Swift (20 page)

Ivy covered her face with her hands. She wanted to deny what her mother was saying, but how could she? If Mica was right, she’d done the same thing herself. In the grief and horror of losing her mother, she’d blocked out the memory of her parents’ fight so completely that she couldn’t recall it even now.

‘No wonder you never came back to the Delve,’ she said hollowly. ‘Why are you even telling me this? Why did you ask me to come, if you don’t want anything to do with us any more?’

‘Oh, my darling,
no
,’ said Marigold, getting up swiftly and gripping Ivy’s shoulders. ‘Discovering that I was a faery changed many things, but it never changed my love for you. That’s why I sent for you, so we could be together—’

‘What about Mica and Cicely? They’re your children too!’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Marigold soothingly. ‘But they take after their father, and his knocker blood makes them strong. They may live a hundred years in the Delve and never guess that they could have,
should
have, lived longer. But you…’ She tucked a loose curl tenderly behind Ivy’s ear. ‘You are more faery than either of them, and you have been dying since the day you were born. How could I abandon you?’

‘And yet you did,’ Ivy said, twisting away from her and backing up against the wall. ‘You left me there for five years, never knowing if you were dead or alive. Where were you all that time? Why didn’t you send us a message?
Why didn’t you come back?
’

Marigold sighed. ‘For many reasons,’ she said. ‘But the worst mistake was mine. I trusted someone I should not have trusted. And because of that, I was captured and dragged off to London, where I spent the next four years as a slave.’

London. Ivy had heard the name once or twice in the droll-teller’s stories – the greatest city in England, unimaginably huge and far away. ‘Whose slave?’ she asked, hushed with disbelief.

‘She called herself the Empress,’ said Marigold. ‘She was old, but very powerful, and her ambition was to conquer the whole faery realm before she died. I managed to escape her once, but her lieutenants captured me before I even reached the border of Kernow. And the horrors I witnessed after that, when she sent me and her other servants into battle…’ She passed a hand over her brow, as though to wipe away the memory. ‘I longed to send you a message, but I feared even to try in case it was intercepted. If the Empress knew about the Delve, she would surely have tried to conquer it as well.’

‘But you got away from her in the end,’ said Ivy, ‘or you wouldn’t be here. So why didn’t you send us a message then?’ It was a struggle to pull her turbulent thoughts together, but she had to know the truth. If her mother was a faery and not a piskey, if she’d been the pawn of someone evil, could Ivy trust her any more?

‘I wanted to,’ said Marigold. ‘But even once the war ended and the Empress was dead, it was some time before I was free to return to Kernow. And even then, there were…obstacles. I had to wait for the right opportunity, and a messenger I could trust.’ She glanced towards the door, as though remembering for the first time that Ivy had not come alone. ‘Where is Iago? I must tell him how grateful I am for bringing you to me.’

She must be talking about Richard. How many different names could one faery have? ‘He left,’ Ivy said. ‘I don’t know where he went.’

‘Ah.’ Marigold sounded wistful, but not surprised. ‘Well, at least he kept his word.’

‘Is that really his name? Iago?’

‘He had another name once, when we were both slaves of the Empress. But I also know why he prefers not to use it.’ Marigold gave a rueful smile. ‘He has made some powerful enemies, and I took a great risk in protecting him. But I also knew it would put him in my debt, and that he would do anything to be rid of that burden.’

So that was all Ivy had been to Richard – a burden. It wasn’t really a surprise, but it was surprising how much it hurt.

‘Do you understand now?’ asked Marigold softly, reaching out to touch her face. ‘I know I’ve hurt you. I know I’ve made mistakes. But now we’re together, and I want to make things right. Can you forgive me? Can we start again?’

Ivy hesitated. All her emotions pulled towards her mother, yearning for her approval and love. Only the part of her that feared to make herself vulnerable, that dreaded the thought of being tricked or betrayed, warned her not to trust too quickly. But she’d listened to her suspicions with Richard, and what had that gained her?

Besides, this wasn’t just about Ivy’s feelings any more, or even her mother’s. There was something far more important at stake – and it was time Marigold knew it as well.

