The faery woman smiled. With all the grace of a hostess she ushered Ivy to the front of the house, then out into the cobbled yard, where the moon glowed like a lantern among the pin-pricked stars.
‘I’ll saddle Duchess,’ she said to Ivy, opening the barn door. ‘We’ll get there quicker on horseback.’
Ivy’s brows crooked together. ‘You’re going to leave Molly here all alone?’
‘No harm will come to her in this house,’ Gillian replied airily as she walked into the barn. ‘Not with all the protective charms I’ve laid around it. And she’ll sleep peacefully enough until morning.’
As though it didn’t even matter to her how Molly would feel, when she realised what her mother had done. An unpleasant suspicion surfaced in Ivy’s mind, and she spoke it aloud: ‘Is she even yours? Or did you kill Molly’s real mother, and take her place?’
That got Gillian’s attention; she stopped and turned. ‘What an unpleasant idea,’ she said. ‘Of course Molly is my daughter. Where do you think her faery blood comes from?’
‘Well,’ said Ivy, ‘you seem to have come up with a few unpleasant ideas of your own. Like turning piskeys into statues, for instance.’ She gripped the strap of her bag, where the figures of Richard and Keeve were hidden. ‘Did you turn my mother into a statue too?’
‘Of course not,’ Gillian replied, taking Duchess’s bridle off its hook. ‘The Claybane only works on those of piskey or spriggan descent, and your mother’s lineage is as pure faery as my own.’
‘So is Richard’s,’ said Ivy. ‘But that didn’t keep you from turning him into a statue.’
‘You mean that weasel-faced creature your mother sent to find you?’ Gillian looked surprised, then amused. ‘So he managed to make contact with you, even while trapped in the Claybane. I wouldn’t have thought that possible, unless the two of you had a very strong connection…’ Her brows rose in mock dismay. ‘Dear me. Does your mother know?’
‘Yes, that’s who I mean,’ said Ivy, refusing to take the bait. It made sense that she and Richard had some sort of bond after all the magic he’d put into healing her, but that was none of Gillian’s business. ‘Why punish him? What did he ever do to you?’
‘He arrived at a very inconvenient time,’ said Gillian as she opened the door to Duchess’s box and slipped the bridle on. The grey mare tossed her bony head and stamped, but she held the reins until the horse subsided. ‘I’d almost persuaded your mother to tell me where the Delve was located, so I could go and fetch you out before you died of the poison. But when your Richard turned up, she decided to send him instead.’
So that was what the map had been about, with all the crossed-off marks. Gillian hadn’t known which mine the piskeys lived in, so she’d been visiting each one in turn, leaving a trap or two at each one to see if any piskeys fell into it. But there were hundreds of abandoned mines in this part of Cornwall, so the search could have taken her months – or years.
‘Though he did turn out to be useful, when I tracked him to the Delve,’ Gillian continued, heaving the saddle onto Duchess’s back. ‘I caught my first piskey that night. And after that I no longer needed your Richard, so I left a few hints to your people about where to find him, and I thought that would be the end of it.’
No wonder Mica and Mattock had caught the so-called spriggan so easily. Richard could never have guessed he’d been followed, much less betrayed. ‘But it didn’t work,’ Ivy said. ‘He escaped. And then what? He came back to the Delve one night looking for my sister, and found you setting more of your traps?’
Gillian gave a little shrug as she crouched to pull the girth tight. ‘It was remarkably poor timing,’ she said. ‘One might even say bad luck. But more so for him than for me, in the end.’
‘So you sold him to the dealer in the Pannier Market, and left him to die.’
‘Die?’ Gillian straightened up, looking offended. ‘Certainly not. Only the first piskey I caught died, and that was an accident.’
Ivy had already guessed that Keeve might be dead, but it still hurt to hear it. The lump of clay in her bag was all that was left of that black-eyed, mischievous boy who’d left so many bottles of cream at her door, and now he’d never milk another cow or play another prank again.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘Keeve had nothing to do with what happened at Thistledown Wyld – that was fifty years ago! You can’t have been more than a child yourself when—’
‘Cleverly guessed,’ Gillian said. ‘But you’re only half-right.’ She seized Duchess’s bridle as the mare danced sideways. ‘You’re also half-piskey, as I recall. Do something about this beast.’
