“She’s not coming back, boy.” The Grey Man crouched close to him in the twilight, his expression grimmer than ever. “Our luck’s run out.”

The rest of the search party—old Helm and a young tracker named Dart—had already headed into the fogou for a meal and some well-earned sleep. It had been Helm who’d told the boy that the chief wanted to see him, but one look at the old warrior’s face had warned him the news would not be good.

The boy swallowed. “Is she…?”

“Dead? No.” The chief straightened, folding his arms and gazing out across the valley. “Though it might be better for all of us if she were. Her trail crossed the path of some knockers bound for their diggings, and that was the last we could find of her.”

Knockers. Sturdy, pickaxe-wielding miners who also served as the piskeys’ soldiers and enforcers, they feared and hated spriggans as much as the boy’s people hated them. If the knocker-men had captured his mother, they’d never get her back without a fight…

But that battle would never come. How could the Grey Man ask his warriors to risk their lives and the lives of their families, all for the sake of a faery woman who’d despised his treasure and run away?

“Our best hope now,” his father murmured, “is that they don’t question her too closely about where she came from. Because if they do…”

The boy didn’t have to ask what he meant. Nomads though his people were, it was no small matter to move their clan from one wintering place to another. By now all the other carns and caves large enough to hold such a band had already been claimed by other spriggan tribes, so if they lost the fogou they’d have nowhere else to go.

“Let this be a lesson to you, boy.” The Grey Man spoke coldly, his features hard as granite. “Ayes, a lesson for us both. Never give your heart to a woman, even if she begs for it. And never trust a faery’s bargain…”

Ivy blinked against the pillow, then rolled over with a groan. Last night she’d taken off the copper bracelet and hung it on the coat-stand, clear across the room. Yet the instant her eyes closed, she’d been back with the spriggans. And if the boy’s conversation with the Grey Man hadn’t been painful enough, she’d gone on to relive his rough awakening later that night, his desperate escape with the treasure, and all the horrific details of the fogou’s destruction.

Had the dreams come full circle, and this was the end? Or was there more memories that Ivy had yet to witness? Either way, Martin would want to know what she’d seen. She’d been too caught up with Molly to tell him about her previous dream, and now he was gone. But when he returned—if he returned—she would remember.

Ivy climbed out of the bed and put on the fresh set of clothes she’d brought from her mother’s house, reveling in their cleanness. She hadn’t realized how much baths and fresh clothes meant to her, until she’d started traveling with Martin and had to go for days without them. Though it had been easy enough to forget when she was in bird-shape…

Only now Ivy had no bird-shape to hide in, and she missed the comforts of flight. Yesterday she’d walked along the beach until the moon rose, and tried turning herself into a peregrine again—but like all her other attempts, it had failed. She’d rallied herself for a second try and then a third, but when she found herself in swift-form, the terror that gripped her was so overwhelming that she’d dropped back into her own piskey shape at once. And on her fourth attempt, she’d been so determined to only become a falcon that she’d tumbled onto the shingle without changing shape at all.

It was no use telling herself she was being a fool, or a coward: she’d called herself all those names and more, but it hadn’t given her back her courage. Perhaps when the other swifts returned next spring she’d feel confident enough to fly again, but for the time being, Ivy was grounded.

Still, now that Martin had shown Ivy how to travel by magic, she didn’t actually need wings unless she wanted to go somewhere new, and she had no time for exploring now. She’d promised to meet Jenny and Mattock this afternoon, for one thing. Perhaps they’d have good news for her about what was happening in the Delve.

“Sorry we’re late,” said Jenny as she and Mattock joined Ivy in the shelter of their meeting place, the old mining adit Matt had shown them before. The opening was shallow, the passage behind it caged off to keep humans from wandering into the abandoned tunnels. But there was ample room for three piskeys to shelter beneath the overhang, if they didn’t mind sharing the space with a few cigarette stubs and discarded beer bottles. “It was my fault. Yarrow asked me to deliver something to the Joan.”

