“Then let me offer you a more pleasant distraction. Shall we fly to St. Ives? It isn’t far, and I’m sure Jewel and Dagger can manage for a few hours without us.”
Ivy had never been to that town before, but it must be the closest place to buy more food and supplies for the barrow. Perhaps helping Martin would make her feel more useful. “All right,” she said, and went to fetch her coat.
It was a rare cloudless evening in Cornwall, the first stars glittering like ice crystals on the deep blue dome of the sky. Martin launched off as a barn owl, and Ivy followed him as a peregrine. The cool air revived her, and the wind rippled pleasantly beneath her wings as they soared over rambling pastures and gorse-stippled hills toward the sea. She was almost sorry when the scattered lights below clustered into a splash of brilliance, and Martin swooped lower to guide her into St. Ives.
She expected him to land at the supermarket, but he ignored the sprawl of modern buildings on the outskirts and headed for the close-packed shops of the town center. They landed by the wall of the parish church, changed to human shape, and Martin turned to Ivy.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“For what?”
“You’ll find out, if you’re patient. I have a plan.”
Knowing Martin, that could mean anything from the theatrical to the mildly criminal. But curiosity won out, so Ivy followed him down to the harbor. The sea breeze tugged at her curls, and she shivered as the damp air seeped through her winter coat. But Martin set a brisk pace, and as they walked the curving road along the shoreline Ivy soon warmed up again.
“This will do, I think,” said Martin, stopping at a ramshackle cluster of old buildings covered in slates and white plaster. Mystified, Ivy followed him across the cobbled forecourt to the door, where he rapped and waited until a harried-looking man came to let them in.
Warm light washed over them, along with a clamor of human voices and the smells of roast potatoes and beer. “Table for two, please,” said Martin. “Upstairs, if there’s room.”
“Wait,” said Ivy. “I thought we—” But Martin raised his eyebrows, and she remembered she’d promised to trust him. She fell silent as they crossed the crowded pub to the stairs.
They climbed up to a room framed by creamy walls and low, dark timbers, with fewer tables—and humans—than the pub below. Martin led her to a seat, ordered dinner with airy confidence, and sat back looking satisfied as the server hurried away.
“I’ve been staring at the menu outside this place for weeks,” he said. “I hope you’re as hungry as I am.”
Ivy hadn’t been hungry at all before they left the barrow, and she wasn’t sure she was now. But if Martin had been looking forward to this meal, she wouldn’t spoil it for him. “I’ll do my best.”
“No, don’t. Do what you want for once, Ivy. The world won’t fall to pieces, and neither will I.”
Ivy exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders. “All right.”
But when the platter of mixed seafood, greens, and hot buttered potatoes arrived, Ivy’s appetite rekindled at once. Her share was as generous as Martin’s, but by the time she finished there was nothing on her plate but empty shells.
It was dark when they left the restaurant, but Martin showed no sign of hurry. He took Ivy’s hand, and strolled with her through the quiet, lamplit streets. They passed shuttered shops and art galleries, cafes and inns, all packed so close that if Ivy hadn’t looked up, she might have thought they were walking through a tunnel. In a strange way, it reminded her of the Delve.
Homesickness welled up in Ivy, and with it the old shame and grief of failure. Yet she forced her mind back to the present. It might be too late to save her own people, but she could still help Martin protect his.
When they reached the next corner Martin turned, leading Ivy down a narrow lane to a footpath. The shops receded and the beach spread out before them, glimmering like a golden torc. On the moon-silvered waves a few small boats bobbed at anchor, and far in the distance a plane glided westward, flashing its ruby lights.
“I know a lot has happened since I came back,” Martin said, slipping his free hand into his coat pocket. “And between your people and mine, we’ve not had much time together. But I’m done waiting for the perfect chance to do this, so I’m doing it now.” He turned to Ivy, gray eyes searching. “A few months ago I offered you something without knowing what it meant. Now I do know, I’d like to offer it to you again.”
