There was only one problem with Wink’s comment: Ivy wasn’t a faery, uninvited or not. But if she confessed to being a piskey before she’d had a chance to tell the queen her story, they might turn her away. So she’d held her peace, and followed Wink out to the back garden.
Most trees looked frail in late autumn, but not the Oak: it was even more formidable with the full stretch of its mighty limbs exposed and every twig jutting sharp and black against the sky. It dominated the whole bottom of the garden, with branches high as the top of the Delve’s Engine House and its trunk almost as wide. No wonder Rob and his fellow rebels had chosen this tree for their stronghold. Following Wink down the path toward it, Ivy found herself treading softly, as though the Oak were a sleeping giant she feared to wake.
But at last they stood at the foot of the great tree, gazing up through its lattice of branches at the grey mid-morning sky. “This way,” said Wink, but when Ivy turned to look, the queen’s attendant had vanished.
Wait—no, she hadn’t. She’d shrunk herself to a tenth of her human size, and darted beneath the roots of the Oak. Ivy had guessed the Oakenfolk would be smaller than piskeys, but she hadn’t known they were that small.
Ivy concentrated, and the world swelled to monstrous size around her. At this size the hole in the earth gaped like the entrance to a mineshaft, but the sight of Wink peering up at her assured Ivy it wasn’t deep. She climbed over the edge and dropped to the bottom.
Before her stood an arch-topped wooden door, almost broader than it was tall. Wink hauled it open, puffing with effort, and led Ivy through. They walked down a broad corridor, emerged from an archway—
And the heart of the Oak opened before them.
It was like the inverse of the Great Shaft: stretching up from ground level, and growing lighter and airier as it rose. Galleries ringed its walls, with landings and corridors leading off them, and the whole place was swarming with faeries. They peered out of doorways, leaned over the balconies, strolled about in pairs and small groups. Winged females flitted from one level to another, while males flashed into bird-shape to cross the open space between. There had to be at least as many faeries here as there were piskeys in the Delve, or more.
But that wasn’t the only surprising thing about the Oakenfolk. Most were dressed in modern human clothing, like Ivy herself. But she also noticed several women in old-fashioned dresses like Wink’s and Linden’s, and a scattering of men in finely tailored clothes that looked neither old nor new. The faeries of the Oak seemed to be made up of at least three distinct groups, each with their own culture and history—much like the piskeys, knockers and spriggans had been in Helm’s story.
“We’ll have to fly up to Queen Valerian,” Wink told Ivy, leading her across the packed-earth floor. “There used to be a staircase, but it got smashed when the Empress attacked the Oak, and nobody had the heart to rebuild it. Follow me.”
She hopped into the air, translucent wings blurring, and glided up past one door-ringed gallery after another, to land on the topmost level of the Oak. Ivy hesitated, gauging the distance, then took swift-shape and darted after her.
“I didn’t know you had two bird-shapes,” exclaimed Wink, as Ivy changed back. “That’s wonderful! You must tell me some time how you do it. Just wait a minute.” Picking up her skirts, she hurried through an archway draped in velvety curtains and into the corridor beyond.
This must be the entrance to the queen’s chambers. Ivy rubbed her damp palms against her thighs, willing herself calm. But she had only seconds to compose herself before Wink reappeared.
“The queen’s ready,” she said. “I’ll take you in.”
Queen Valerian’s audience chamber was more plainly furnished than Betony’s stateroom, with a carved wooden throne instead of the granite chair the Joan favored. It had three tall windows that let in the sunlight, rather than a fireplace and hanging lamps. But as she walked up the carpet to stand before the faery queen and her council, Ivy felt just as small and self-conscious as she ever had approaching her aunt.
Not that the queen looked anything like Betony. Valerian was tall and slender, with a face so calm it was almost plain and straight brown hair falling about her shoulders; there was no haughtiness in her appearance, only a quiet dignity that somehow made Ivy all the more certain of her power. She’d never felt tempted to kneel before Betony, but it felt wrong not to bow to this woman. So when Ivy stopped at the foot of the throne she made a little curtsy, and lowered her head respectfully.
