Ivy

“Well, hello there, I don’t believe I offered to share my blanket.”

Ivy bolted for the bars, but fear confounded her legs, and she tripped. A huge beak plucked her by the hood of her cloak, the cloth choking her.

“I’m not even that hungry, lamentably.” The griffin’s voice was high and throaty, like the cry of a bird of prey. “But I’m loath to pass up a fresh meal when it’s provided.”

It tugged at her cloak some more, and she raised her arms, slipping out of the garment and bolting for the door. A huge paw landed on her back, pinning her down. She couldn’t move, could barely even wriggle. Sprawled on her belly, she winced at the beast’s warm breath as it nuzzled the hair away from the back of her neck. Death would come as a sharp jab right in the soft flesh under her skull. Or the griffin might take her entire head off. When seconds ticked by and nothing happened, she hazarded a peek over her shoulder. The griffin was studying her with one tilted bird eye.

“Are you not going to eat me?” Ivy squeaked, still pinned by the great paw.

“You’re marked,” the griffin replied, removing its foot. “Good thing I’m not hungry. I might have risked Terris’ wrath and eaten you anyway.”

Ivy didn’t wait to ask questions. She scrambled to safety, slamming the cage door shut, but she’d left the keys inside. The monster sat preening its feathers, as if oblivious to the keyring on the floor beside it. Ivy gripped the cage bars and summoned her courage.

“Did anyone escape you?” she asked.

“Pardon?” asked the griffin, licking its paw and running it over its feathered head.

“The prisoners? Did any of them escape you?”

“Not a one,” he said cheerfully.

The last of her hope drained away, and she turned and ran back through the cell block. Let the guards capture her and throw her out on the street. Her parents were dead and there was nothing for her here. She’d go back to the farm and see what she could salvage. Maybe she could find a down-on-their-luck couple who’d be happy to run a farm for the low, low price of being her parents. How long did she have to be a child, at the mercy of adults with their whims, their frustrations, their fleeting, insecure kindnesses? She hadn’t chosen to be different. Is that what the griffin had meant when he’d said she was marked?

She shouldn’t mourn this last set of parents. She would have lost them anyway, eventually. She always did.

Outside, Fellsman’s Folly was still underway, and the now-darkening streets were loud with raucous laughter, the pubs and taverns overspilling. It was a long walk from the town center to her family’s farm. Ivy began the slog up the shallow hill, stepping over the bright paper garlands and broken bottles littering the streets. She was so tired. And still hungry.

It was night when she reached the deer fence at the border of Friendly Field—the horses’ favorite spot to graze. There were no horses, of course—the Emperor’s men had taken those, but beyond it would be the vegetable garden and beyond that the barn and stables. Ivy spotted the black silhouette of the rooster-shaped weathervane against the star-dusted sky. But something was wrong. There was a smell to the air, like fall bonfires. Her stomach twisted. She ran.

The barn’s roof came into view, not red slats like she remembered, but black, charred remnants of what had once been a barn. The stables had been burnt, too—vandals, no doubt. Ivy hurried past the ruined outbuildings to the farmhouse. It was hardly recognizable. The fire had long since burnt out, but the smell lingered, bitter and hateful in her lungs.

Ivy was not one to cry, but she could not help the tears welling up in her eyes. How many times was a person expected to start over?

She rubbed her stinging eyes. Crying never helped anything. She had a treehouse in the orchard. She could sleep there tonight and figure out what to do tomorrow. She took the garden path on the way, scavenging for late-season vegetables. Someone had already been through here, too, but they’d missed some carrots. Ivy plucked four from the ground.

A single, weak light wobbling on the path from the road caught her attention. Oh no! Were the looters back for more? There was nothing left to take! Nothing except her.

Ivy ducked down amongst the weeds as the light wandered closer. It was moving faster than a person normally walked, but slower than a horse-drawn carriage. Then she recognized a sound—it was the odd squeaking of a pedal chariot, the kind aristocrats used to move about the cities and villages so they wouldn’t have to walk. Why would someone like that be coming to her house at night? She stepped out of the shadows just as the pedaler stopped, breathing heavily from the uphill work. A hand emerged from inside the chariot, pushing the curtain aside.

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“Come inside,” a voice said.

Ivy peered inside the enclosed space. She recognized the candlelit face. Sunken eyes under thin brown hair, pale lips, hollow cheeks. It was the boy from the Emperor’s litter—the one she’d seen in the Council chambers when the riot broke out.

“Step inside, please, I won’t hurt you.”