“What was it?” asked Ivy, sitting up. If Betony was ill, perhaps she’d be more sympathetic to her people’s plight.

“Just a sleeping potion,” said Jenny. “Seems you aren’t the only one in the family who finds it hard to settle.”

Ivy hadn’t found it hard at all, lately. But with the dreams she’d been having, she wasn’t sure the extra sleep was worth it. “So you’ve been helping Yarrow,” she said, trying to stay hopeful. “Did you ask if she’d be willing to talk to the Joan?”

“I tried,” Jenny said, “but she gave me a strange look, and asked where I got that idea. So I told her I’ve been worried about Mum’s chest, and thinking more fresh air would be good for her. And she said it might help a little, but it wouldn’t solve the real problem, and we just have to be patient until the Joan’s finished dealing with it.”

“But that’s nonsense,” said Ivy. “If Betony’s spells were working, our people would be feeling better, not worse.”

“I know. But when I suggested that to Yarrow, she—” Jenny paused to cough into her sleeve, then went on hoarsely, “She said that if I was going to talk instead of work, she’d find another helper. She was practically rude, and that’s…”

“Not like Yarrow at all,” finished Ivy, as Jenny coughed again. “But she’s still got you running errands?”

“Oh, yes,” Jenny said. “Really, she can’t afford to lose me. I’ve been taking medicine to all the old aunties and uncles for her, and even with my help she’s busy most of the day.” She sighed. “I don’t think she was angry, anyway. I think she was frightened.”

“We can’t count on her, then,” said Mattock. He sat down heavily, wiping his arm across his brow. “That’s much the same as I found, when I talked to the knockers. They all said there was nothing odd about feeling a bit under the weather sometimes, and that the important thing was to keep busy and not let it get you down. And when I asked whether they didn’t think that there was more sickness in the Delve now than before, they blamed it all on Gillian.”

Ivy was not surprised. When Marigold had first become ill, she’d faced a similar resistance from her piskey neighbors. There were a hundred excuses and explanations for the sicknesses and premature deaths that had touched nearly every clan among them, from spriggan mischief to old faery curses to “a bit o’ what they call rheumatism, it runs in the family, you know.”

“I asked my Mum to talk to her friends, too,” said Jenny, “but they said they were sure the Joan knew all about their troubles already, and was doing the best she could.” She sighed. “Then Mum said they were probably right, and that piskey folk ought to stay cheerful and not fret over things we can’t change. She won’t even let me take her to the Great Shaft now.”

Ivy pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. How could they prove to Betony that their people’s way of life needed to change, if they couldn’t even convince the piskeys who were suffering the most?

“Then we’ll have to try something else,” she said at last. “If the older ones are too afraid or too set in their ways to help us, we’ll go to the younger piskeys instead. They may not be sick enough to change Betony’s mind, but if we can make them understand the danger our people are in, they might be willing to do something about it.”

“Do something?” asked Jenny. “You mean… without the Joan?”

“Yes,” said Ivy. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Mattock. “You want us to go behind your aunt’s back? There’s no way, Ivy.”

“Why not? Don’t you think saving our people is worth the risk?”

Matt made an impatient gesture. “It’s not about risk, it’s about what’s right! I know Betony’s not perfect, but she’s still Joan the Wad, the Torch that lights the way for our people. It’s our duty to follow where she leads—”

“Even if she’s leading us off a cliff?” demanded Ivy. “We’ve been fooling ourselves, Matt. If Betony could watch her own brother getting sicker every day and put it all down to brooding and overwork, what kind of evidence will convince her? She’s not a torch leading us out of the darkness, Matt. She’s more like—like a great stubborn boulder, blocking out all the light.”

As soon as Ivy finished the sentence, she knew she’d gone too far. Jenny had turned so pale that even her lips were ashen, while Mattock’s face was darker than she’d ever seen it.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he told her. “This time. But don’t ever say it again.” He climbed to his feet. “Come on, Jenny. We’re done here.”

