Ivy stared at Jenny, unable to believe what she’d just heard. No matter what everyone else thought, Nettle of all people must know that Betony had declared Ivy a traitor and banished her from the Delve. If Ivy were caught inside the mine, she could be arrested, imprisoned—even executed. What could the old woman have to say to her that could possibly be worth the risk?

“I thought at first Nettle was asking me to bring her to you,” Jenny went on, “but she said no, you have to come down. I told her you couldn’t possibly, but she said it wouldn’t be the first time you’d disobeyed your aunt when you thought it was important. And, well…” She gave Ivy an apologetic look. “She’s right, isn’t she?”

Ivy edged closer to the fire, but she still felt cold. Part of her longed to do as Nettle was asking, if only to see the Delve again. But if she went back, it wouldn’t just be her own life she was risking. Jenny, Mattock, Nettle herself—they’d all be at Betony’s mercy, if anything went wrong.

Yet Ivy wasn’t bound by any oath that would keep her from answering Nettle’s summons. And the old woman was no fool: she wouldn’t make such a request of Ivy unless it was vitally important.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

“I don’t like this,” muttered Mattock as he strode up the slope to the Delve, Ivy following invisibly at his heels. Jenny had already gone ahead of them, fluttering down the Great Shaft to tell Nettle that Ivy was coming. “What if it’s some trick of the Joan’s, to give her an excuse to arrest you? Nettle’s been loyal to her all these years—it doesn’t make any sense that she’d turn against Betony now.”

“I don’t like it either,” said Ivy, “but I trust Nettle. I’m sure she wouldn’t betray me.”

“Why?”

Because I know what she is, thought Ivy, but she could hardly say that to Mattock. Still, the knowledge that the Joan’s attendant was a pure-blooded faery like her own mother, taken captive at a young age and raised up as a piskey, gave Ivy confidence. Nettle had spent a lifetime hiding her true nature, so she wouldn’t do anything that might tempt Ivy to give that secret away. Especially since Ivy knew that Nettle was Gillian Menadue’s long-lost sister, and that her abduction by the piskeys was one of the reasons Gillian had been so bent on seeking vengeance.

“I can’t tell you exactly,” Ivy said at last, “but I have good reasons. If you can get me safely to Nettle’s quarters and back, we’ll be all right.”

Mattock sighed, but made no further protest. He ducked into the thicket of gorse that hid the Delve’s nearest entrance, and kindled his skin-glow to light their way into the Earthenbore. This baked-clay tunnel was the hunters’ traditional route in and out of the Delve, and every sound they made echoed. So Ivy had to tread lightly—and Matt extra-heavily—to be sure no one would hear her.

Soon they left the Earthenbore behind and descended the Hunter’s Stair into the Narrows, a thin, sloping passage with smooth granite walls and a pebbled floor. Ivy had passed this way many times, and her chest started to ache with memory. Right around the corner was the chamber where they kept the chickens, with its soft day-lamps and honeycombed roof for ventilation. A few steps to the left lay the Upper Rise, covered in bright mosaics of plants and animals to help the piskey-children with their learning. And beyond that stretched the tunnel that had once been Ivy’s favorite, with its sky-colored tiles of china clay. Even creeping behind Mattock with his skin-glow her only light, the Delve looked more beautiful to Ivy than ever before.

But it wasn’t merely craftsmanship that made the Delve special; it was the piskey folk who lived there. Yes, they’d been warlike and ruthless once, but they’d raised their children and grandchildren in peace. And as they walked into Long Way, the door-lined passage where Ivy’s home cavern used to be, her senses wakened and her heart beat faster with the hope of seeing just one familiar face. Perhaps it would be Quartz, Jenny’s scamp of a younger brother, jumping up to surprise them with his gap-toothed grin. Or Mattock’s mother Fern, rosy-cheeked from hauling her laundry basket up the stairs…

“Matt! There you are.”

Oh, no. Mica. Instinctively Ivy flattened herself against the wall, willing her invisibility glamor not to fail as her brother strode toward them.

“Where’ve you been, anyway?” Mica asked, pushing the cavern door wide and holding it so Mattock could go in. “Seems like half the time I come looking for you these days, you’re off somewhere mysterious. If this keeps up, you’re going to have to tell me who you’re courting.” He lowered his voice in mock menace. “And it had better not be Jenny.”

“Not on your life,” said Matt, with a feeble attempt at a smile. “But I’ve got something to look after just now, and I’m in a hurry. I’ll stop by later, all right?”

The humor in Mica’s face faded, and a pang went through Ivy as she realized how much he looked like their father. Not just the broad handsome bones or the dark brush of hair across his brow, but the deep lines about his eyes and mouth that made him seem older than his years. How much time had he been spending in the diggings?

