His expression darkened, as though the name had stirred some bitter memory. “Veronica had a gift for manipulating minds. We worked together for a time, as the Empress’s lieutenants. But though we were allies, we were never friends.”
“Where are they now?” asked Ivy. “The others?”
“Rob turned against the Empress the minute he got the chance, and joined forces with a band of faeries in Kent who’d somehow escaped her control—the Oakenfolk. He seemed to think they might have a chance of beating the Empress, even though they were outnumbered twenty to one.” He picked up a bit of shale and flicked it out over the waves. “I told him he was insane, and I wanted nothing to do with it. But I imagine he’s feeling quite smug now about having picked the winning side.”
One day, Ivy would get Martin to tell her the rest of that story—how such a small group of rebels had succeeded in defeating the most ruthless tyrant the faery world had ever known. “What about the rest?” she asked.
“The Blackwing brothers stayed loyal to the Empress until the very end, or as near as makes no difference. And everyone who’d worked with them knew they’d served her more willingly than not. So after she was defeated, they got sent to a magical prison somewhere off the coast of Wales as punishment, with no chance of release.” He picked up another rock, weighing it in his hand. “I’d have ended up in that prison myself, if I hadn’t taken off before Rob and his allies could catch me.”
Ivy had already seen for herself what being cooped up in a cell did to Martin: the days he’d spent trapped in the Delve had nearly driven him mad. No wonder he’d fled to Cornwall. “But you said yourself that nobody would mourn the Empress,” she said. “And if Rob had already turned against her, why would he want you punished?”
“Because the Empress was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever known?” said Martin dryly. “By the time the battle was over she’d been stripped of her powers, and looked like a frail old woman who wouldn’t live much longer. I could see the pity in Rob’s face, and I knew he had no idea how dangerous she still was, especially with Veronica at her side.” He gazed back at the harbor, where a lone sailboat had slipped free on the tide and was gliding out into open water. “Besides, Rob has… other reasons to hate me.”
Ivy would have asked what those reasons were, but something in his face warned her against it. For some time they sat without speaking, until Martin brushed himself off and said, “Well, no sense in hanging about here any longer.”
Ivy waited, expecting him to change into a barn owl and carry her as before. But he only arched his brows at her, questioning.
“No,” said Ivy.
Martin stepped closer, taking her hands. “I know you’re afraid,” he said. “I don’t blame you. A hobby came after me once when I was running from the Empress, and by the time I collected my wits enough to switch to owl-shape I thought my heart would explode.”
“But?” Ivy asked flatly. Her pulse was beating fast, and she almost snatched her hands away. But she didn’t want him to think her a coward.
“It’s only a short flight to the hotel. And I’ll be right beside you.” His grey gaze held hers. “Will you try? Because I don’t think you have any chance of learning another bird-shape if you’re too afraid to fly at all.”
Ivy’s lips felt dry. She licked them, forced her chin up and said, “All right.”
Martin released her and stepped back. Ivy stared at the cliffs, clenching and unclenching her hands, then took a running jump and threw herself into swift-shape.
It had been scarcely twelve hours since she last took flight, yet her wings felt shaky and unfamiliar, and the touch of the sea breeze made her small body tremble. The memory of struggling in the hobby’s talons leapt into her mind, and she felt sick at the thought of flying the two miles that lay between her and the town.
Yet if Martin was right, she had to do this, no matter how much she dreaded it. And now he darted into position beside her, his house martin form even tinier than her own. Ivy forced herself onward, riding the wind toward the jumbled white blocks of the town. The cliff curved; she followed it…
Then she glanced up and her concentration shattered. A dark falcon perched on an outcropping, staring at her with yellow, unblinking eyes.
It was too much for Ivy. She doubled back and shot for the shore, stumbling onto the shingle in her own shape. She was breathing into her hands, trying to calm herself, when Martin landed beside her.
“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s only a small peregrine, and it’s got half a pigeon up there on the rocks, so it’s not hungry.”