‘Shhh,’ said Ivy, reaching up to stroke the horse’s shivering neck. ‘I won’t let her hurt you.’ Duchess lowered her head meekly, and Ivy led her into the yard.
‘Good,’ said Gillian, swinging herself into the saddle and reaching a hand down to Ivy. ‘Now get up behind me, and I’ll take you to your mother.’
Ivy had longed to ride a horse ever since she was a child, learning her animals from the mosaic on the walls of the Upper Rise. She’d heard the droll-teller describe how piskeys of old used to borrow horses from their human neighbours simply for the pleasure of riding them around the countryside, and it had been a cruel disappointment to her when she realised she’d never be allowed to do the same.
Now she had her wish after all, but it brought her no pleasure. Bumping along on the back of a leather saddle while Gillian held the reins, forced to cling to the faery woman’s waist for support, was far from the joyous romp Ivy had envisioned. Especially once they came down the slope into the wood below, where the branches arched thickly over the darkened path. Only the hovering light-spell Gillian had conjured kept Duchess from stumbling off course.
‘The first time I saw a piskey,’ Gillian said as they trotted along, ‘I was six years old. They came to our wyld, armed and armoured, and demanded that we pay them tribute. But our queen refused, saying that we had lived there in peace for a hundred years, and that the land was ours as much as it was theirs. So they left, but that night they returned in force. My father was killed in the fighting, and my mother and sister taken captive. I was the only one who escaped.’
‘I know about Thistledown Wyld,’ said Ivy. ‘My mother told me. But—’
‘You don’t know anything,’ said Gillian curtly. ‘The wyld where Marigold’s parents lived was my second home, where I found refuge after the first was destroyed. When the piskeys came to Thistledown, I was a woman, and this time it was my husband they killed.’ Her hands tightened on the reins. ‘I escaped again, but at bitter cost – I lost the child I was carrying, and nearly died myself. And as I lay in the ruins of my home with the bodies of my people around me, I swore on my own lifeblood that I would hunt down the men of the Delve and punish them as they deserved.’
Ivy looked away, swallowing. It nauseated her to hear that her ancestors had been so ruthless, and she would never look at some of the old uncles in the Delve the same way again. Yet Gillian’s story didn’t explain everything that she had done, much less justify it. ‘But my people don’t fight any more,’ she said. ‘Now they’re the ones hiding, and living in fear.’
‘The women live in fear,’ Gillian retorted. ‘I learned that much from your mother. Your men may be wary of other magical folk, but it doesn’t keep them from hunting and foraging, and trading with the humans as they please. What kind of justice is that, after all the evil they’ve done?’
‘It’s not like—’ began Ivy, but Gillian cut her off.
‘Don’t tell me they’re risking themselves for your protection. Haven’t you noticed that the men of the Delve live longer than the women, that they show fewer signs of age, that their injuries heal more easily and that they’re less prone to sickness? Can’t you see they’re deliberately keeping you weak, so they can control you – the daughters and granddaughters and great-granddaughters of the faery women they stole from wylds like mi
ne?’
She might have a point, but Ivy wasn’t about to give in. She couldn’t forget that she was talking to the woman who held Cicely prisoner.
‘But the Joan is the most powerful piskey in the Delve,’ she argued. ‘And she’s the one who decides how we should live. Why would she keep us underground if she didn’t believe it was for the best?’ Yet even as she said it, she was reminded that Betony could go outside any time she liked, and often did. It was her responsibility to maintain the wards and glamours that protected the Delve from intrusion, after all – and with her ability to conjure fire, no one would dare to tell the Joan it was too dangerous.