“Is that so?” he asked flatly. “What would you say if I decided to come with you, and see what this something is?”

The two boys stared each other down, and Ivy bit her lip. Mica was a hunter, trained to detect any unusual sound or movement. If he insisted on accompanying them even a short distance, it wouldn’t take him long to sense Ivy was there. What were they going to do?

She was on the verge of shrinking herself tiny and creeping into a crack somewhere when Mattock put his hand on Mica’s shoulder.

“I’d say that friends ought to trust one another,” he said quietly. “And that not every secret I keep is mine to share, even with you.”

If Ivy had said anything like that to Mica, he’d have scoffed at her. But faced with Matt’s gentle reproach, her brother deflated. He nodded slowly, all the fight gone out of him. Then he went into the cavern and shut the door.

As Ivy followed Mattock through the Delve the tunnels grew busier, and she saw more and more people she knew. A knot of piskey-children sat by the gem-studded entrance to the Treasure Cavern, playing with dolls and tin soldiers. As they walked through Potters’ End they met Hew and a couple of other knockers trudging up from the diggings. And when they came down the steps to the Silverlode there were piskeys of all ages about, from the old uncle drowsing on a bench outside the Market Cavern to the young hunters arguing over a game of dice.

It was all much as Ivy remembered, except for two things. One was the bitter, sulphurous taste to the air—she’d barely noticed it when she first came in, but here it was strong enough to make her lungs tighten in protest. The other was how sickly everyone looked, especially the women. They smiled and laughed, but it looked like a brave effort: their faces sagged beneath the dark hollows of their eyes, and they coughed almost as often as they spoke.

Anger kindled in Ivy, and she clenched her invisible fists. How could Betony ask her people to endure such suffering, and claim it was for their own good? What would it take to shake her complacency, and make her see the evil she’d done?

A distant bell announced the closing of the Market, and the uncle on the bench groped for his cane. Nodding to his fellow hunters, Mattock skirted the dice game and set off along the Silverlode, Ivy a shadow at his heels. They passed the Market Cavern, turned down Elders’ Way—and there was Jenny, frantically beckoning them into Nettle’s quarters.

“What took you so long?” she whispered as she shut the door after them. “I was about to come looking for you.”

“Mica,” said Mattock, and Jenny’s mouth framed a silent, sad oh. Then she looked around and asked, “Ivy?”

“I’m here,” Ivy said, turning visible. “Where’s Nettle?”

Jenny led them across the small, stuffy-smelling cavern, drawing aside the curtain to the even more modest chamber beyond. There in her bed-alcove lay the old woman, curled motionless with the covers pulled about her. But when Jenny touched her shoulder and said, “Ivy’s here,” Nettle struggled upright—and the blankets fell away to expose the wings crumpled against her back.

If Jenny was shocked, she didn’t show it. But Matt made a choking noise, and Ivy didn’t have to ask why. Like Marigold when she lived in the Delve, Nettle had spent her life using a glamor to change the translucent faery wings she’d been born with into the broad, moth-like wings of a piskey. But now that she was too ill to keep up the illusion, it was obvious what she truly was.

“Ivy-lass,” Nettle croaked. “Ah, it’s good to see you again.” She gripped Ivy’s hand with her gnarled, papery one. “I knew you’d come.”

Growing up, Ivy had never been close to Nettle: she’d found the Joan’s attendant almost as daunting as Betony herself. But that was before she’d learned of Nettle’s faery origins, or her relationship to Gillian and Molly. And seeing the old woman now with yellowed skin and sunken cheeks, all her protective illusions stripped away—it struck her as deeply, painfully wrong. Even faeries had to die some time, but no one should have to die like this.

“What can I do?” she asked softly. “How can I help you?”

Nettle sniffed. “I’ve no need of fussing. I called you here to—” Then her eyes focused on Mattock, and she said sharply, “Eh, lad, what are you gawping at? Get away with you.”

“It’s all right,” said Jenny. “He’s with us. He brought Ivy down from the surface.”

“Any fool can tell that,” Nettle shot back. “Why he’s still dandling after her like a lovesick goose, is what I’d like to know.” She raised her voice again. “The Joan banished Ivy for a reason, my lad: she’s not going to pardon her for the likes of you. She’s more likely to throw you out of the Delve after her, if she doesn’t hang you first.”

Matt’s face turned redder than his hair, but he didn’t move. “I’ve my own reasons for being here,” he said, “and with respect, Auntie, you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Hmph,” said Nettle. “I knew your father, lad, and you’re as like him as no matter. Soft heart, hard head—they’ll both be the death of you, if you aren’t careful.” She leaned closer to Ivy. “Though you could do worse,” she added in a cracked whisper, “if you don’t mind thinking for two.”