The tension rushed out of Ivy, leaving her light-headed. Not a hobby, a peregrine. Of course. If she’d dared to fly a little closer, she’d have seen that for herself; but instead she’d bolted at the first hint of danger, like the cowardly little swift she was. Shielding her eyes, she gazed up at the falcon on its rocky perch…
And at the same moment, the peregrine’s head swiveled toward her and it gave a keening cry.
For an instant Ivy stood transfixed. Then she spun around and seized Martin by both arms.
“That’s it,” she burst out. “That’s the bird I want to be.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Martin said as he followed Ivy across the rocky beach. Between the sea-wind and the waves breaking against the cliffs she could hardly hear him, but she didn’t slow down. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“I have to,” Ivy said, not taking her eyes off the peregrine on its cliff-side perch. She stopped at the foot of a boulder three times her height, leaped for a hand-hold and swung herself up onto the rock, clambering up its broken face as resolutely as she had once climbed the Great Shaft. When she reached the top, she had a much better view of the falcon.
“Tell me everything you know about them,” she called down to Martin.
He sighed, but he told her. The peregrine was larger than a hobby but even faster in the dive, capable of hitting a moving target at up to two hundred miles per hour. They nested on uplands and rocky cliffs like this one, feeding on pigeons and other small game. And though peregrine meant wanderer, they often stayed in the same hunting grounds all year, migrating only if food became scarce or the weather too harsh for comfort.
As he talked, Ivy traced the falcon’s shape with her gaze, memorizing every detail: its hooded cloak of blue-black feathers, its gold-rimmed eyes, the belly and underwings of dappled grey and white. When it launched itself from the cliff-side Ivy turned instinctively to follow it, nearly falling off the top of the boulder in her haste.
“Don’t go!” she shouted, scrambling to climb down before it sailed out of sight. “I’m not finished!”
Martin cleared his throat. “You do realize that back in the Delve, when I told you to learn as much about swifts as you could before trying to turn yourself into one, I was stalling for time?”
Ivy stopped halfway down the rock and looked at him. “What?”
“I had no idea how to teach you to change shape,” he said. “I didn’t even think you could do it. But I was afraid that if I didn’t say something you’d leave me to starve, so I improvised.”
“You mean you lied,” said Ivy. She’d almost forgotten Martin could do that, even though he’d admitted it himself. I’ve never lied to you yet, he’d told her once. I don’t expect you to be impressed by that, but you should be, because I’m one of the few faeries who can. “And then you lied to me about not lying to me. How am I supposed to trust anything you say?”
“It wasn’t a lie.” His words were edged with impatience. “I misled you, yes, but hardly with malicious intent. What I’m saying now is, you’ve studied that peregrine long enough to know what it looks like, and have a rough idea how it behaves. There’s nothing to stop you trying to take its shape, if that’s what you really want.”
Ivy did want it, more than anything. As a swift she’d been fast and nimble, but as a peregrine, she’d also be fearless. She could fly all year round, day or nig
ht, without having to worry about being attacked by other birds; she could visit the Delve whenever she pleased and no one, not even Mica, would recognize her. And if she could master falcon-shape, she might even be able to enjoy flying as a swift again, knowing that she could change forms in midair if need be. She climbed to the top of the boulder, spread her arms wide—
And let them fall again, self-conscious. “Could you go somewhere else?” she said to Martin. “I can’t concentrate with you watching me like that.”
“Should I watch you like this instead?” asked Martin, tilting his head sideways. But when Ivy glared at him, he relented. “Fine. I’ll go.” He vanished from the shingle, and reappeared at the top of the cliff.
Ivy was tempted to try copying his example, just to see if she could. It didn’t look that hard… But no, it could wait until she’d finished here. She closed her eyes, repainting the peregrine’s image in her mind. Picture the falcon, she told herself. Focus on the falcon. Become the falcon. Then with a rush of determination she launched herself off the rock—
And turned into a swift.
