Free Swift by R. J. Anderson

‘I knew piskeys were different, but I had no idea… Ivy, listen to me!’
    Annoyed as she was, his desperation brought her up short. She stopped, waiting.
    ‘I know I don’t have wings any more than you do,’ he said. ‘Not in this form. But I can change shape – all male faeries can. And if I turn myself into a bird, and you make yourself small enough, I can fly you to Truro and back again before anyone knows you’re gone.’
    ‘That’s ridic—’ Ivy started, but the word dissolved on her tongue as she remembered the little bird she’d seen flying away, right after the spriggan had disappeared. Was it possible? Could that have been him?
    She wanted to believe. Not only that magic could turn a wingless faery into a bird, but that everything else the stranger had told her was true as well. That Marigold was alive and longing to see her, and that one short flight over the countryside would bring them together again.
    And that was exactly why Ivy couldn’t listen to the spriggan any longer. Because if she did, she might end up making the worst mistake of her life.
    ‘I have to go,’ she blurted, and fled.

    ‘ I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; And if I die, no soul shall pity me… ’
    Wearily Ivy raised her head from the pillow, the stranger’s parting words still echoing in her mind. She’d had to listen to him all the way up the shaft last night, gabbling about villainy and murder and vengeance, and guilt had stabbed her as she realised he was already tumbling back into madness. Even without the agony of a dislocated elbow, being locked up in the pitch dark with an iron band around his ankle must be unbearable for a creature used to fresh air and sunlight, and if that weren’t cruel enough, he was dying of hunger and thirst as well…
    Ivy kicked back the bedcovers and pulled open the curtains of her alcove, grimacing at the dirty smears her fingers left behind. She’d been so tired when she got back to the cavern, she’d fallen into bed without washing or changing her clothes. Had Mica and Cicely noticed? What would she tell them, if they asked where she had been?
    She hopped down onto the rug and glanced in both directions. All the beds were empty, and the door to their father’s bedchamber stood open; bowls and spoons littered the table, and Cicely had forgotten to put the cream back in the cold-hole. It was mid-morning, and they’d all left hours ago – what must they have thought when they woke up and found Ivy still asleep?
    She heated water for a bath and scrubbed herself clean, then tidied up the dining table and made the bed Mica had left in disarray. It irked her that he never did it himself, but if she didn’t look after it Cicely would, so there was no point leaving it. After that she’d sweep the floor and make some bread, and finish curing the skin from Keeve’s adder, and then…
    Ivy collapsed into a chair, fingers worrying at her black curls. It was no use trying to distract herself, or pretend that her conversation with the spriggan hadn’t happened. What if Marigold really had sent him? Could Ivy let him starve and miss what might well be her only chance to find her mother, simply because she was afraid of being taken in?
    Yet she had to find a way to protect herself, before she agreed to anything. Faeries might consider a bargain sacred, but if the old stories were true, they also had a knack for finding loopholes in nearly any bargain they made. And the last thing Ivy wanted was to risk her life for this stranger, only to end up betrayed…
    ‘You’re up,’ said Cicely, peering in the doorway. ‘I thought you were ill. I was going to ask Yarrow to come and look at you.’
    Ivy forced a smile. ‘I’m well enough. I just got to bed later than I should have.’ She climbed to her feet. ‘Why don’t we make some bread?’

    ‘Did you talk to him?’ asked Mica that night at supper, taking the last roll from the basket.
    Ivy choked. ‘What –