The sky was darkening by the time Ivy returned home, and she knew it must be well after tea. Fortunately, Marigold had taken Cicely to Truro with her for the afternoon, and with any luck they wouldn’t be back for some time yet.

But she’d barely unlocked the front door before her mother opened it. “Where have you been?” she asked.

Ivy’s mind went blank. She couldn’t tell Marigold the truth: her mother knew Betony’s ruthlessness too well, and it would only distress her to know that Ivy had dared to go against the Joan’s command. And if she found out about her conspiracy with Jenny and Mattock, she might try to stop her going back to the Delve for her own safety. That was a risk Ivy couldn’t take.

“I wasn’t out looking for Martin, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Marigold closed the door behind her as Ivy hung up her coat. “But Cicely tells me this isn’t the first time you’ve disappeared and not told anyone where you were going. What have we done to make you feel you can’t trust us?”

“I do trust you,” Ivy said slowly, buying herself time to think. “But it’s… awkward, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react if you knew.”

Could she do this? The answer that had come to her wasn’t a lie in fact, but it was certainly one in intent. Yet she had to satisfy Marigold somehow, and if this kept her from wondering what Ivy was up to, it would be worth it. She looked up and met her mother’s gaze.

“Mum,” she said. “I can take bird-shape.”

Emotions chased each other across Marigold’s face: shock, disbelief, confusion. It was exactly as Jenny must have looked when she realized that Ivy was half faery, and a sudden dread that she might lose them both clutched at Ivy’s insides. It was painfully hard to stand still, watching tears well up in her mother’s eyes, and not run away.

“My own daughter,” Marigold whispered. “I never imagined…” Then, to Ivy’s astonishment, she pulled her into a hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

Ivy ducked her head, afire with shame. She’d told the truth in the most deceptive possible way—she didn’t deserve to be praised for it. “Martin taught me to turn myself into a swift, when I was still back in the Delve,” she mumbled. “So we could fly to see you.”

“No wonder you were traveling together,” said her mother, releasing Ivy to arm’s length and smiling at her. “I couldn’t imagine how you’d become so attached to him, or why he’d take such a risk for someone who could only slow him down, unless…” She gave a little laugh. “Well, now I see how foolish I was. Can you show me?”

She moved to the door, but Ivy hung back. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s not safe to be a swift at this time of year.” And besides, it had been so long that she wasn’t even sure she could do it anymore. “I’ve been trying to learn falcon-shape instead… but it’s harder than I thought.”

Marigold’s face cleared, and Ivy knew she understood—or thought she did. “So you’ve been practicing where no one would see you,” she said. “Oh, Ivy. If I’d only known!”

“Then it’s all right if I go off by myself sometimes?” She hated herself for asking, but she had to be sure. Especially with Matt taking her to Redruth in two days’ time.

“Of course,” said Marigold. She glanced back at the corridor, then added in a hush, “But I think it’s best to keep this between ourselves. Cicely’s having a difficult time right now, and she might not take it well.”

No, she wouldn’t. First she’d be outraged that Ivy hadn’t told her, then she’d sulk because Ivy got to do everything and it wasn’t fair, and then she’d pester Ivy to teach her bird-shape as well. And Ivy didn’t have time for any of that.

“I agree,” she said, forcing a smile. “It’ll be our secret.”

Ivy spent most of the following day with Cicely, to ease her conscience—though when Ivy told her she could take care of Dodger from now on, the delight on her little sister’s face only made her feel worse for not saying so before. Looking after the horse would be a good distraction from Cicely’s worries, or so Ivy hoped.

But when she climbed into bed that night and found her sister still awake, she knew with sinking certainty what she was about to ask. “Did you get the money yet?”

“I’m working on it,” said Ivy. “Soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Are you going to sell that treasure you hid in the barn?”

Ivy sat up, aghast. “Cicely!”

“I couldn’t help it,” her sister pleaded. “I saw something sticking out between the rafters and I had to know what it was.”

Well, at least she hadn’t found the sword. Ivy had hidden that beneath the wardrobe, where even Cicely wouldn’t be likely to spot it. “All right, yes,” she said. “Martin and I found the treasure together, so he gave me a share. But Mum doesn’t know about that, so don’t say anything.”

Cicely nodded, satisfied. She wriggled down beneath the coverlet, and soon was quiet.

Yet even knowing her sister would be happy to let her leave the house tomorrow, Ivy had an uneasy feeling there was something, or someone, she’d overlooked. Not Marigold: she’d assume that Ivy was off learning falcon-shape. Not Mattock either: he’d promised to take her to Redruth, and it wouldn’t be like him to break his word. She had the treasure already, so there was no difficulty there…

So what could she have forgotten? Ivy was still puzzling over it when she fell asleep.

As soon as Ivy arrived at her rendezvous with Mattock the next day, she knew something was wrong. It was all there in the slump of his shoulders, his downcast eyes. She gripped the straps of her rucksack and opened her mouth to ask—but he spoke first.

“Nettle died last night,” he said. “We buried her this morning.”

Ivy looked at the rock-littered floor of the adit, a painful tightness in her throat. She hadn’t even said a proper goodbye. “Did anyone… notice?” she asked, knowing Matt would understand what she meant.

He shook his head. “She made Jenny promise to wrap her up so no one could see her wings. She wanted to be buried as a piskey.”

“She was a piskey,” Ivy burst out angrily. “In every way that matters. Nettle was honest and hard-working and loyal, and she loved the Delve. She shouldn’t have had to hide what she was to get the respect she deserved.”

“You’re right,” Mattock said. “She shouldn’t. And neither should you.”

Ivy stopped breathing.