“Welcome to the Oak, Ivy of Cornwall,” said Queen Valerian. “Rob and Linden have told us your story, but my councilors wish to ask you some questions before we discuss your request.”
It was hard to stand there with so many strange faeries staring at her. The only one she recognized was Rob, but Wink had whispered some hasty introductions in Ivy’s ear as they entered, so she knew who his seatmates were: the dour piskey-like woman to Rob’s left was called Thorn, and the blonde on his right was Campion, the Oak’s librarian.
On Valerian’s left side sat a sharp-faced man with untidy hair and a neat beard—she hadn’t quite caught his name, but it had sounded like rock. Then came Rhosmari, a young woman with a mane of spiral curls and the most beautiful deep brown skin Ivy had ever seen. It was a relief to see Wink scurry to the empty seat at the far end: at least there was one person on the council who didn’t intimidate her.
“I know your need is pressing,” the queen continued, “but if your mother has lived through the night, there is good reason to believe she will survive a little longer. Be patient with us, if you can.” She looked to her right. “Rob?”
Rob unfolded himself and rose. “You told us you had flown here from Cornwall,” he said. “Yet to our knowledge, there have been no faery wylds there in over a hundred years. And when the Empress rose to power, she captured every wandering faery she found and forced them into her service. So where did you and your mother come from?”
Was he implying she was a liar? Ivy resisted the urge to glare at him. “My mother was born underground and raised among the piskeys of Cornwall,” she said. “She never knew she was a faery until six years ago, when the Empress captured her.”
“So she did serve the Empress.”
So did you, Ivy wanted to retort, but she held her tongue. She wasn’t sure she liked Rob, especially knowing he was Martin’s enemy. But he’d healed her last night, and she owed him. “Yes,” she replied. “But not willingly.”
“Few faeries did. What is your mother’s name?”
“Marigold.”
Rob’s jaw tightened, and his eyes turned hard. “I know her,” he said. “She joined the rebellion after our first battle with the Empress, but instead of staying to fight with us, she ran away. When the Empress attacked the Oak, she fought on the enemy side and killed Mags, one of my best men—”
“She was trying to get back to her family!” Ivy burst out. “She ran away to find us, but when the Empress captured her again, she lost hope. She didn’t want to fight anyone, but she had no choice.” She was about to explain that Marigold had been desperate to save her children from the poison in the Delve, but Rob cut in first.
“Your mother had a choice,” he said. “She made the wrong one. And if she cared so little for her fellow faeries, why should we put our lives at risk by going into enemy territory to save her?”
The stocky woman beside him—Thorn—scoffed. “Enemy territory? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? From all I’ve heard, Cornwall’s just a great empty nothing these days, as far as we faeries are concerned.”
“But there’s a reason it’s empty,” said Rhosmari, half-turning to reveal a pair of jewel-blue butterfly wings that made Ivy bite her lip with envy. “I’ve seen loreseeds of the ancient battles between the piskeys and the faeries of Kernow, and they were terrible. In the end, most of the faeries were dead or taken captive, and the survivors fled into England and Wales, too frightened to return.” She looked at Ivy. “Isn’t that true
?”
This was going even worse than she’d anticipated. No wonder Martin had urged Ivy to betray him: what hope did she have of convincing these people to help her otherwise? “Yes, but you don’t understand. We’re not—”
“I understand,” said Queen Valerian. “Like your mother, you have no interest in faery concerns. Your only thought is for your family.”
Ivy wanted to say, No, it’s not like that. But maybe it was. True, she’d been shocked to learn about the violence of her piskey ancestors, and discovering her own half faery heritage had forced her to reconsider the prejudices she’d been raised with. But Ivy still thought of faeries as a foreign people, not like the piskey friends and neighbors she’d been trying to save. She couldn’t say she cared about the Oakenfolk: how could she, when she’d barely knew them?