‘I’ve never met your Joan,’ Gillian replied, ‘but she wouldn’t be the first female to put her own interests ahead of anyone else’s. Perhaps she’s afraid that if she lets the other piskey women go above, one of them will grow strong enough to challenge her for the throne. Or perhaps she fears the males will overthrow her if she does anything to threaten their privilege and power.’ She leaned sideways to avoid a jutting branch, then continued, ‘But she can’t really believe that you’re safer underground, even if a thousand spriggans were waiting on the surface. Surely your mother told you about the poison in the mine? If you’d seen how ill Marigold was when she came to me, you’d agree that death itself could hardly be more cruel.’
‘So that’s why you decided to turn the men into clay statues,’ said Ivy, ‘and let the women go free?’
‘Not exactly,’ Gillian said. ‘Even after meeting Marigold and hearing her story, I still meant to kill every male in the Delve if I could. But I was only one faery, and I knew that even if I could convince your mother to join me, we would not have enough power between us to kill more than a few. I discovered the Claybane much later, after Marigold had disappeared.’
‘After you betrayed her, you mean,’ Ivy said coldly. Now she knew what her mother had meant when she said, I trusted someone I should not have trusted…
‘The Empress’s servants found her without any help from me,’ Gillian retorted. ‘She was careless, and too unskilled at hiding. I was sorry to see her taken away, but what good would it have done to interfere? I had been living as a human for a long time while I planned my revenge, and I had no intention of throwing away my disguise to fight some fool of a so-called Empress.’
Her indifference made Ivy furious all over again. ‘So that’s all Molly was to you? Part of your disguise?’
‘Hardly,’ replied Gillian. ‘Faeries may be less emotional than piskeys, but that doesn’t make us heartless. Still, I was glad when I heard the news that the Empress was dead, and that I no longer needed to stay so close to my human family. By that time I had located the site of an ancient battle between the piskeys and my ancestors, and discovered a book which told of spells my people had used against their enemies – including the magical clay that would trap any piskey who touched it, but leave faeries and humans unharmed.’
She kicked Duchess into a canter as they crossed a roadway, then settled back into a walking gait on the other side. ‘When Marigold returned to Truro I sought her out and apologised, hoping to rebuild our friendship. I knew she was anxious about your welfare, so I encouraged her to send a message to you, and offered to deliver it myself. But Marigold’s time with the Empress had changed her, and she was no longer so quick to trust. She began to avoid me, and when I saw her talking with your Richard, I knew she had grown suspicious of my motives.’
‘Why didn’t you let her go, then? If you already knew she wasn’t going to help you—’
‘I would have,’ Gillian replied, ‘if not for your sister…and you. When I found Cicely trapped in the Claybane I had no idea who she was, but it troubled me. I had thought that only male piskeys and the Joan ever went out of the Delve. I wanted to talk to your mother again to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood, but she was still keeping her distance. It wasn’t until Molly came home with her pamphlets from the school, and I saw Marigold’s name on one of them, that I found my chance to talk with her again.’
And by that time Ivy’s mother had seen the clay piskeys, and knew that Ivy believed Richard to be trapped inside one. She knew that Cicely was missing, as well – so once Gillian showed up, it wouldn’t have taken Marigold long to realise that her old friend had become the piskeys’ deadliest enemy.
‘She fought you, didn’t she?’ asked Ivy. ‘She wanted you to let Cicely go.’
‘Yes,’ said Gillian. ‘At first I tried to reason with her. I offered to free Cicely if she would agree to help me – or at least promise not to interfere in my plans. But she refused to cooperate, and I was forced to restrain her.’ She sighed. ‘That was when I decided to approach you instead, in the hope that you would be more sensible.’
‘Sensible?’ asked Ivy. ‘You killed a boy I grew up with. And now you’re talking about turning my brother and my father and – and all the other men I care about into statues for the rest of their lives. How am I supposed to be sensible about that?’
‘You know that the way you were forced to live in the Delve was unjust,’ Gillian said. ‘You know that you were deceived, or at least misled, about the dangers of going up to the surface. You know that your Joan refuses to believe that the mine is unfit to live in, even though you were born crippled and your mother nearly died. Doesn’t that make you angry, Ivy? Don’t you believe that something needs to change?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Don’t answer yet,’ Gillian told her. ‘Just think about it. And when we reach the place where your mother and sister are waiting, we’ll talk again.’
