His gentleness broke her. She buried her face in Mattock’s chest, muffling a sob. His arms folded around her, hugging her close . . .
“Hey, boys!” Feldspar shouted from the barn door. “Have a geek at this! Six weeks, she said, but I’d say we’ve got ourselves a betrothal!”
Mattock stiffened and let go of Ivy. “I didn’t think,” he murmured. “Sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ivy told him. She still felt shaky and lightheaded, but there was no more point delaying the inevitable. “Let them think what they like.”
Ivy tried to write to Martin that night, but she’d never been good at putting words on paper, and after a few feeble, barely coherent efforts she gave up. He had no reason to worry about her absence yet, so she’d wait until she found the right way to tell him goodbye.
Meanwhile Ivy did her best to smile when her people congratulated her and bear patiently when they talked about her betrothal. Matt had warned that there’d be no feast until they were all safe from Betony, and nudged the more excitable piskeys to focus on preparing for battle instead—but even so, the atmosphere in the barn was notably cheerier than before.
Over the next two days it became even more obvious, if no less painful for Ivy, that she’d made the right decision by choosing Matt. Once she’d taught him how to travel by magic, he quickly convinced the other piskeys to follow his example. Even Mica gave in at last, though he insisted it was a coward’s trick and he’d never use it unless forced to. They all practiced leaping to the landmark Matt had chosen—a lightning-hollowed tree trunk on the far side of the wood, big enough to hide most of them if they pressed together. They were still determined to fight rather than flee, but at least they’d have somewhere to escape if things went badly.
Mattock also sorted the piskeys into work groups, making sure each of them had at least one daily task that would make them feel important, and appointed the old uncles and aunties to settle minor squabbles among the young ones. He invited Broch to tell stories to the children, including a few tales from his own Welsh homeland that Ivy’s folk had never heard before, and coaxed Thorn into teaching carpentry, wood carving, and archery to all who wanted to learn. Ivy’s heart warmed at the sight of the piskeys crowding around the faery couple, and when Matt caught her eye and smiled, it only took a little effort to smile back.
“You’re doing so well,” Ivy said, as he walked across the barn to join her. “I don’t know how we managed without you.”
Mattock’s ears turned pink, but he kept his face straight. “It’s no more than Gossan used to do in the Delve. However he’s changed, he was a good Jack once.”
True, but Gossan would never have allowed a faery to talk to his people, let alone teach them. She was about to say as much when Matt spoke up again.
“But I think you should talk to Yarrow. She’s having a hard time settling in.”
Ivy followed his gaze to the healer, who stood apart from the other women with her moth-wings flattened stiffly behind her. Her eyes were no longer haunted, but she seemed ill at ease, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. In the Delve Yarrow had spent long hours making and dispensing medicines for her ailing patients, but there was no sickness here and no need for salves and bandages—not when Broch could heal any minor injury with a touch. The other women did their best to keep Yarrow occupied, but she was clearly unhappy to find her traditional role filled by a stranger.
“I’ll try,” said Ivy, “but I’m not sure how to—” She broke off in surprise as Mica strolled up to Yarrow. He said something that made her relax and smile, and the two of them walked out of the barn together.
“Never mind,” said Mattock wryly.
“What’s that about?” Ivy asked. Apart from the ordeal they’d shared in the wood, it was hard to imagine what interest her hotheaded brother could have in Yarrow. She was older, grave to the point of severity, and plain compared to Jenny and the few other piskey-girls he’d admired.
“He’s been taking her out for walks, trying to get her used to the surface. I think he’s decided that since he found her, it’s his duty to look after her.” Matt shrugged. “Whatever keeps him busy.”
“Are you and he still . . . ?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say all’s forgiven, or forgotten. But he’s happy enough now he’s got what he wants. As usual.”
Ivy could only wish her sister’s problems could be solved so easily. Cicely was still moping about the house, barely talking to anyone.
“But what about you, Ivy?” Mattock’s voice lowered. “How are you feeling?”