‘I want to,’ she said at last. ‘I’m willing to try. But first, I need your help.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Cicely’s gone missing.’

Marigold looked shocked, then increasingly distressed as Ivy told how she and Mica had discovered Cicely’s absence. Soon her eyes were brimming with tears, and Ivy no longer doubted that her mother cared about Cicely’s fate.

But Ivy didn’t tell her everything. She wasn’t sure what her mother would think of her shape-changing, and she couldn’t bring herself to admit that Cicely’s disappearance was her fault. All she said was that Cicely had vanished, like Keeve before her, and that the search parties from the Delve hadn’t been able to locate either of them.

‘I thought she’d been taken by the spriggans,’ Ivy said, lowering her voice as the music from the adjoining room stopped. ‘Especially after Gem and Feldspar saw that stranger by the Engine House. But if there aren’t any spriggans, then—’

‘Mrs Flint?’ The door opened, and a girl with long brown hair leaned inside. ‘We’ve finished the lesson.’

‘Excellent, Claire. I’ll be right with you.’ Marigold wiped her eyes hastily with her fingers, then touched Ivy’s arm and whispered, ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find her,’ before following the human girl out.

When she had gone, Ivy blew out a long breath and leaned her head against the wall. Difficult as it had been to tell her mother of her sister’s loss, it was a huge relief to know that she would no longer have to continue the search alone. But as she listened to Marigold apologising to her students for her absence and praising their hard work, Ivy felt a stir of misgiving. Her mother sounded so human now, so at ease in this strange new world. Even if they did find Cicely together, it seemed that Marigold had no intention of returning to the Delve – so how could they ever be a whole family again?

Chattering voices filled the dance studio, followed shortly afterwards by the sounds of multiple feet galloping down the stairs. The commotion in the other room had barely subsided when Marigold opened the door and said to Ivy in a puzzled tone, ‘There’s someone here to see you.’

‘Ivy!’ exclaimed Molly, popping up behind Marigold and waving a handful of papers. ‘I had a brilliant talk with the receptionist downstairs. She says I might be able to get into one of their advanced classes, if I can talk my mum into letting me audition.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ said Ivy, and turned to her mother. ‘Mum, this is Molly – she’s a friend of Richard’s. She was the one who brought me here today.’

‘It’s all right,’ Molly said in a confiding tone, before Marigold could speak. ‘I know you and Ivy are faeries. But I won’t tell anyone.’

She’d said
faeries
and not
piskeys
, but Marigold didn’t correct her, even for Ivy’s sake. ‘How extraordinary,’ she said faintly. ‘And you’re interested in our school?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Molly. ‘I want to be an actress more than anything.’

Oddly, that seemed to put Marigold at ease. The colour returned to her face, and she smiled. ‘Now I see where Richard comes in. I didn’t realise he had a protégée. Well, I’m not involved in the theatre part of our programme, but I’d be glad to put in a good word for you with Trix, our drama teacher. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for bringing Ivy to me.’

Molly blushed. ‘It was really nothing,’ she said. She folded up the papers and stuffed them into her pocket, then turned to Ivy with a shy smile. ‘Thanks for letting me come with you.’

And there was that
thanks
again, so casual it was almost meaningless. But Molly obviously meant well by it, so Ivy smiled back. ‘I won’t forget your kindness,’ she said. ‘I hope we’ll see each other again.’

‘Me, too,’ said Molly. She looked from Ivy to Marigold, her expression wistful and a little envious. ‘Good luck.’ She scampered down the stairs and went out.

Marigold laid a hand on Ivy’s shoulder. ‘I know a spell that may help us find Cicely,’ she said. ‘But we can’t do it here. Let me look after a few things, and then I’ll take you home.’

When Ivy and her mother left the dance school, the air was misty with rain. As they walked down the hill Marigold spoke to her in an undertone, drawing her attention to all the new things around them and comparing them to more familiar sights and concepts Ivy would know from the Delve. She pointed out shops and restaurants, galleries and museums, and showed Ivy how and where to cross the street.

‘I was terrified when I first came to Truro,’ she said, tucking her arm into Ivy’s as they reached the other side. ‘I don’t want you to feel that way. It’s a lovely city, and now that we’re together there’s nothing to fear.’

