As far as Ivy knew, Marigold had no objection to Martin. In fact, not long ago she’d gone out of her way to hide him from the faeries who were chasing him, and then sent him to find Ivy on her behalf. So while her mother would doubtless be surprised, Ivy hoped the shock would be a pleasant one.

She’d been wrong. As soon as Martin entered Marigold rose, back stiff and mouth set. “Ivy,” she said, “please take Cicely outside.”

“I don’t need her to take me anywhere!” Cicely was indignant. “Why can’t I stay? I’m old enough.”

Ivy hesitated, not sure that leaving her mother alone with Martin would be a good idea. Marigold might look gentle and speak softly, but in Martin’s memories Ivy had seen her fighting some magical battle, eyes blazing and hands sizzling with power.

“I think,” she began, but Martin caught her eye and tipped his head toward the door. Go on. I’ll be all right.

Resigned, Ivy took her sister’s arm. “Come on, Cicely. If they want to talk in private, we should let them.” She led the younger girl, still protesting, out the door and down the steps to the street. Then she turned to her and said, “I don’t like being sent away either. But we’re not going to change Mum’s mind by making a fuss, so we may as well sit down and wait.”

Cicely’s expression was mutinous, but she sat. A minute went by in silence, while Ivy watched a car thread its way up the narrow street and vanish over the crest of the hill. At last Cicely said in a small voice, “I really thought it was Mica.”

“I know,” said Ivy.

“I just don’t understand how he could turn his back on us. I don’t—” She pulled her knees close to her chest and dropped her chin onto them. “I don’t understand him at all.”

Ivy put an arm around her, and they sat quietly until Martin came out. “Your mother wants you,” he told Cicely, and she leaped up and ran inside.

“What did she say?” Ivy asked.

“Well,” said Martin, “she wasn’t entirely pleased with the idea of us sharing Molly’s house, since she’s worried that Rob and the other faeries are still hunting for me. And she wasn’t convinced she could depend on me to keep paying my share of the rent. But in the end, I talked her around. She’s going to ring David Menadue this morning—”

Ivy flung her arms around him and hugged him. “You did it! I’m so grateful, Martin!”

Martin went rigid. Then his fingers closed on her shoulders, pushing her away. “Enough of that nonsense,” he said roughly. “I owed Molly a debt, so I took the opportunity to repay it. There’s nothing special about that.”

He was so close that she could see the flecks of darker grey in the silver of his eyes. He looked shaken—no, terrified. Ivy drew back. “What kind of ‘nonsense’ do you mean?” she asked. “Gratitude?”

“Cultural differences,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Faeries may be grateful, but they aren’t usually so… demonstrative about it. I’d appreciate a warning next time.”

“I see,” said Ivy, her color rising. “Well in that case, you needn’t worry. I won’t do it again.” She stepped around him, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Martin.

“Back to the flat,” Ivy said. “I want to be there when Mum calls Mr. Menadue.”

True to her word, Marigold telephoned Molly’s father later that morning, and chatted to him for some time in a very human-sounding way about what good friends their daughters were and how sorry she was to hear that Molly had lost her mother, until Ivy thought she would go mad with impatience. But by the time the conversation turned to business, Mr. Menadue seemed more than willing to consider their idea. In fact, he suggested that they visit the house that very afternoon, to see if it would suit them.

“But you’ve already seen it,” said Cicely, after Marigold had rung off. “Why can’t we just tell him we want it now?”

“Because he doesn’t know that I’ve seen the house before,” replied their mother, “and it’s only polite to accept his offer. Humans aren’t the same as piskeys, my darling. They have their own way of doing things, and it’s important to respect that if you want them to trust you.”

So when Marigold, Ivy and Cicely arrived at the house some hours later, they had to follow David Menadue on a tour of the house and barn and try to look interested in all the details, when the whole time Ivy was chafing to know whether he’d agree to their terms or not. Only Molly’s presence at her side made the wait bearable.

“I hear you have a cousin who’d like to share the rent,” David Menadue said to Marigold as they came out of the barn. Molly had stayed behind to saddle the horses and take Cicely out for a ride, but Ivy was determined to stay close to both their parents until she knew what the outcome would be. “Apparently Molly did some sort of drama training with him last year? It’s a small world.”

Marigold gave a vague smile—the safest response for someone who, unlike Molly, couldn’t actually lie. “Martin is an accomplished actor,” she said.

“The only thing is,” Mr. Menadue continued with a hint of apology, “I’m afraid you’ll find the house a bit tight for four. There’s only the two bedrooms, you see. So perhaps you’d be better looking elsewhere.”

Ivy held her breath, but Marigold stayed serene. “Oh, that wouldn’t be a problem,” she said. “Martin told me he doesn’t expect to stay with us often, or more than one or two nights at a time. I’m sure he’ll be quite happy in the study.”