She couldn’t remember the last time another piskey had asked her that question, but Ivy could only answer with a pained shrug. Last night she’d lain awake for hours thinking about Martin, wishing she could see him one last time. When she finally fell asleep she’d dreamed she was back in the Delve, fighting Betony at the edge of the Great Shaft, and when she woke she could still feel the burning print of her aunt’s fingers around her neck.
Matt didn’t press her. He simply opened his arms, and Ivy walked into them. She clung to him, desperate for comfort, until she felt his lips brush her hair.
Revulsion filled her, followed by a crushing weight of shame. Somehow she had to get over her feelings for Martin—she and Mattock were as good as betrothed now, after all. But though Ivy longed to be held, she couldn’t bear the thought of Matt kissing her. It took every ounce of her will not to push him away.
A throat cleared behind them, and abruptly Matt released her. Gem stood in the doorway with a nervous expression and cap in hand. “Sorry, m’lord Jack, but you did say . . .”
“All right,” Matt cut him off, with unusual sharpness. “I’ll be there in a moment.” He paused, eyes narrowed in thought, then turned to Ivy. “You need to get away for a bit, I can tell. Why don’t you fly for a few hours? I’ll look after things here.”
Ivy blinked. She hadn’t dared leave the farmstead since Cicely confronted her, and she’d never expected that Matt would offer her the chance now. Had he sensed her discomfort, before Gem came? Was this his way of apologizing to her? “Are you sure?”
“Perfectly. Take as much time as you need.”
He smiled at her, and Ivy’s misgivings vanished. She might not be ready to love Matt, but at least she could always count on him to be kind. She stretched up to plant a grateful kiss on his cheek, then swooped out of the barn as a peregrine, barred wings stroking the sky.
Her instincts pulled westward, urging her toward the Delve, but that was risky. The barrow lay in that direction too, and if Cicely saw her, she’d think Ivy had broken her promise. So she turned east, soaring over the outskirts of Truro and between its cathedral spires, then on to the rugged heathland of Bodmin Moor.
It felt glorious to stretch her wings, and for the first couple of hours Ivy relished the peace and quiet of flying alone. She visited the carn where she and Martin had found their first spriggan trove, then the fogou where they’d camped below, silently bidding farewell to all their shared memories—and though her heart ached, she also felt better for it. She’d never forget Martin; she didn’t even want to. But for the first time since her promise to Cicely, she thought she might be able to find the words to say goodbye.
She was perched atop a radio tower, watching the late-afternoon traffic on the roadway far below, when a troubling thought nagged at her mind. What had Gem been about to tell Mattock, before she left? And why had he looked so uncomfortable about it?
Perhaps he’d felt awkward disturbing them, but it wasn’t like Gem to be shy about such things. It wasn’t like Mattock to speak so curtly to a friend, either. At the time Ivy had put it down to frustration, but now she wondered if there’d been something more going on there—some nuance she’d missed in her discomfort with the situation and her eagerness to escape. Had Gem been bringing bad news, and Matt hadn’t wanted Ivy to hear it? Was that why he’d been so quick to send her away?
If so, they’d be having words when Ivy got back to the
farmstead. She had no doubt of Mattock’s loyalty or his good intentions, but he had no right to hide the truth from his own Joan, no matter how young she might be. Ivy swooped down from the tower and changed to piskey-shape, then conjured a mental image of the Menadue farm and willed herself into it.
Her feet had barely formed on the cobbles when a flare of green light dazzled her, and a sizzling crack rang in her ears. Ivy staggered as the ground lurched, blinked the brightness from her eyes—and gasped.
Three knockers in mining helmets and iron breastplates were attacking the barn, thunder-axes flashing as they struck. They hadn’t come alone, either. In the distance, a troop of Delve hunters fanned out across the darkened pasture, ready to capture any piskey who tried to escape.
Orange light flickered on the far side of the barn, and fresh panic stabbed at Ivy. Heart skittering, she turned invisible, glancing wildly in all directions. But there was no sign of Betony.
Where were Mattock and the other men? Why weren’t they defending the barn? Surely they hadn’t just abandoned it: she could hear a horse whinnying inside, and shrill piskey voices clamoring out in terror. The wards hadn’t failed yet, but by the grim determination on the knockers’ faces, they wouldn’t stop hammering until they did. Swallowing fear, Ivy dropped her invisibility spell and leaped into the barn.