“Yet I have three hundred faeries under my protection,” the queen continued, “and I will not be another Empress, sending them into danger against their will. I have no doubt your mother’s need is great. But healers skilled enough to treat burns like hers are rare, and the cost of such healing is greater than you know.”
Her gaze held Ivy’s, and Ivy had the unnerving feeling that Valerian was looking through her, to a vision of something greater beyond. “So if you want our help, you must give us better reason to do what you are asking. What can you offer us?”
Ivy’s stomach tightened. Everything in her cried out against it, but she’d given Martin her promise, and she could see no other way. Still, she’d have to speak carefully, or the Oakenfolk might suspect her true feelings and think she was leading them into a trap.
“If my mother has wronged you,” Ivy said at last, “she can answer for it herself, if she lives. But I know one thing. If she hadn’t made the mistake of trusting someone who betrayed her to the Empress, she would never have had to fight in any of those battles you talk about at all.” She drew a deep breath. “The faery who deceived her was called Martin. He’s a liar and a murderer, and I know you’ve been looking for him. If you help me… I’ll tell you where he is.”
Rob went rigid. Rhosmari’s hands flew to her mouth. Ivy went on, “The piskeys of Kernow are no threat to you. They live underground, and they haven’t fought any battles in years…”
She trailed off, because none of the council seemed to be listening. Rob had sunk back onto the bench, staring into space. Thorn and Campion were talking in heated whispers, as the bearded man headed over to join them. Rhosmari bowed her head, while Wink put a consoling arm around her. Only Queen Valerian kept her gaze on Ivy, her expression grave.
“We will consider your offer,” she said. “Allow us to discuss it a little while in private, and I will call for you when we are ready.”
As Ivy left the audience chamber she nearly bumped into Linden, who’d been standing just outside the curtain. With no sign of embarrassment, the faery girl beckoned Ivy down the corridor to another room—Wink’s chamber, by the cheerful look of the place—and shut the door behind them.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” she said quickly. “Queen Valerian asked me to wait outside in case she needed me to fetch something—I do that for her sometimes, when Wink’s busy in council. But is it really true? You know where Martin is?”
“Yes,” said Ivy.
Linden let out her breath. “I can’t believe it. We’ve been searching for over a year. Rob thought we’d never find him.”
So Martin had been right. Despite all the evil the Empress had done, Rob was still determined to see her murderer brought to justice. And judging by the way the other councilors had reacted, he wasn’t the only one.
“That girl who was sitting next to Wink,” said Ivy. “Rhosmari. What did Martin do to her?”
The words had scarcely left her mouth when she remembered: Marigold had told her the story, right after Martin disappeared two months ago. But Linden was already talking, and it would have been rude to interrupt.
“The same thing he did to your mother,” she said. “Tricked her into trusting him, and betrayed her to the Empress. And for Rhosmari it was especially awful, because her people—the Children of Rhys—had been safe until then, and her getting captured put them in danger too. It turned out all right in the end, but… I don’t think she’s ever quite got over it.”
Ivy could understand why. If Martin had done anything to threaten the Delve, she wouldn’t find it easy to forgive him either.
“And it wasn’t just the Empress and Veronica he killed, either,” Linden went on, prodding the coals in Wink’s brazier to life and putting on the teakettle. “He murdered a friend of Rob’s, too—a human friend, just a harmless old man. I mean, it was the Empress’s fault really, it was on her orders, but when Rob found out who did the actual killing… I’ve never seen him so upset. He said he’d seen Martin that same night, before and after, and he’d never let on it was him or shown any guilt about it.”
Ivy sank onto the brightly cushioned sofa, feeling numb. None of this should surprise her after what she knew of Martin’s past. But he hadn’t killed or even injured anyone in all the months she’d known him. And last night in the shop he’d touched Ivy so tenderly, and given his very life into her hands. Was that the kind of thing a remorseless criminal would do?