She knew what it was, even before the stone touched her palm. An emerald necklace, old but beautifully crafted, with a filigree setting and a cunningly twisted chain. Ivy gazed at it, her heart in her throat. The thought of accepting made her dizzy.
Martin laid his hand over hers, covering the stone. “You’re not your people’s Joan anymore, and there’s nothing I can do about that. But you can still be queen of the spriggans, if you want.”
Could she? Ivy had never thought of Martin as a king before. But the children had knelt to him when they awoke, and though they no longer cowered in his presence, they still obeyed him. Even Dagger had never refused a direct order from Martin, no matter how much he sulked as he carried it out.
And the spriggans liked her, the girls especially. They didn’t care about Ivy’s winglessness, or look down on her for being thin and small. They didn’t see her as Flint’s daughter or Marigold’s, Mica’s little sister or Cicely’s big one. They didn’t expect her to be anyone but herself.
Martin’s fingers curled around Ivy’s, his thumb stroking her wrist. “You told me once that the Joan is called Wad or torch in the old language, because she’s the light for her people. The one who drives back the darkness, and shows them the way. Well . . . that’s what you did for me, when you found me in Betony’s dungeon.” He raised his free hand, brushing a windblown curl from her face. “My Joan.”
There was no point reminding him she couldn’t make fire, or defeat Betony in single combat. He knew that, and everything else about her. But he’d chosen to believe in her anyway.
Ivy turned Martin’s hand over and pressed the pendant into it. She lowered her eyes as she spoke:
“Would you put it on me, please?”
In piskey tradition, a boy offered his sweetheart a necklace he’d crafted and waited anxiously to see if she’d wear it. But among spriggans, the necklace was the first piece a spriggan bride would wear of her husband’s hoard, and it was his privilege to fasten it.
Martin’s quick intake of breath told her he understood. With reverent care he draped the chain about Ivy’s neck and clasped it, then caught her face between his hands and kissed her fiercely.
They were both trembling when they parted, and not from cold. “I love you,” Ivy whispered. “And I’ll be honored to marry you, when the time comes. But I can’t stay invisible like your mother did. Even if I had the power, I couldn’t live that way.”
“And I couldn’t bear to make you,” said Martin, smiling down at her. “So by all means, let’s cause a scandal. If nothing else, it will give Dagger something new to take offense at.” He touched the pendant lightly where it lay against her heart. “This is all I ever need you to wear, Ivy. You’re my treasure.”
She leaned against him, tucking herself into the circle of his arms. “And you’re mine.”
It took two leaps to get all the provisions they’d bought back to the barrow, but as Ivy helped Martin carry the first load up the stairs she felt stronger and more alive than she had in weeks. She’d tucked her betrothal necklace inside her sweater, and a thrill went through her every time the pendant brushed her skin.
“It feels wrong to be happy,” she’d told Martin as they left the supermarket, but he’d shaken his head at her.
“How would it be any better if you weren’t? The only person who wants you miserable is Betony. If you can’t stop her taking your people, you can at least deny her that.”
So she’d resolved to stop brooding, at least for now, and consider how to help the spriggan children adjust
to their new life. Could she teach the girls to change shape as Martin had taught the boys? That would give them one more way to protect themselves from enemies, and see more of the world than they ever could on foot. She could teach them to leap too, once they’d travelled enough . . .
“Have they all gone to bed?” Martin sounded puzzled, breaking into Ivy’s thoughts. She’d assumed the door at the top of the stair was closed, but it wasn’t: the whole barrow was dark.
“You must have worn them out with all those lessons,” she replied, stepping into the chamber and dropping her bags next to his. Her skin-glow lit up several boys curled in their nests of blankets, but none of them stirred.
“Well, in that case, I’ll have to do it more often.” He stooped to give Ivy a lingering kiss, then headed back down the stairs for the second load.
Moving quietly so as not to wake the children, Ivy carried the supplies to the storeroom and set out the ingredients they’d need for breakfast. It was comforting to do such a simple, homely task, with no worries about where her people’s next meal would be coming from or where they’d sleep tonight.