Smoke billowed around her, and heat rippled from the rafters. The roof was on fire. “Get out of here!” Ivy choked, stumbling down the corridor. “All of you, before—”
“Shh!” hissed Quartz, nearly hysterical with excitement. “It’s only me and Elvar.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and let out a convincingly girlish wail, then declared in a gruff voice, “Stop that, woman!”
Elvar gave a loud horsy neigh, grabbed the back door of the barn and rattled it. “Help, help!” he shouted.
“That’s enough,” ordered Ivy, sharp with relief. She felt sick to think of losing the barn, but the walls were shaking, and the wards wouldn’t hold much longer. “Go! Now!”
The boys tipped their caps to her and vanished. Wiping her stinging eyes, Ivy ran from one box stall to another. They were all empty, even Dodger’s.
So her people hadn’t been caught unprepared. They’d seen Gossan’s soldiers coming and left Quartz and Elvar to keep them distracted while the other piskeys leaped away. But the flames racing overhead struck a deeper fear into Ivy. Betony had returned, as dangerous as ever—and Ivy had no way to stop her.
“Come out, cowards!” a harsh voice shouted through the wall. “This is your last chance!”
Come out for what? There weren’t enough dungeons in the Delve to hold all of Ivy’s followers, even if Betony chose to show that much mercy. Ivy grabbed a straw bale and heaved it over the crack, shoving Dodger’s feed bucket, the hayfork, and other loose objects around it to make a clumsy barricade. Then she leaped to the house, where her wild-eyed little sister was struggling into her coat.
“We have to go,” Ivy panted. “Once they find the barn empty, they’ll come here next. Where are Thorn and Broch?”
“They left, but Dodger—”
“He’s safe, don’t worry. Just go!”
Cicely gave a little whimper and disappeared. Ivy snatched a rucksack from the cupboard, stuffed it with all the food it would hold, and leaped after her.
She landed hard by the broken tree, almost dropping the pack. Firm hands steadied her, and a warm voice said, “There you are, maid. Don’t fret yourself, we’re all safe.”
Ivy blinked, disoriented. Then her night-vision focused and she recognized Teasel, Fern, and the other women, with the children clinging to their skirts. Thorn marched about in the near distance, bow in hand.
“Where’s Dodger?” Cicely burst out, and dashed around the tree to look for him. But there was no sign of the pony.
“Where are Mattock and the others?” Ivy demanded. No matter where she looked, there wasn’t a single male piskey in sight. Not even old uncle Agate, who could barely stand up without his cane.
Teasel put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Mattock’s in charge, so never you worry. Let the men do their part, and we’ll do ours.”
Ivy gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “And what’s that? Sit here waiting until it’s all over?” But even as she spoke she regretted it. Teasel bristled, her eyes flashing.
“Someone has to guard the baggage,” the older woman said, “and keep fresh weapons handy. Someone has to protect the little ones and tend the wounded if it comes to that. But if Gossan and his folk should find us . . .” She drew herself up proudly. “You’ll see how we can fight, my Joan.”
“I’m sorry,” Ivy said. “You’re right. But I can’t stay here.” She turned to Cicely, who was still wringing her hands and looking for Dodger. “Don’t worry, Ciss. I’ll find him.” Then she changed to falcon-shape and flew away.
As she flapped above the trees, Ivy was seething. How dare Matt trick her into flying off when he knew Gossan was coming? Whether she could make fire or not, a Joan’s place was with her people. But Mattock hadn’t told her his plan, so Ivy had no idea how to find her own soldiers right now, let alone help them.
Yet Matt hadn’t been the only one to betray her. Gem must have been in on the plot too, or he’d have reported his news straight away instead of waiting to tell Matt in private. Did they have so little faith in Ivy that they thought they’d be better off without her?
Breaking free of the wood, Ivy swooped uphill to the farmstead. Apart from the crack in one wall, the barn was still standing, and even the fire in the roof had gone out. But when Ivy glided closer, an invisible force rebuffed her. She back-winged, screeching, and tried a different angle. But the barn was unreachable, and the house too. She couldn’t even leap there anymore.