Cursing her failure, Ivy swooped back to the rock and landed in her own shape. She’d try a second time, and this time she’d get it right. She’d picture the peregrine as she’d last seen it, flying out over the ocean, and copy it exactly…
Again and again Ivy tried, but it was no use. Each time she transformed she ended up in the tiny grey-brown shape she already knew, not the majestic falcon she longed to become. What was wrong with her? Was her magic too weak to master more than one form, or was the real barrier in her mind?
Well, whatever the problem, Ivy had to overcome it. If she couldn’t fly as a peregrine, she’d soon be unable to fly at all. So she made another effort, then another. But by the fifteenth attempt her head was pounding like a thunder-axe, and her legs trembled so much she could barely stand. She’d transformed back and forth so many times, she’d drained all her magical strength.
Despair filled Ivy, eclipsing even her fear. Blindly she changed shape one last time and shot up the cliff-side, then dropped onto the grass beside Martin and buried her face in her arms.
“Don’t lose heart,” he said. “As I recall, you didn’t find it easy to take swift-form the first time, either. If you want a better chance of succeeding, wait for a clear night with a full moon, and try again.”
He had a point. Over the past few weeks Ivy had become so confident in her swift-shape, she’d forgotten what a struggle it had been to learn it in the first place. She pushed the damp curls from her brow and gave a reluctant nod.
“A peregrine.” Martin shook his head. “Why that, of all birds? Why do you want to be something that terrifies you?”
“I don’t,” she said thickly. “The hobby terrified me. I want to be stronger.”
Martin was silent. At last he stretched out his arm and put it gently around Ivy’s shoulders.
“Then you will be,” he said.
Even after several minutes of lying on the grass with her eyes closed, Ivy felt as though she’d been wrung out and hung up to dry. But at least she’d recovered enough strength to follow Martin down the coastal path to the harbor—though when she saw the street twisting steeply up toward the hotel, her spirits failed.
“I’ll never make it up there,” she said, dropping onto the sea wall and rubbing her aching calves. “Go on, and I’ll join you later.”
“I have a better idea,” Martin replied, holding out his hand. With a sigh, Ivy let him pull her upright and lead her behind the wall, where the shadows lay deep and none of the humans milling about could see them.
“Close your eyes,” Martin told her, “and make your mind as empty as you can.”
Wondering what this was about, Ivy obeyed and thought about the inside of the Delve at midnight, the darkest place she’d ever seen. Martin’s grip on her fingers tightened for an instant, and then he said, “Done.”
Ivy opened her eyes—and there they stood in the hotel room, with the curtains blowing on the wind. “How did you do that?” she asked, kicking off her shoes and dropping gratefully into the armchair.
“Easily enough, since we’d both been here before,” said Martin. “Last night was more tricky—I had to turn you small and carry you here in barn-owl shape, then slip you into my pocket before I paid for the room.”
No wonder he’d put a sleeping spell on Ivy first. If she’d woken up in his talons mid-flight, she would have died of heart failure. “Is it difficult?” she asked. “Traveling by magic?”
“Not once you’ve got the knack of it,” said Martin. “You only need to picture a place or landmark in your mind, and will yourself there. Though the spell has its limitations.”
“Such as?”
“Well, as I said before, you can’t go anywhere you haven’t visited at least once. If it’s a long journey, like my trip to London, you have to do it in stages and rest in between. And every now and then, you end up somewhere where it’s impossible to leap at all.”
“Like underground,” said Ivy, remembering how Gillian Menadue had tried to vanish after she’d dropped her smoke-spell down the Great Shaft, and failed. “Is there anything else I should know before I try it?”
He gave her a sharp look. “You’re not serious.”
“I don’t mean now. I mean later.” After all, she had to get back to the Delve somehow for her meeting with Jenny, and it was painfully clear that she wouldn’t be flying any time soon. “When I’ve got my strength back.”
Martin relaxed. “Well,” he said, “it’s obviously not a good idea to leap in and out of places where you’re likely to be seen.” He picked up the electric kettle, sloshed it experimentally, and plugged it in. “And if you’re fighting someone, it’s best not to use it for anything but a quick escape. In battle it’s easier to jump a mile away than a few feet to the side, and an enemy can still hit you as you’re fading out.”