“Ivy.” Martin spoke tersely through the doorway. “We have a problem.”
Perplexed, she walked out of the storeroom to find him pacing the main chamber, kindling one glow-spell after another until the whole room blazed with light. The younger boys sat up, rubbing their eyes and yawning, but the older ones looked nervous, and some of the huddled shapes didn’t move. Martin stalked to the nearest hump, and kicked it with a ruthlessness that shocked Ivy until she saw why. Under the blanket lay a rolled-up rug and an oat sack, instead of a boy.
“How long ago did they leave?” Martin demanded, rounding on Horatio.
The boy hugged his blanket, eyes huge and guilty. “A-about an hour ago.”
There were four boys missing from the cavern: Dagger, Caliban, Tybalt, and Benedick. Ivy exchanged a worried glance with Martin. “Do you know where they went?”
Horatio gulped. “No.” But his eyes strayed to the door of the treasure chamber, and fear chilled Ivy as she realized the boys might not be the only ones with something to hide. Willing her skin-glow to full brightness, she ran to the room where the girls slept.
To her relief, they were all awake and visible, with no fake sleepers in sight. But they looked even more distraught than Horatio, and as Ivy’s gaze travelled from Jewel’s tense posture to Ruby’s swollen eyes, she realized with a shock what was wrong.
“Pearl,” she said. “Where did she go?”
Jewel stepped forward, ashen. “It’s my fault, my lady. I should have watched her more closely, but I never thought . . .”
Ivy whirled to Martin. “She’s gone after Thrift.”
“Of course she has,” he said wearily. “And let me guess—Dagger and the other boys went to look for her. Did no one think of asking Thorn and Broch to help, instead of haring off in all directions like a pack of tomfools?”
Jewel hung her head but didn’t reply. Probably she’d hoped the boys would find Pearl and bring her back before any of the grown-ups found out.
Still, what could have possessed Pearl to think she could follow Thrift in the first place? She’d never been to the Delve before, so she’d have to make the journey on foot, alone, in the cold and dark. It would be terrifying—and how would she know the way?
“Get Pearl’s blanket,” Martin told the girls, “or something else that belongs to her. If we don’t find her with the others, we can use it to track her down.”
He took Ivy’s hand, and they hurried out of the barrow. Standing in the moonlight, they cast one finding-spell after another, and in moments they’d located all the missing boys and ordered them back home.
But even with Pearl’s comb to focus on, Martin couldn’t find her. In ermine-shape he could track her scent as far as the fallen trees, but after that he and Ivy found no trace of the little girl anywhere.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Martin said, scratching the back of his head. It was such a Mattock-like gesture that it hurt, and Ivy had to look away. “She’s too young to travel by magic, let alone go somewhere she’s never been before. She can’t have leaped to the Delve.”
“But she could have gone underground,” Ivy pointed out. “If she sneaked down a dry adit or holed up in a carn for the night, that would explain why we can’t find her.”
Martin looked bleak, and she knew what he was thinking: Or she’s dead. But Ivy refused to give up so easily. She changed back to falcon-shape and flapped off to continue the search.
Hours later, they’d checked every mine tunnel and rock pile within walking distance. But they still hadn’t found a trace of Pearl. They leaped back to the barrow defeated, and Ivy stumbled to the treasure room and fell into exhausted sleep.
It seemed only moments before a tap on the arm roused her, and Ivy rolled over to find Jewel kneeling at her side. The other bed-mats lay empty, and the smell of frying sausages drifted in from the outer chamber. Surely it couldn’t be morning already?
“I’m sorry to wake you,” Jewel said. “But I’ve found out something about Pearl.”
Ivy sat up, instantly awake. “What is it?”
Jewel glanced over her shoulder. “She was too shy to speak of it last night,” she said, “and now she fears you’ll be angry with her. But when Thrift was here, Ruby overheard her telling Pearl about the Delve and showing her an illusion of the place you call the Engine House. And just before the piskeys left, Thrift gave Pearl one of her hair ribbons, and Pearl gave her a coin from our hoard.”