Matt threw up his hands and stalked out, letting the door-curtain fall behind him. Ivy’s cheeks were burning, as much for his sake as her own—even if what Nettle had said was true, which she doubted, it wasn’t fair to humiliate him that way. But the old woman looked more satisfied than sorry.

“That’s got rid of him,” she said, and patted the bed beside her. Cautiously, Ivy sat down. “Look, my girl, I served your aunt for nigh on fourteen years, and the Joan before her for sixty. The Delve is my home, and faery-born or no, I’m as true a piskey as ever was. You know that.”

Ivy nodded—though she still wondered how Nettle could have forgiven the piskeys who’d stolen her from her wyld and killed the rest of her family, let alone chosen to stand with them against her own sister. When Gillian attacked the Delve, it could have been the perfect chance for Nettle to avenge herself on her captors, escape to the outside world and reclaim all her lost youth and beauty. But if there’d been any doubt of the old woman’s loyalties, her refusal to leave the Joan’s side had made them plain enough.

“So what I’m about to say to you, Ivy-lass, you know I don’t say lightly.” Nettle let out a rattling sigh. “Your aunt Betony’s not right in her mind. And if you don’t stop her, she’ll do a terrible thing.”

Jenny clapped her hands over her mouth. Ivy felt stunned herself—if even Nettle dared to speak against Betony, the Joan must be mad indeed. “What is it?” she asked.

“She wouldn’t say if she means to kill the girl or not,” Nettle said. “But to her mind, the Delve will never be safe until we piskeys are the only ones who know of it. And even with poor Gillyflower dead and buried, that’s not enough for her—”

Ivy’s mouth went dry. “Molly,” she whispered. “She’s after Molly.”

It was so obvious now, she could only curse herself for not guessing it sooner. Molly’s feeling of being watched by unfriendly eyes, Matt’s remark that Betony had been spending more time outside the Delve…

“Ayes,” said Nettle heavily. “Molly’s a brave girl, a good girl. If she hadn’t given her own sweet blood to break the Claybane, your Mattock and our Jack and even the Joan herself wouldn’t be with us now. But my lady can’t see it. All she sees is that Gillian’s daughter knows where to find us, and she’s sure she’ll come back and destroy us all one day. She’s tried every scheme and spell she could think of to hunt Molly down, and it’s driving her nigh wild that she still hasn’t found her.”

Ivy could guess why she hadn’t: the protective charms Gillian had laid about the house had shielded Molly as long as she lived there, and for the past two months she’d been at school in Hampshire. No wonder the Joan was frustrated.

“I’ve done all I could to keep Molly safe without the Joan knowing it—laid false trails aplenty to throw her off the scent. But I’m too weak for spells now, and my lady won’t give up, she’s that stubborn.” Nettle’s hand tightened on Ivy’s, imploring. “That’s why you’ve got to stop her, before she finds Molly and does her a harm—”

“It’s all right,” Ivy said, before the old woman could become more agitated. “Molly’s safe. She’s far away from here, right outside Kernow, where Betony can’t touch her.”

Nettle’s rheumy eyes widened. “You’re sure of that? Sure and no mistake?”

“Absolutely sure. And I’ve sworn to do everything I can to keep Molly out of danger, from Betony or anyone else. You don’t need to worry.”

“Ahh.” Nettle sagged back against the pillows. “Thank the Gardener.” Her hand slackened, falling away from Ivy’s, and she closed her eyes.

“I don’t understand,” said Jenny in hushed tones, as Ivy climbed off the bed. “Why is Nettle so worried about a human girl? And who is this Gillyflower she was talking about?”

“I’m resting, not dead,” Nettle spoke up crisply from the alcove. “Or deaf, either. Use your eyes, Jenny-girl. I was born a faery, outside the Delve, and Gillyflower—her you call Gillian—was my sister. Which makes Molly my niece, and all that’s left of my blood. But I’ve not told the Joan that, and don’t you go telling her either.”

Jenny nodded, but her expression was troubled, and Ivy could understand why. After a lifetime of being taught that faeries were cunning, malicious creatures only slightly less dangerous than spriggans, it was a shock to realize that one of them had been living in the Delve all along, and that nobody had known the difference.

“And speaking of faery folk,” added Nettle, her shrewd black eyes fixing on Ivy, “how’s Marigold?”

Ivy closed her eyes, not wanting to see the dismay on Jenny’s face. She hadn’t meant to hide the truth from her friends, but their meetings had always been so rushed, and she’d never found a good time to explain. “She’s fine,” she replied bitterly. “But if you want people to keep your secrets, Nettle, it’s not fair to go around telling theirs.”

