Ivy huddled at the back of her prison cell, sick with despair. Mica had freed her hands and Mattock had pulled the gag out before they left, but that was little comfort. Not once they’d carried her deep into the diggings and stuffed her into a hole in the tunnel wall, then heaved a great slab across its mouth to trap her in. She couldn’t leap out, because travel-magic didn’t work underground; she could change to any shape or size she liked, but she’d never get past that block of granite. There was no enemy here to fight, no tools she could use to break free. Ivy had no food, no water, no hope of rescue—and she was utterly alone.

Her only consolation was that she wouldn’t have to face the Joan’s wrath right away. As she’d heard Mica and Matt discussing on the way down, Betony was busy preparing for the great banquet in the Market Cavern tonight, where she would give a speech to honor Nettle’s memory and confirm Jenny as her new attendant. It wouldn’t be until later, or perhaps even tomorrow, that she’d have leisure to deal with Ivy.

Still, a few hours more or less wouldn’t change the outcome. There’d be no trial for Ivy, no chance to defend herself or call on her allies for help. The Joan would simply burn Ivy to ashes, because no one—not Mattock, not Jenny, not even Ivy’s own brother—had the courage to stop her. Then Betony would go back to ruling the Delve as she saw fit, while the rest of Ivy’s people sickened and died. Cicely would be left without a family, and Molly with no protection. Martin would spend the rest of his life as a slave to Thom Pendennis…

And Ivy would never see him, or any of the other people she loved, again.

The first tear fell, threading hot down Ivy’s cheek. Then the lump in her chest shattered into shards of grief and she began to sob, pressing her face to her knees. She’d been so unhappy in exile, so intent on proving Betony wrong, she’d taken the most precious things in her life for granted—like the family she still had in Marigold and Cicely, and her feelings for the young man who’d saved her life and shown her how to fly. No matter what sins Martin had committed in the past, he’d been nothing but true since Ivy met him, and she loved him, spriggan or not. But she hadn’t fully realized it until this moment, and now it was too late.

Ivy wept until she had no tears left, only a hollow ache inside. Then she wiped her wet cheeks and slumped against the wall, exhausted by the force of her emotions. She hated crying: it never made anything better. But at least she’d got it out of the way before Betony came. She stared at the darkness in silence, until her eyes closed and she drifted into a shallow, fitful sleep.

“Faster, lad! They’re catching up!”

In the stark moonlight their shadows spilled black across the ground, and every rock gleamed like a whetted knife. The boy sprinted after Helm, small legs pumping to keep up with the old warrior’s loping strides. He didn’t dare look back, but he could hear the shouts of the knockers chasing after them, and it sent a ripple of gooseflesh over his skin.

He’d thought they’d be safe in that seaside cave, if only for the night. But once the piskeys found the bodies of their fallen comrades, they’d wasted no time hunting them down. Helm had whistled up a wind to blind their enemies, and he and the boy had changed to human size as they fled. But what they’d made up in speed they’d lost in endurance, and as their strength flagged the piskeys kept up their relentless pursuit. Soon they’d be in range of their enemies’ slings and arrows, and if that happened, the two of them wouldn’t live to see tomorrow’s sunrise…

Unless one of them gave up, so the other would have a chance to get away. And if it came to such a sacrifice, the choice was obvious. Helm was the seasoned warrior, the one most likely to survive—why should he die because of a stripling boy? He gulped, pulse throbbing in his ears, and began to slow his pace. But he must have dropped behind too quickly, because the older spriggan rounded on him.

“Hoy there, what d’you think you’re doing?”

“Drawing them off,” muttered the boy, and turned to run.

Helm grabbed his arm. “None of that,” he growled. “The Grey Man didn’t give his life just so you could throw yours away.” He wrestled the boy back on course and gave him a shove, pushing him to the front of the trail. “You owe it to him, d’you hear me? Whatever happens to me or you or both of us, whatever it costs you, you stay alive—and keep running.”

When Ivy woke she was gasping for breath, as though she’d been running with Helm and the boy. Poisoned air was seeping into her cell, making her lungs burn. Mica’s knocker blood gave him some immunity, so he probably hadn’t thought twice about the poison when he left her here. But Ivy took after their mother, and if she stayed in this cell much longer, Betony might not need to execute her.

She scrambled to her feet, willing her skin-glow brighter as she scanned the rugged walls. It was no use trying to plug that crack at the top of the door, not when the poison was already in here with her. And the gap was far too narrow for her to squeeze through, even at her tiniest size. In desperation Ivy threw her weight against the slab that trapped her, then splayed both hands against the stone and tried to shift it. But it stayed as unyielding as before. Ivy backed up against the wall, ready to leap and kick with both feet—not that she hadn’t tried that before, but she couldn’t bear to simply lie down and wait for the end to come.