“Matt,” pleaded Ivy, but he shook his head.

“I can’t listen to treason, Ivy. Not even from you. Jenny, are you coming or not?”

Jenny smoothed her crumpled skirts, not looking at him. Then she said quietly, “No. You can leave if you want, but I’m staying.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I can, and I will.” She got to her feet. “Ivy’s right, Matt. The Joan may be powerful, but she’s only one woman, and there are more than two hundred piskeys in the Delve who deserve better than she’s willing to give. If we can’t move Betony, we need to go around her. It’s the only way.”

“It’s too dangerous. If you’re caught speaking against the Joan—”

“I’m not a fool, Matt. I know what happens to people who cross her.” She moved closer to Ivy and took her hand. “But that’s why I have to do this, don’t you see? After all Ivy did to save the Delve from Gillian, and all she’s suffered because of it—no one could blame her if she’d gone off to join the faeries, or even the spriggans! But here she is, risking her life to help us. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

Mattock didn’t answer.

“We owe her, Matt. We can’t let her do this alone.” She spoke softly now, with a hint of reproach. “And you don’t really want to, do you?”

Mattock shoved his hands through his hair. He paced around the fire, stood a moment staring out of the adit, then turned back. “I’ve done my best to talk you both out of this,” he said. “I don’t want to see a noose around your necks, any more than I want it around mine. But all right.”

“So you won’t try to stop us?” asked Ivy.

“I should hope I’m good for more than that,” said Matt. “I may be cautious, but I’m no coward. If you’re really convinced that going against Betony’s the only way to do this…” His hand dropped to the hilt of his hunter’s knife. “Then I’m with you.”

“There’s nothing written on this. Where do I put it?” Ivy’s little sister blew a stray curl from her forehead and hefted the box in her arms, looking unsteady enough to drop it any minute. Hastily Ivy set down her own load and moved to help her.

“Those are plates, Cicely,” she chided, “you shouldn’t be carrying anything so heavy. Here, give it to me.”

“Why? I’m as big as you are, or nearly.” She twisted away before Ivy could take the box from her. “Just tell me where to put it. I’m fine.”

She was in a snappish mood, and Ivy couldn’t blame her: the two piskey-girls had ended up doing all the work of carrying things into the house, while their mother and David Menadue stood by the moving van and talked. But Molly’s father looked even more sober than usual and Marigold was wiping her eyes, so it didn’t seem right to interrupt them.

“Take it to the kitchen, then,” said Ivy resignedly.

Tired as she felt, she couldn’t really complain; the move had gone well on the whole. Mr. Menadue had called Marigold halfway through the week, offering to rent a mover’s van and drive it over for them. Molly had spent most of yesterday afternoon with Ivy and Cicely, showing them how to look after Dodger while she was gone; the only reason she wasn’t helping them now was because she was in the barn with him, saying goodbye.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Molly returned, and with her help the work was soon finished. “They’re talking about Mum, you know,” she said to Ivy as they stood at the front window, watching their parents walk slowly across the garden. “And your dad.”

“I know,” said Ivy. Marigold and Gillian had been friends once, so she would understand David Menadue’s grief better than most. And she was good at talking to humans—really talking, as though she was one of them herself. “I don’t mind.”

The front door opened, and the two adults came in. Marigold’s eyes were still a little red from weeping, but she smiled as she made her way past the boxes to join them. “Where’s Cicely?” she asked.

“In my room,” Molly told her. “I think she’s trying to decide which half she likes best. Have you seen Mar—I mean Mr.—” She stopped, flustered, and shot Ivy a pleading look. Apparently she had no idea what name Martin was using.

“Richards,” supplied her father. “I suppose he had you call him by his first name in class?” He turned to Ivy’s mother. “Do you do that with your dance students, Marigold?”

“No, indeed,” she said with a little laugh. “They call me Mrs. Flint. And that must be Martin now.”