That had to be Betony’s doing. Any fool with a torch could have lit up the barn, but only the Joan could cast a barrier so strong. How her aunt must have sneered at Ivy’s efforts to protect the farmstead! She’d dismantled her wards so easily that Ivy hadn’t even sensed it. And now she could only flap in circles, while her people fought for a home they’d already lost.
Yet they still had their lives to fight for, and Ivy refused to give up yet. She wheeled and shot eastward, her falcon’s eyes scanning the ground.
There! At the edge of the wood two small figures were clashing—Feldspar with his hunter’s knife against one of Gossan’s knockers, whose heavy thunder-axe put him at a disadvantage. As Ivy neared them, Feldspar ducked the other man’s swing and shouldered him off-balance. The knocker toppled, and Feldspar wrenched the pickaxe from his hands.
Meanwhile Quartz dashed across the rocky pasture, making rude gestures at the piskeys pounding after him. He’d been the fastest runner in the Delve, and though the men jabbed their spears at the boy, they couldn’t touch him.
But though they were slow and clumsy, the Delve warriors were better protected than Ivy’s. Every one of them wore a stout breastplate and helmet from the treasure cavern—armor crafted for their war against the faeries a century ago. So when Hew burst from the trees and smashed his thunder-axe into one of the enemy knockers, his opponent barely staggered before hefting his own pick and swinging at him.
Hew blocked it, but the force of the blow sent him reeling. He stumbled and fell back as the enemy loomed over him, ready to strike.
With a shriek Ivy dove at the knocker’s face, talons out and wings beating. He dropped his weapon, clapping both hands to his eyes. Ivy landed on the grass in her own shape, helped Hew to his feet, and together they raced for the cover of the wood.
“Where’s Mattock?” she asked him. “And the others?”
“All—over,” Hew panted. “Got them to—chase us, so we could—split ’em up, keep ’em busy. Give him—a chance.”
Ivy was about to ask who he meant, but a shrill whinny distracted her. Dodger came plunging down the path toward them with Gem, Pick, and Elvar clinging to his saddle. He reared in front of Ivy, teeth bared and mane flying, then dropped to his hoov
es and blew out a gusty breath.
“Up and on, uncle!” Gem called as the men reached to help Hew onto the pony. “Let’s away!” He didn’t even notice Ivy until she shot up to human size and grabbed Dodger’s bridle.
“Wait! Tell me what’s going on.”
Gem looked thunderstruck. “You shouldn’t be here, my Joan!”
“If I’m your Joan,” Ivy retorted, “I should be fighting beside you, not kept in the dark. Where’s Mattock?”
“We can’t tell yo—oof!” Elvar gasped as Pick stuck an elbow in his stomach. He gave his father a wounded look and fell silent.
If Matt had ordered them not to say where he’d gone, it could mean only one thing. Ivy flung herself into falcon-shape and shot off as fast as her wings could carry her.
She only prayed she wouldn’t get to him too late.
The wood ended at the outskirts of the village, giving way to the shallow dip of a brook and a patch of moorland beyond. As Ivy burst from the trees, a stone came whizzing at her; she banked, but it passed close enough to ruffle her feathers. Some enemy hunter had a sling, and he’d known to watch for her. But in seconds Ivy was out of range, and her falcon-gaze locked onto two small, glowing figures grappling below.
Mattock and Gossan.
Metal glinted to one side, nearly hidden in the heather: Matt’s hunting knife. Gossan must have knocked it from his hand, and he’d grabbed the older Jack’s wrist to stop him using his own weapon. They staggered back and forth, powerful arm and shoulder muscles straining as they fought. Matt was taller, but Gossan was broader, and though they shoved and twisted, neither could break the deadlock.
Ivy circled the dueling ground, wracked with helplessness. They fought so closely, she couldn’t dive at Gossan without blinding Matt as well—and the distraction could prove fatal, if the older man recovered first. All she could do for the moment was watch and wait.
Where was Betony? She’d set the barn alight to drive out Ivy and her followers, and raised wards to keep them from coming back. But Ivy had yet to see her anywhere.
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