Could that be enough? Most magical folk would never dream of willing themselves to a place they’d never set foot, even with a token to guide them. But a young girl heedless of the danger, with no thought except finding her playmate again . . .
Ivy flung back the covers and leaped up to find Martin.
“If Pearl’s gone to the Delve,” Martin said, pacing the floor of the storeroom, “then we’ve got no choice. We have to get her back before anyone finds her.”
Ivy bit her lip, knowing he was right. If Betony found the spriggan girl, she’d consider it an act of war.
“What makes you think they haven’t found her already?” demanded Thorn. She’d been cross all morning, but Ivy knew that was only a mask for her guilty feelings: Jewel had rapped timidly on the faeries’ door last night, and Thorn had barked at her to go away. “If the wards Betony put around the Delve are anything like the ones on the house and barn, there’s no way a spriggan could get in without her knowing it.”
“She could if Thrift was with her,” Ivy said. “The wards keep out enemies, not guests.”
Broch stroked his beard thoughtfully. “So you think the girls planned this between them? It wasn’t just Pearl’s idea?”
“I’m certain of it.” Ruby had told Ivy that her clan and Pearl’s were kinfolk, and that in more peaceful times they’d often walked past the Delve on their way to visit one another. That explained how the spriggan girl could leap there, especially with an image of the present-day Engine House to guide her. “That’s why they exchanged gifts.”
“So they could track each other,” Thorn said, with grudging admiration. “They’re clever little nits, I’ll give them that. Pity they’ve landed us all in such a bees’ nest. So what’s the plan?”
“I’m going to the Delve,” Ivy said quickly, before Martin could speak. “I know where Daisy and Thrift’s cavern is, and if Pearl isn’t there I can think of a few other places to look. But I have to go alone.”
Thorn frowned. “What for? I can make myself invisible just as well as you can. And I’ve no fear of tunnels, or the dark either.”
Ivy’s heart warmed. Finding the faery woman so loyal, even now, made up for all of Queen Valerian’s reluctance. “I’m sure you’re right. But the air in the Delve’s too bad now, especially for faeries. You’d be coughing in minutes, and it could hurt your baby as well.”
“Blight.” Thorn wrinkled her nose. “Hadn’t thought of that
. But if the air’s too bad for me, what about you? You’re half faery yourself, and—no offense—a lot twiggier than I am.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve got no choice.” Neither Broch nor Martin could get into the Delve without Ivy, let alone navigate its maze of unfamiliar tunnels. If they blundered into the wrong cavern, they’d be captured and likely executed at once.
“Well, you’re not going alone,” Martin said. “I’m going with you.”
“You can’t,” Ivy protested. “You hate being underground.”
“No, what I can’t stand is being trapped in the dark. Which is a fairly reasonable sort of trauma to have, if you ask me.”
“But . . .” Flustered, Ivy cast about for another objection. “What about the children? If anything happens to us—”
“Then Dagger and Jewel will look after them. They’re older than I was when Helm sent me through the portal, and I survived.” He turned to Thorn and Broch. “Though they’ll need help, if you’re willing to give it.”
“It’s more if they’re willing to accept it,” said Broch. “Dagger doesn’t think much of outsiders, from what I’ve seen.”
“I’ll deal with him,” Martin said. “But in any case, we’ll need you two to keep watch for us on the surface.” His eyes turned bleak. “And tell the others what happened, if we don’t make it out again.”
The others. Such a simple phrase to describe all the people who cared for Ivy and Martin and would grieve to lose them. Like Marigold, who’d trusted Ivy to keep Cicely safe and had no idea that both her daughters were in such danger. And Molly would be shattered if she found out that not only was her best friend dead, but the young man she called her “faery godfather” as well.
“No,” said Ivy, with sudden passion. “We can’t just go barging into the Delve and hope for the best. There has to be another way.”
Torch Page 17