“Ivy?” Jenny sounded shaken. “What are you saying? You mean your mother…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Ivy said. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you, but—”

“Never mind that,” interrupted Nettle. “Jenny’s got sense enough to work it out for herself, or she’s not the girl I took her for.” She pushed herself up against the pillows. “But you two had best watch yourselves, and that lad of yours as well. I’ve done my best to keep the Joan from noticing what you’ve been up to, and she’s been distracted fretting about that Molly business in any case. But all this creeping about asking people how they’re feeling and if they think there might be something amiss in the Delve won’t end well for you, any more than it did for Marigold.”

“But what else can we do?” Ivy asked. “When I tried to warn Aunt Betony about the poison, she wouldn’t listen. And there’s no way the three of us can stand up to her alone.” If it still was the three of them, after this.

“Then you’d best bide your time until you find somebody who can stand up to her,” said Nettle with asperity. “But you can’t go poking a bees’ nest and expect not to get stung.” She pointed a shaky claw at Jenny. “I’ve done my best to give you youngsters a chance. Don’t go wasting it on foolishness.”

Ivy was about to reply, but the sound of running footsteps and a rattle of curtain-rings distracted her. Matt stood panting in the archway, his eyes wild.

“Betony’s coming,” he said. “She’s halfway down the Silverlode already. Ivy, we have to get out of here!”

There was no time to lose. Ivy squeezed Nettle’s hand, cast a last pleading look at Jenny, and dashed out the door after him.

“It’s a good thing you decided to stand guard,” said Ivy in an undertone as she and Mattock crouched at the far end of the passage, shielded by the invisibility charm she’d cast over them. Betony had come striding into Elders’ Way mere seconds after the two of them had whisked out of sight, and now she stood before Nettle’s door with one foot tapping, waiting for Jenny to answer.

Her aunt hadn’t changed at all, as far as Ivy could see: her dark hair fell thick and smooth to her shoulders, and her skin was only lightly creased by age. She had the same striking bones as Ivy’s father and Mica, and her cream-dappled wings were almost as lovely as Jenny’s. But her eyes were cold as the bottom of the Great Shaft, her posture so stiff that she might have been carved from granite. It was hard to imagine what Gossan had ever seen in a woman so harsh and unyielding—yet there he stood behind her, as always.

“Knock again,” he suggested in his deep, mild voice. “She may be alone, and unable to hear you.”

“I think not,” Betony replied. “I saw Jenny come this way—ah, here we are.” The door had opened and Jenny appeared, holding out her skirts in a curtsey.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, my lady,” she said. “I was helping Nettle into her chair. Please, come in.”

And no doubt Nettle had been giving her some last-minute advice, as well. Ivy waited until the cavern door had shut, then tugged Mattock’s sleeve and they slipped out of the corridor together.

Getting out of the Delve ought to have been easier than getting in, since by this time many of the piskeys had retreated to the privacy of their caverns and the main passages were all but empty. But though Mattock set an easy pace, Ivy found it hard to keep up with him: her head started pounding before they’d even climbed out of the Silverlode, and by the time they passed the Treasure Cavern it was a constant struggle not to cough. It was a relief when they came out onto the surface, and she could turn visible and breathe fresh air again.

“Are you all right?” Matt asked.

“I didn’t realize—how bad it was—until we started climbing,” Ivy panted, her hands on her knees. “The air in the Delve’s gotten worse since I was here last time. A lot worse.” She exhaled and straightened up again. “Anyway. You’d better get back to Mica before he gets suspicious.”

He took a step back, watching her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. But if it’s not too much to ask,” she added before he could disappear, “would you think about what I said before? About helping me find that dealer—Ralph Pendennis?”

Mattock shook his head. Ivy’s heart sank—until she saw one corner of his mouth lift in a tiny smile.

“No need to think about it,” he said. “You heard Nettle: it’s your job to do the thinking for both of us. If you don’t mind, that is.”

Blood leaped into Ivy’s cheeks. “I don’t believe that,” she said. “Or anything else she said about you. I know you’re not—I mean, she was just trying to embarrass you into leaving.”

And part of her was still annoyed at Nettle for that. Mattock had always been such a good friend to her, better than her own brother; it wasn’t fair to dismiss his loyalty as some silly infatuation, even if she’d thought it was possible for him to feel that way.

“I’d be glad of your help,” she went on, “but if you think it’s too risky to go together, I’m sure I can manage.”

Matt stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you can, too,” he said. “But there’s no reason you should have to. Give me a couple of days, and I’ll come to Redruth with you.”