Before long they had made their way back to the open, cobble-paved area where Ivy and Molly had climbed off the bus. But now they were facing the opposite direction, and Ivy was surprised to see that half the square was filled with cloth-draped booths, much like the Market Cavern at home. The smells of hot food wafted towards her, savoury and sweet, and beads clattered as a merchant woman rearranged the necklaces in her stall. Nearby a boy in short trousers was juggling four balls at once, while a crowder with pink hair played a lively jig on her fiddle. They passed a booth draped with scarves in a jewel-box of colours, another full of wooden puppets that danced on strings, and a third selling animals knitted out of woolly yarn. They were coming to the end of the row when a brightly painted sign caught Ivy’s eye. It read: CORNISH PISKEYS – FOR GOOD LUCK! And beneath, in smaller lettering,
Handcrafted in Kernow by local artisans.

Beneath the sign stood a table crowded with brown clay figures. They were the right height for piskeys, but their bodies were squat and their features comically grotesque. Was this really how humans imagined her people? Ivy picked one up, surprised at its lightness, and turned it over. The inside was hollow.

‘Like those, do you?’ said the seller, a weathered human with wild grey hair. ‘They’re special, those little piskeys are. Make a nice gift, or a souvenir.’

They looked crude and hideous to Ivy, but she didn’t want to insult him by saying so. ‘Do you make them?’ Ivy asked, but the man shook his head.

‘I just sell ’em, lass. Eight pounds each. Or ten for Joan the Wad, she’s the luckiest of all, see?’ He lifted up a figure of a bristle-haired piskey hugging her knees, but Ivy had never seen anything that looked less like Betony, or anything she was less anxious to own. She lowered the statue she was holding, about to excuse herself and walk away.

But she couldn’t put the thing down. It stuck to her hands, as though magnetised. A buzzing sensation spread through Ivy’s palms, and she looked up at the seller in alarm. But he only beamed at her and said, ‘Good choice. I’m fond of that little fellow myself. Want me to box him up for you?’

Ivy shook her head in desperation. ‘Mum!’ she cried out, and immediately Marigold hurried over. She seized the piskey in both hands and twisted it out of Ivy’s grip. ‘Not today,’ she said to the man, and set it on the table.

Ivy’s hands stung and her legs felt shaky, but she couldn’t help glancing back as Marigold pulled her away. The last thing she saw was the old piskey-seller waving cheerfully at her, before he retreated into the shadows and disappeared.

‘I’ve never felt anything like that,’ said Ivy, taking the teacup her mother handed her. They were sitting in the kitchen of the place where Marigold lived – she called it a
flat
for some reason, even though they’d had to climb a flight of stairs to get there. ‘It was like some kind of spell, but…humans can’t use magic, can they?’

Marigold poured her own cup and sat down across from her. The rain was falling hard now, pattering against the glass like tiny fists knocking to be let in. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But there are old powers in the earth of Kernow, and not all of those powers are good ones. The piskeys and the faeries fought some terrible battles here, and the spells they used against each other still linger in the soil…and beneath it.’

‘Do you think he knew that? The man who was selling them?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Marigold. ‘But I’d stay away from those statues, if you see them again. I’ve learned to be cautious of things made from Cornish earth.’

‘But you touched it, when you were helping me,’ said Ivy. ‘Didn’t it pull at you too?’

Marigold shook her head. ‘I could never sense things in the rock and soil, not the way your father and the other piskeys could. But then, faeries were not made to live underground. I had no idea how weak my magic was, or how much stronger it could be, until I came out of the Delve.’

She reached for Ivy’s hand. ‘You’ll see for yourself, when you’ve been here a little longer. There is so much faery in you, and you’ve been trapped in the earth so long…you’ve barely even begun to come into your power.’

Her tone was soothing, but the words made Ivy more uneasy than ever. She felt sure her mother was right about the Delve being poisoned – why else would Ivy feel so much better outside of the mine than she ever had living in it? Yet she didn’t like the eager, almost hungry way her mother looked at her when she spoke about power. Or the way she’d said
when you’ve been here a little longer
, as though she felt sure that Ivy would never leave Truro again.