“Mica told me, when he was drunk,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve known all along. I just figured you’d say something when you were ready.”

“But… when you saw Nettle, you were shocked—”

“Of course I was. I never expected her to be a faery.” He took Ivy’s hand, reassuring. “But when I thought some more, it made sense. There’s a story the hunters tell about a time when there wasn’t enough piskey-women to go around, so the knockers went hunting for faery brides. I used to think it was just an old uncles’ tale, but… I guess not.”

“And you don’t hate me?”

“How could I? I know you.” He gave her a faint smile. “Half faery or not, you have a true piskey’s heart. That’s all that matters.”

The knot of tension in Ivy’s chest dissolved into grateful warmth. Matt was everything she loved about the Delve: solid, familiar, comforting. She rose up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

Matt’s hand tightened on hers. “Ivy,” he began—and thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Oh, no.” Ivy pulled away, grabbing her pack and swinging it onto her shoulders. She’d wrapped up the treasure so it wouldn’t jingle, but it was still heavy. “We’ll be soaked. Come on!”

Reluctantly Matt followed her out of the adit, then took the lead as they moved through the trees, changing to human size so they could cover more ground. Above the tangled branches the clouds hung low and leaden, and raindrops were starting to fall. Ivy had to hurry to keep up with Mattock’s long strides, but she didn’t ask him to slow down. She only hoped they’d reach Redruth before the storm broke.

Moving with the confidence of familiarity, Matt led her by a series of footpaths and wooded trails, then to a tree-lined roadway with pavement running along one side. He kept a brisk pace, and Ivy had to trot to keep up as they left the countryside behind for the stone hedges and slate-roofed houses of Redruth.

The rain fell steadily, flattening Ivy’s curls and dripping down the back of her neck. Cars whizzed along the roadway, spraying muddy water in their wake. The houses closed together, penning them in. Ivy’s shoulders burned from the weight of her rucksack, but she hefted it and kept walking. It couldn’t be much further now.

At last they came to the city center, where the road shied away from a cobbled avenue watched by a tall clock tower. Humans hurried in and out of the shops, umbrellas raised and collars turned up against the weather. A statue of a miner stood on a pedestal, arms outstretched as though longing to fly; farther down a pack of hounds made from of old miners’ boots shone wetly in the rain. Mattock led Ivy to another street, turned right, and stopped beneath a worn-looking sign that said GEMS AND MINERALS FOR SALE. He opened the door, and a bell tinkled as he led Ivy in.

The shop was small and bare of decoration, apart from shelves of rock samples and a few cases tilted to display the minerals inside. But the shelves were dusty, the glass smudged with fingerprints, and in the dim light even the crystals looked dull. The whole place had a shabby, neglected air, as though its owner had long stopped caring whether anyone came in or not.

A thin, grey-haired man emerged from the back of the shop, rubbing his spectacles clean on a corner of his shirt. At first he looked irritable, but as soon as he put the glasses back on and focused on them, his manner changed at once.

“Welcome, honored folk of the Delve,” he said, standing to attention. “How can I serve you?”

Ivy was taken aback. As she’d understood it, the Pendennis family’s agreement with the piskeys should have ensured them a comfortable and prosperous life. But from the look of this place and the man’s strained, almost fearful expression, something had gone badly wrong with the bargain.

Still, there was nothing she could do about that now. “I have some things to sell,” she said, slipping off her rucksack. “I was hoping you could give me money for them.”

“Things?” Ralph Pendennis blinked. “You mean ore? Gemstones?”

“Not those kinds of things,” said Ivy. She walked to the till, turned the pack upside down and let its contents spill across the counter.

Once the clattering subsided, the silence was profound. Ivy could feel Mattock’s stare on her back—even he could tell that this treasure was hundreds of years old, and that it hadn’t come from the Delve. The older man was staring too, pinching one corner of his spectacles as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He moved to the counter, picking up one item after another for examination.

“This is beyond me, I’m afraid,” he said at last, clearing his throat. “Antiquities aren’t my specialty, so I’d hesitate to put a value on them. But these pieces are… quite remarkable.” He peered at Ivy. “May I ask how you came by them? They aren’t piskey-made, surely; the workmanship’s not fine enough.”

“No,” said Ivy, “they’re not from the Delve. But I’d like to sell them as quickly as possible, so if you can’t help me, can you tell me who can?”

Ralph Pendennis rubbed his chin, as though engaged in some internal debate. At last he opened a box beside the till and took out a small, cream-colored card.

“Try my nephew Thom,” he said, pushing it across the glass to Ivy. “He has a shop in London. Make sure to tell him you’re one of my customers—” he laid a faint but definite emphasis on the word my— “and that I expect him to treat you fairly.”

Ivy caught the hint: Thom Pendennis wasn’t always as honest as he should be. Well, that fit with what Martin had said about him, so she’d know to stay on her guard. But how could Ivy go all the way to London when she couldn’t even fly? Martin had mentioned a train, but she’d still need money for a ticket…

“There must be something here you’re willing to buy,” she said. “For the sake of our bargain, if nothing else?”

The older man’s lips pursed—calculating, Ivy thought, until she looked closer and saw the unhappiness in his eyes. No, he did not want to give her money; by the looks of this shop, he didn’t have much to spare. But either he was too honorable to break his oath to the piskeys, or he feared what might happen if he did.

“These,” he said, pulling a handful of Roman coins toward him. “I’ll give you forty pounds each.”

Which wouldn’t be enough to keep Ivy’s family from losing the house, but surely enough to get her to London. She’d have to hope that Thom Pendennis would respect his uncle’s advice, and deal fairly with her.

“All right,” she said, scooping the rest of the treasure into her rucksack. “I’ll take it.”