“Battle?” Ivy asked, not sure if he was serious. She knew Martin could be deadly with a knife, but she’d never thought of him as a soldier. “Have you been in many of those?”
“Three, actually,” said Martin. “They’re noisy and confusing and entirely tedious, and if there’s anything heroic about them I haven’t seen it. I’d stay away from them if I were you.” He held up a packet of tea. “Mint?”
“Yes, please,” said Ivy, subdued. She was remembering her last desperate struggle with Gillian in the Delve, the way they’d grappled and clawed at each other. Ivy hadn’t meant to kill her, hadn’t even thought she could, but…
She dismissed the dark memory with a shake of her head. That was in the past now, and there was no sense dwelling on it. The important thing was that despite all the pain and guilt and grief it had cost her, Ivy had saved the Delve.
She could only hope it wouldn’t take another battle to save it again.
“You came back.” Jenny lighted on the lip of the Great Shaft, smiling at Ivy in relief. “I was afraid you might not be able to.”
“I was more worried that you wouldn’t,” said Ivy. She glanced over her shoulder, but there was no sign of Martin: true to his word, he’d vanished before Jenny could see him. After a cup of tea, a sandwich, and an hour’s rest Ivy had felt strong enough to try her first traveling spell, but Martin had insisted on accompanying her to make sure she arrived safely.
“What happened with Nettle?” Ivy asked. “Did she tell Betony she’d seen you?”
Jenny shook her head, golden hair tossing. “She only wanted to know if I’d seen Quartz, because the Joan wanted him to run a message. That boy!” Her expression wavered between fondness and exasperation, as it always did when she talked about her younger brother. “He’s never where you want him to be.”
Well, that was good news at least, if Nettle didn’t think Jenny had done anything wrong. But Ivy still felt uneasy about meeting in such a central location.
“Jenny,” she said, “we can’t talk freely here. Will you come outside?” She stretched a hand th
rough the bars, palm up in invitation. “Please. We won’t go far.”
Jenny bit her lip, eyes on the dark shaft beneath her. Clearly she longed to do as Ivy asked, but feared to take the enormous step of defying her Joan’s decree.
It took her so long that Ivy almost lost hope. But as she was about to draw back her hand, Jenny gripped it and climbed through the bars, emerging flushed and shaky on the other side. Ivy hugged her, and set off down the narrow, gorse-shadowed path away from the Engine House. Jenny crept after her, shading her eyes with her hand.
The jutting rock Ivy found wasn’t a perfect hiding place, but for now it would do. Ivy crawled beneath the overhang, and awkwardly Jenny tucked her skirts beneath her and sat by her side.
“Why are you dressed like a human?” she asked, gesturing to Ivy’s sweater and jeans.
“Because I’ve been living like one,” said Ivy, and went on to tell Jenny the rest of her story. She said nothing about Martin or her shape-changing, for fear of testing Jenny’s loyalties too far. But she explained how she’d found her long-lost mother living in the human world, and that since then Ivy had spent more time disguised as a human than as her own piskey self. She told Jenny why Marigold had run away from the Delve six years ago, unable to return—because Betony had sent her into exile for claiming the Delve was poisoned.
“But she was right,” said Ivy, her fist clenching on her knee. “My dad didn’t believe her at first, any more than Aunt Betony did—they both thought Mum’s sickness was some trouble of her own, and that the rest of us had nothing to worry about. But after she left and he started working longer and longer in the diggings, he started to get sick too.” She looked pleadingly at Jenny. “That’s why he ran off to destroy Gillian’s smoke-spell, while the rest of us were fleeing the Delve. He had nothing to lose, don’t you see? He was already dying.”
Jenny nodded slowly, but then she frowned as though she’d had a disturbing thought. “But Flint… your dad was the Joan’s brother. Surely she must have noticed what was happening to him?”
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