Confused, but no longer concerned, Ivy climbed inside and took the bench opposite him. Her carrots dropped crumbs of dirt on the silky cushions. She tried to wipe the dirt away, but it only smeared.

“Don’t worry about that,” the boy said. He wore silky pajamas and delicate, embroidered slippers. She hadn’t noticed until now how loud the cricket song was tonight.

He rummaged around in a basket beside him, then handed her something warm wrapped in waxed paper. “Here, you must be hungry.”

The scent hit Ivy like a slap—fried dough filled with savory filling. She dropped the carrots, peeled the paper off and shoved the meat pie into her mouth. Lamb! With vegetables. Salty and peppery and delicious. Ivy felt like she might die of ecstasy. When she finally stopped chewing to look at the Emperor again, he was grinning.

“Would you like another?”

She practically snatched it out of his hand. When she’d finished that one, he had a flagon of water at the ready. She guzzled the cool, clean liquid.

“Now that that’s done, we can talk,” he said in a cheerful voice.

“I live here; I’m not a thief,” Ivy said quickly, suddenly realizing she must be in terrible trouble for this aristocratic boy to have come all this way.

“I’m not worried about that.” The shadows hugging his features made him look older and even sicklier. “I’m here to offer you a job.”

This was a trick. Maybe a test. He was going to ask her to do something illegal and then arrest her for it. Ivy eyed the curtained doorway.

“You can leave whenever you like, but I hope you’ll hear me out first.”

“You’re not the Emperor. The Emperor’s an old man.” She glared at the ring of gold perched on his head. “Anyone can fake a crown.”

He smiled in the smug way of rich boys. “You’re right. But can they fake this?” He fished a gold medallion from inside the front of his nightshirt. Ivy recognized the checkered shield carved into it. “I am the Emperor. Have been for almost a year now, since Grandad passed.”

“The Emperor’s dead?” Ivy’s brow furrowed. She tried to think of the last time she’d seen the Emperor in person. In a procession how many years ago? “But what about your father?”

“He’s not well.”

“You’re not well,” Ivy blurted.

“He’s not well here.” The boy pointed to his head. “I’m just sickly. But no one wants to take orders from a child, so they keep me hidden. They let Kenji Zamora speak for me, but I make the decisions. I do.”

Ivy nodded because he seemed very adamant about it.

“Listen,” the boy Emperor went on. “You seem to be good at sneaking into places.”

Ivy shot up straight in her seat. “I didn’t do it, whatever it is—”

He waved his delicate hand at her. “No, no, you misunderstand me. I’m not here to give you trouble. I’m here to give you an opportunity.” He leaned in again and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Terris is at war, as you saw for yourself during that cauldron of chaos at the Council. The Imperials and Dwarves have forged an alliance against the Wizards and Elves. But I don’t trust the Dwarves. You managed to blend in well with them. I imagine you were spying? I heard a lot of street children do things like that in order to survive.”

Ivy didn’t respond.

“Anyway, I want you to go back to spying, only this time you’d be doing it for me, not some greasy information broker. I’ll pay you three times more than they ever did. And there’ll be bonuses, too. Things like this.”

A wand of licorice candy appeared in his hand. She snatched it and shoved one end into her mouth. Red licorice was her favorite. “What do you want me to find out?” she mumbled.

“Just stay close to them. Keep your ears open. Let me know if you hear anything... traitorous. I hate the fact that I’ve had to team up with those hairy little hammer-bangers, but it’s war.” His teeth gleamed white in the dim light. “What’s a monarch to do?”

Ivy thought of Bayne, his gentle eyes, his quiet manner. If she did this, she’d get to see him again.

“It’s three-hundred crests per unit of intel,” Ivy said, still chewing. “More if you want me to do more than listen.”

“Done.” The Emperor slapped his knees. “Come, sleep at the castle tonight. You can have a hot bath and a nice warm bed big enough for six little girls. In the morning, we’ll outfit you and get you settled into our joint war camp.”

Ivy stopped chewing. “War camp?”

The Emperor was leaning through the front curtain, talking to the pedaler. Ivy felt the chariot sway and dip as the pedaler turned around to head back downhill.

“Of course,” the Emperor said, his attention back on her. “How else are you to join a contingent and march with our Dwarven allies to the crash site?” He paused. “I’m sorry, I just realized I don’t even know your name.”

“Ivy.”

“Ivy, that’s a lovely name!” He offered her another licorice whip, and she accepted. “Besides, I have another job. A very secret one. And I believe you’re just the girl to do it.”