was invited by the king of the demons. That is all you need to know, cousin .”
The way she said the word “cousin” left Donna in no doubt that the Wood Queen wasn’t speaking fondly to a family member.
Demian waved a hand in the air, as though dismissing their argument as nothing more than a petty annoyance. “The wood elves are here—as are you, representatives of Faerie—to resume payment of the tithe you owe me and mine.”
The Wood Queen drummed her woody fingers on the table so hard that Donna thought they might splinter. She didn’t look happy to have Demian telling everybody her business.
Taran gazed at Aliette, his blue eyes bright with curiosity and disdain. “Why would you be willing to pay the tithe again? Trying to ingratiate yourself with the demons so that you can return to Faerie?”
The Wood Queen turned away from the dark-haired knight, fixing her attention on one of the blood-stained paintings hanging from the wall.
Demian answered for her with questions of his own. “And why are you here, Taran? Why would Queen Isolde agree to send two of her knights to my gathering? Perhaps you should think on that. Perhaps you should think about what you all owe me.”
The two men of Faerie exchanged a glance filled with foreboding, but before Donna could find out more, her mother put her cup down with a clatter.
“Enough of these riddles,” she said. “We
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