“Well, as long as that’s settled,” said Molly’s father. He jingled something in his pocket and glanced around the yard, then turned back to Marigold. “Shall we continue this over tea? Molly’s made some rather drippy jam, and she’ll be disappointed if we don’t try it.”

“That would be lovely,” said Marigold, and the two of them walked off together. As soon as they disappeared, Ivy dashed back into the barn.

“Foot in the stirrup,” Molly was telling Cicely, “and swing your leg over. There you go!” She waited until the younger girl was settled on Dodger’s back, then looked at Ivy. “Well?”

“They’ve gone for tea,” said Ivy. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

Molly broke into a grin. “Knowing my dad, it’s as good as done. He never invites anyone for tea.” She hugged Ivy. “This is brilliant. I can’t thank you and Martin enough. Where is he, anyway?”

Ivy took Dodger’s bridle and led him out into the yard. “Here, Cicely,” she said, handing her sister the reins even though she probably wouldn’t need them—piskeys had a natural rapport with horses, so the two of them would be galloping about in no time. She watched as they trotted down the slope into the field, then turned to Molly.

“Martin’s all right,” she said, “but he’s been… odd. I think something’s bothering him.” Following the other girl back into the barn, she went on to tell Molly all that had happened since Martin’s return that morning.

“And when I hugged him,” she finished as Molly tightened Duchess’s saddle girth, “he reacted like I’d done something horrible. He’s never behaved that way before.”

Molly tilted her head to one side, considering. “It’s hard to know with Martin,” she said. “But he does seem to enjoy catching people off-guard, and he doesn’t like it when they do the same to him.”

True, thought Ivy. Perhaps it was that simple.

“Or maybe,” Molly continued in the same musing tone, “he’s in love with you.”

“What?”

“It was just an idea.” Molly slipped the bridle over Duchess’s nose and patted the mare reassuringly. “Don’t you think it would explain a lot, though?”

“No,” spluttered Ivy. “Martin? It’s ridiculous.”

“Why? Because he’s never said so?” Molly folded her arms. “My mum never said she loved me either. But you told me you were sure that she did.”

Ivy looked at the cobbles, unable to meet the other girl’s accusing eyes. How could she explain her certainty about Martin’s feelings—or lack of them—without calling Gillian’s into question?

“That’s not what I meant,” she said at last. “It’s just that Martin and I are different. Too different to be anything more than friends, and sometimes I’m not even sure we’re that.”

Besides, the idea of anyone being in love with Ivy was ridiculous. Growing up she’d been reminded at every feast and festival, if she hadn’t known it already, that a scrawny, wingless piskey-girl wasn’t fit for dancing, let alone wooing. Keeve had joked at Ivy’s last Lighting that not even a spriggan would want her…

“Anyway,” Ivy added more firmly, “he’s too flighty to settle down with anyone. It was all I could do to talk him into renting your house, and he’s already told my mother he doesn’t plan to be here any more than he has to.” And it was hard to imagine how Martin could possibly care much for Ivy, if he found it so easy to leave her behind. “Not to mention that he’s—”

“Well, it’s obvious you don’t think much of the idea, at any rate!” Molly sounded exasperated, but when she caught sight of Ivy’s face she relented. “Never mind. I just worry about Martin sometimes, and I think it would be nice if he had someone to look after him.” She handed Duchess’s reins to Ivy. “Go on, then. Your sister’s waiting.”

When Ivy returned to the hotel that evening she found Martin pacing the room. Surely he hadn’t been waiting for her all day?

“It’s all settled,” she said. “We’re moving into Molly’s house this Saturday morning.”

“All right. I’ll be there.” He pulled a thick envelope from his pocket and tossed it on the table. “You can give that to your mother, when you see her. It should be enough for now.”

“Where are you going?” Ivy asked.

“Well,” said Martin, “Since I’ve just given your mother all the money I had, it’s back to the carn for me. Then I’ll pay another visit to Theo Pendennis. He’ll be delighted, I’m sure.”

He spoke lightly, but Ivy felt a stir of unease. “I thought you said you weren’t going back to London without me,” she said.

“That was when it was just the two of us. You have your family now.” He pulled out his wallet and peered into it, then put it back in his pocket. “But you needn’t worry about Rob and the others, even if your mother does. They won’t catch me.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been caught before.”

“True. But I didn’t have you looking out for me then.”

Ivy stared at him. “Are you mocking me?”

“Absolutely not. Believe me, after the way I’ve spent the last few years, having someone I can actually trust to watch my back is a revolutionary experience.” He glanced in the mirror and flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Besides, there’s no use wasting jokes on someone with no sense of humor.”

“I do so have—”

“You do not. Not that I’ve ever seen, anyway. But that’s all right.” He quirked a smile at her. “There are worse faults. I’ll see you on Saturday, Ivy of the Delve.”

Then he was gone.