Still, it made sense now that Rob wanted to see Martin punished. It was hard to imagine anyone mourning the Empress, but an innocent man…
“And there’ve been problems with the other faeries as well,” said Linden. “The ones outside the Oak, I mean. They’re glad to be free of the Empress, but they’re also afraid that nobody’s in control anymore, and they know we haven’t caught Martin yet. Some of them think he killed the Empress and Veronica so he could rule in their place, and since then he’s just been biding his time, plotting to come back and take over.”
The idea of Martin wanting to be Emperor was so absurd, Ivy had to choke back a laugh. Being responsible for thousands of faeries, having to listen to their grievances and settle their disputes, was the last thing he would want. “You think they’d follow him if he did?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Linden looked troubled. “Maybe. They don’t know what to make of Queen Valerian—they can’t understand why she hasn’t just seized power and set herself up as the new Empress. They think that means she’s weak, because they’re so used to having someone thinking and giving orders for them, instead of encouraging them to choose their own leaders and think for themselves.”
She swirled the teapot, poured two cups and handed one to Ivy. “The Empress had got rid of all the other queens when she came to power, you see. And after that she was always sending faeries from one place to another, so they could never get attached to any one wyld or even have proper families anymore, let alone work out how to govern themselves. Now she’s gone they have all these choices to make, and it’s making them terribly anxious. I think they’d almost be glad if Martin did come back.”
And if the Oakenfolk saw Martin as a political threat, it made even more sense that they’d want to capture him. It would prove that Queen Valerian wasn’t weak after all, and quash any rumors of Martin becoming the Emperor. Ivy laced her hands around the earthenware cup, its heat burning into her palms. “Are you sure you should be telling me all this?”
Linden blinked. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Well,” said Ivy, “if I were an enemy, I could use that information against you.”
“But you’re not.”
All Ivy’s life she’d been warned not to deal with faeries, that they were cruel and calculating and made deceitful bargains. She’d never imagined that any of them could be as innocent as Linden.
“I’m a piskey,” she explained. “You heard what Rhosmari said back there: my people did terrible things to yours. There’s no reason you should trust me with your secrets.”
“Oh, it’s no secret,” said Linden. “You could easily find out all that yourself, just by visiting another wyld or two. And we faeries did some pretty terrible things to each other i
n the past as well, so I don’t think we can go about judging people because of their ancestors. All we can do is try to be better now.”
A tinkling bell-chime interrupted her, and Linden quickly set her teacup down. “That’s the queen,” she said. “We should go.”
“The council has agreed,” Queen Valerian told Ivy. “We accept your bargain.”
After what Linden had told her, Ivy wasn’t surprised. But the relief she felt was mingled with an aching sense of loss. Even if Martin preferred to break the tenkyz and die rather than face a lifetime of imprisonment, even if it was no more than he deserved for his crimes, Ivy would always be haunted by the knowledge that she’d been the one to betray him.
“I’m grateful,” she said, but the words came roughly, and she could not meet Valerian’s searching gaze.
“Broch has been training as a healer these past months,” the queen said, gesturing to the thin-faced man. “He is willing to journey back to Cornwall with you, and use his skills to help your mother. And Thorn will accompany him, as my ambassador.”
Linden started at this news, and Wink looked shocked. But Thorn gave a curt nod, as though this was no more than she’d expected.
“If your mother lives,” Valerian continued, “and you are satisfied that she is fully healed, Thorn and Broch will escort you back to the Oak, so that you can lead us to Martin.”
Ivy hated to say it—or even think it—but the possibility had to be faced. “And if my mother dies?”
“Then you are released from your obligation,” said Valerian. “And you may choose whether you still wish to help us or not. But whatever happens, it is my hope that you will consider the Oakenfolk your friends and allies, as we have sought to be yours.”
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