Ordinarily Ivy would have been skeptical, since all she could see through the front window was a car, and she was sure Martin didn’t know how to drive. But the copper bracelet had been growing warmer all morning, and when the back door of the cab opened and that silver-blond head appeared, there could be no doubt.

“Well, that’s it then,” said David, managing to sound both cheerful and faintly disappointed. He took a pair of keys from his pocket and handed them to Marigold. “There’s the house and the barn for you.”

Not even six years of living among humans could make a faery comfortable saying thank you, but Marigold managed to convey her gratitude with a smile. “We’ll take good care of the place,” she said.

Martin leaped lightly onto the step and stood in the open doorway, surveying them all with interest. “I didn’t expect such a large welcoming party,” he said. “Have I been especially good, or especially wicked?”

There was something different about him, and Ivy wasn’t sure she liked it. Not that she could find any fault with his appearance, in fact quite the opposite: he looked as healthy and well-groomed as she’d ever seen him. His eyes sparkled like piskey-wine, and a smile teased about his lips. But instinct warned her not to be fooled by first impressions.

“Not especially either,” said Marigold. “Just late enough to avoid all the hard work, as usual.” That surprised Ivy: her mother didn’t usually speak so bluntly, or with such dry humor. “Where are your things?”

“I have no things,” Martin replied, gesturing grandly. “I eat the air, promise-crammed; you cannot feed capons so.”

“You’ve been to the theater!” exclaimed Molly. “Was it Hamlet? Where?” But her father tapped his wristwatch.

“I told Harry I’d have his van back by noon,” he said, “and we’ve got a long drive ahead of us. Say goodbye to your friends, Molly.” He shook Martin’s hand, clasped Marigold’s, and went out.

Cicely came galloping out of the bedroom. “You’re leaving already?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Molly. “I’ve already missed a week of school as it is.” She turned to Martin. “I really appreciate all you’ve done,” she said. “I’ll never forget it.”

Martin dismissed this with an airy wave. “It was Ivy’s idea,” he said. “I just went along with her, as usual.”

“Not just that,” Molly said. “I mean everything. If you hadn’t told me I was a born actress, and that I shouldn’t let anyone, not even Mum, tell me otherwise…” She stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. “Take good care of yourself. I don’t want anything to happen to my faery godfather.”

Cicely giggled, but Martin did not smile. He made Molly a slight, respectful bow, and stepped back to let her pass.

“Come to the van with me?” Molly asked Ivy, and the two of them headed outside. The human girl paused, watching the house until the front door shut. Then she said, “I wasn’t sure whether I should say anything about this. It’s probably nothing. But the last few days, I’ve had an odd feeling that someone’s looking for me.”

That was odd. “Is it a good feeling? Or a bad one?”

“I couldn’t tell at first,” Molly said. “That’s why I didn’t mention it before. I thought it might be something to do with Mum, you know… missing her, and wondering…” She cleared her throat. “Anyway. But now I don’t think that’s what it is. It feels more like—like somebody creeping up on me from behind.”

“You mean to hurt you?”

Molly nodded. “I’m probably being silly, but—”

“No, you were right to tell me.” Ivy frowned, thinking. Molly had no real magic of her own, but being half faery made her more perceptive than the average human. She might be sensing some ill intent directed toward her—an envious schoolmate or mean-spirited neighbor, for instance. But if so, the feeling would surely go away once she’d put some distance between herself and the village.

“Could you send me a message, once you’re settled at school?” Ivy asked. “And let me know if you still feel the same way?”

The human girl nodded eagerly. “I’ll ring you. First chance I get.”

“Molly!” shouted David. “Hurry up! It’s almost twelve!”

Molly made a face. “I’d better go.” She gave Ivy a hug. “Take care of yourself. And him.” Then she ran and jumped in beside her father. The last Ivy saw she was leaning out the window, waving madly with both hands, as the van drove away.