She was gathering her strength for the jump when she heard it—a grinding rasp of stone on stone, shockingly loud in the silence of the diggings. The door of her cell had moved.

So Betony had found time after all. Ivy dropped to a crouch, readying herself to spring. If her aunt wanted to burn her, she’d have to fight off a furious peregrine first…

“Ivy?” The whisper came urgently through the crack in the door. “It’s me. I’ve come to rescue you.”

Her fists unclenched. “Matt?”

“I know it looked bad, before.” He heaved the slab again, and now she could see his face, earnest and anxious in the light of their shared skin-glow. “But Mica had already seen both of us, so I didn’t have any choice but to play along. There. Can you get out?”

The gap was narrow, but wide enough for Ivy. Ignoring the hand Matt offered her, she slipped through and sidestepped out of his reach. “Betony knows you arrested me,” she said. “She’s never going to believe I escaped on my own.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” said Mattock. “I let Mica think I was going to tell her we’d caught you, after we put you in here. But I never did.”

“But he wasn’t the only one who saw me. What about the others?”

“I thought of that, too. So I made sure to tell my mum and Quartz that you’d come to have a private word with Betony, and it wouldn’t be right for any of us to go gossiping about it.”

To think she’d worried that traveling with Martin was making her deceptive. “Oh,” said Ivy faintly.

“I would have come sooner, but it took a while before I could slip away. And I made a couple of wrong turns trying to find you—Mica knows the diggings a lot better than I do. But I’ve got it now.” He glanced down the rough-hewn tunnel, took Ivy’s arm and set off. “Right now everyone’s feasting in the Market Cavern, and the Joan’s about to make her speech. There should be time to get you out of here and up to the Great Shaft, if we’re lucky.”

Ivy hurried along with him, resisting the urge to pull free. She knew her own heart now, if she hadn’t before; whatever future might lie in store for her, she wouldn’t be spending it with Mattock. But this was no time to talk about it. “Do you know what happened to my sword?” she asked.

“Mica took it,” Matt replied. “I don’t know what he did with it, but does it matter? You don’t need it now, do you?”

Ivy hesitated. Wearing the sword to the Delve had been an expression of her own rage and grief, a symbol of her resolve to confront Betony at any cost. But now she’d had time to think about it, Ivy realized how futile a gesture it had been. Even if she’d been skilled in swordcraft, how could anyone fight off fire?

Still, she hated to lose the weapon when she’d brought it all this way, just as she hated to go sneaking out of the Delve with nothing but her own life to show for it. If only there was something she could do to help her fellow piskeys, before she left them forever…

She pulled back, forcing Matt to a stop. “Wait,” she said. “That feast in the Market Cavern.”

“What of it?”

“The Joan’s about to stand up in front of the whole Delve, and make a speech. Everyone will be watching her, won’t they?”

“Yes, of course, but…” He broke off, his face turning pale. “Ivy, no.”

“Why not? It’s the perfect time. If I confront her now, she won’t be able to hide.”

“But she’ll kill you!”

“Maybe.” Probably. “But I saved the Delve from Gillian not that long ago, so to a few piskeys at least, I’m a hero. If Betony executes me, they’ll want to know why—and maybe that’s all it will take. Maybe…” Ivy stood taller, her conviction growing. “Maybe my death is what our people need, to make them stop believing in Betony.”

Matt caught her face in his hands. “No,” he whispered. “Don’t do this. You have too much to live for. If not for me, then think of your sister. Think—” He swallowed. “Think even of him, if you have to. Just… please, Ivy. Don’t throw your life away.”

So he did love Ivy, after all. He might even follow her, if she agreed to leave the Delve in peace. After all, Mica wouldn’t stay ignorant forever, and Ivy knew from bitter experience how her brother behaved when someone he trusted deceived him. After disowning Ivy and refusing to acknowledge his own mother, he’d hardly make an exception for his best friend.

But Mattock must have known that too, when he came here. He’d made his choice. And so had Ivy.

“Show me the way out of here,” she said. “You can go where you want after that, and do whatever you think best. But I’m going to the Market Cavern.”

Matt slumped, defeated. Without another word, he let go of her and led the way down the passage. They turned left, right, and left again, the tunnel growing steadily wider as they walked, until it opened onto a broad gallery with a ladder at the far end. There it was: the exit to the Silverlode. Once they climbed out of the diggings, the Market Cavern would be less than twenty paces away.

Yet she and Mattock had only taken a few steps when something glinted in the shadows, and a dark figure stepped out into the circle of their shared glow. As his own skin lit up, the light reflected off a gleaming bar of metal in his hand—no, a sword. Her sword, newly polished and sharpened, and pointed deliberately toward them.

“You slurry-brained fool, Mattock,” said Mica. “I knew I’d find you here.”