A few minutes later, Gillian brought Duchess to a halt and nudged Ivy to dismount. Beside the path, barely visible through the shrubbery that surrounded it and the vines that netted its surface, stood a low stone building that looked as though it might once have been part of a mine.
‘Here we are,’ Molly’s mother said, securing Duchess’s reins to an overhanging branch and leaving the mare to graze. As she walked towards the entrance, she raised a hand and the plants recoiled, revealing a surprisingly stout and modern-looking door. She unlocked it with a spark from her fingertips and pushed it open. ‘My workshop. Mind the step.’
Willing her skin to glow brighter, Ivy climbed cautiously over the threshold and down onto the floor below. The building consisted of a single bare room, damp and musty-smelling. She glimpsed shelves along one wall and an old plastic feed bucket in the corner, but apart from that the place seemed empty.
Ivy turned to Gillian, about to demand where she’d hidden her mother. But at the same moment, the faery woman waved her hand. The shadows parted, and now Ivy could see—
‘Mum!’ Ivy cried, rushing to her side. Marigold slumped against the wall, her brown hair hanging over her face. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed, but she didn’t move, even when Ivy shook her. ‘What have you done to her?’
‘Nothing more than it seems,’ Gillian replied. ‘She’s asleep – but she won’t wake until I allow it. As for your sister, she too is safe, and in good company.’
Ivy looked up, and her heart flipped over. The whole bottom shelf was filled with ugly grinning piskey statues, empty and waiting. And on the shelf above them stood a row of the real piskeys, frozen in mid-struggle. She saw Gem there, twisted back on himself as he tried to wrench one foot free. She recognised Feldspar, his hands uplifted and his eyes bulging in shock. And at the end of the row stood a terrified-looking piskey girl with two braids hanging over her shoulders.
‘Cicely!’ Ivy snatched the little figure down from the shelf and cradled it in her hands. Like the statue of Keeve in her bag it was perfect in every detail, her sister’s mouth still frozen open in her last, wordless scream. No wonder Gillian had crafted those jolly-looking shells to hide her victims; what human would want to buy a statue that looked like this?
‘I would have freed her, if I could,’ said Gillian. ‘I had no desire to harm a child, especially a girl. But the spell to release her requires not only my bloo
d but the blood of a near relative, so there was nothing I could do for her until today.’
Ivy looked sharply at her. Richard had said something about blood, too. ‘Why does it have to be a relative?’
‘My ancestors created the Claybane as a method of taking hostages,’ Gillian replied. ‘It was designed to hold enemies captive without need for prison or guard, until someone from their tribe came to make an offer of peace. If no one came within seven days, the piskey or spriggan trapped in the Claybane would die.’
So that was what had happened to Keeve. His time had run out, and there’d been no one to save him. Ivy clutched Cicely’s statue’s tighter. ‘Then the others will die too, if they aren’t released?’
‘No,’ said Gillian. ‘I altered the spell, once I realised my mistake. They will live indefinitely…if you can call it living.’
So there was still a chance to free Cicely. She might even be able to rescue Gem and Feldspar, if she could convince Gillian to change her mind. But there was nothing she could do for Richard. Grief knotting her chest, Ivy lowered her bag to the floor.
‘You can’t save the men of the Delve,’ Gillian told her. ‘With or without you, I will have my revenge. But you can save your sister and your mother, and make it easier on the other women as well, if you help me.’
Ivy looked down at Cicely’s tiny, pleading face. How could she let her sister go on suffering when she had a chance to rescue her? It was Ivy’s fault that Cicely had fallen into Gillian’s trap; now it was Ivy’s responsibility to bring her out of it…
‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked quietly.
‘I know where to find the Delve,’ said Gillian, ‘but not any of its entrances and exits, or the paths that your hunters use. Your Joan’s protective glamours are too strong.’ She moved closer to Ivy. ‘I could carry on setting traps here and there about the hillside, but it will be over much more quickly if you show me where to put them.’