“The Historium, obviously.” Lyric whirled on her Royalist cloak. “It’s where the Love Knot Tine is displayed!”
Lyric was already out the door as Claire called after her, “But what are we late for?” She’d have to keep up to find out.
CHAPTER
8
The sun had fully risen, along with the rest of the city. Voices called out greetings from the narrowboats as Lyric hurried Claire alongside the canals and over bridges. Claire had read about cities in her own world where streets were made of water, but she hadn’t been able to picture it until now. She marveled as a boat floated right up to the door of a townhouse for a boy and his little sister to clamber into as easily as Claire and Sophie did into their parents’ car.
If she’d had all the time in the world, Claire would have loved to spend a day on a bridge and dedicate an entire afternoon to capturing the shifting colors of the river that linked the city together. And she could have spent at least a week trying to draw the Spinners, who were of all different shapes and sizes—literally. Some of the women bustled around in square-shaped skirts that were as wide as park benches, while the men wore thick overcoats with enormously puffy sleeves.
And the hair! Wherever Claire looked, there was a different style. Some pulled their hair into elaborate knots on top of their heads, while others let it flow in a waterfall of braids and threads. And the few men who happened to be bald all had the thickest, longest beards Claire had ever seen.
“Watch it!” a Spinner snapped as Claire, studying a woman’s hair sculpted to look like a swan, accidentally stepped on her long train.
“Sorry,” Claire mumbled and tried to move out of the way, only to bump into another Spinner, this one with arms full of scrolls. He glared at her without changing his pace, the scrolls’ colorful tags wagging at her like an admonishing finger.
Claire hurried to follow Lyric through the crowded streets, trying not to get too distracted by the massive ribbons fluttering from the boats’ decks in the harbor, their flags crisscrossing the sky like a giant’s game of cat’s cradle.
Needle Pointe was, as Sophie would say, spectacular. Claire wished Sophie were here to see— No. Claire stopped that thought in its tracks.
She did not wish Sophie were here at all, not in the slightest! Sophie needed to stay safe in Woven Root until Claire had managed to gather all four pieces of Arden’s crown.
“Gather”? Claire could practically imagine Sophie’s snort (a habit she’d picked up from Sena) at her plan. Is that the new word for “steal”?
What would you do? Claire thought back at the little voice in her head, which was sounding more and more like Sophie with each passing day.
The voice was silent. Because Claire’s plan was exactly something Sophie would do. Sophie would let Lyric lead her straight to the Love Knot Tine, and then once she’d figured out how to steal it, she’d flee before anyone could catch her. It was a terrible plan, a dangerous plan, a Sophie-like plan. And therefore, it must be the right plan, even if her blood ran cold whenever Claire thought about the last time a valuable object had been stolen from a guild. The Unicorn Harp. Sena had taken it with all the best intentions, and she’d almost been killed for it.
“Look out!” There was a yank on Claire’s sleeve, and Lyric pulled her away from the swinging tail end of a rolled-up carpet slung across the shoulder of a tired-looking Spinner. If it had connected with Claire, she definitely would have fallen into the canal.
“Thanks,” Claire said, feeling a little breathless. Making a splash in front of everyone wouldn’t have been the best way to start her new plan. Needle Pointe was crowded—more crowded than any of the other places Claire had visited in Arden, and with each passing minute, more and more narrowboats floated into the canals.
“Lyric,” Claire asked, curious, “how will they fit more boats here for Starfell next month?”
“Next month?” Lyric looked puzzled. “Elaina—Starfell isn’t next month; it’s three sunsets from now.”
Claire stumbled to a halt.
“What?” She looked around wildly. There were still leaves on some trees. “But you said—I thought the star shower marked the beginning of winter! It’s not even that cold yet!”
“Speak for yourself.” Lyric shrugged. “It’s always chilly on the river ways.”
“But,” Claire said, her voice beginning to edge on frantic, “that means Estelle is going to be crowned in just three days!” Her chest tightened. That wasn’t even enough time for a watercolor to properly dry!
“I know,” Lyric squealed with excitement, and she broke into a quick jog, as though by moving faster, she could make Starfell arrive even sooner. Claire, however, felt rooted to the spot.
She would never be able to collect all four tines in three days.
Deep breaths, the Sophie voice in her mind instructed. Don’t give up—you’re already close to the Love Knot Tine, and it’s not even noon.
Claire breathed, and focused. Estelle had demanded that all the guilds meet with her, which must mean she needed all four tines for the crown to be as potent as it was in the old tales. If Claire could prevent just a single tine from getting to Hilltop Palace, maybe she could delay the coronation until sometime after Starfell, buying herself and Nadia the days they needed to gather the other three.
You mean, the Sophie voice teased, steal.
“Come on, Elaina, don’t get lost,” Lyric called over her shoulder. The box of ribbons she was carrying bounced in her arms.
The closer they got to the city center, the larger the crowds became. An excited hum seemed to thread throughout Needle Pointe, the sounds of laughter and excitement amplified by the waterways. Spinners kept breaking out into bursts of song, and from far off, Claire could hear the notes of a violin dance down the canal while the snapping of flags kept time.
“Almost there!” Lyric said, hurrying Claire over one last bridge and around a final turn—
Claire gasped.
In the center of the plaza stood the most beautiful building Claire had ever seen. It was made of swooping arches and stately columns that rose over the crowd like a giant wedding cake. The many long, low stone steps leading up to it looked like a fancy serving tray, which only added to the confectionary effect.
So this was the Historium.
It must be a museum, the kind that looked as grand as a castle, and Claire’s heartbeat ticked up as she imagined all the wonders that must be contained within. She always loved field trips to museums, loved wandering through massive, echoing halls, hearing the soothing click of heels against marble floors, and staring at the artwork made by visionaries long since dead and gone. In her world, it was the closest she had ever felt to magic.
Hundreds of tiered balconies trimmed the outside of the building, and as they got closer, she saw that from each one dangled a crescent banner, with the same symbol repeating again and again: a single star suspended over a white crown against a field of Royalist blue.
No need to wonder whose seal it was, though. Lyric squealed in delight again: “They put the queen’s banners up!” She looked at Claire proudly. “When Grandmaster Bobbin heard about Her Majesty’s return, he had all the preambles practice our embroidery on the banners so that we would have them in time for Starfell.” Lyric shielded her eyes from the sun and scanned the tiers. “I think that one there is the one I did!”
“How can you tell?”
Lyric waved an unconcerned hand. “I accidentally added a fifth point to the crown, but who’s counting? Come on!” She took the stone steps two at a time, and Claire hurried to keep up. But with each step that took her nearer to the Historium, the more certain she grew that her plan was a terrible one. Maybe she should just tell everyone the truth as soon as possible. Dad always said the truth would set her free, but what if the Spinners didn’t want to listen to the truth? Everywhere she looked, from the banner-wrapped building to all the blue cloaks on the streets, she saw how excited the Spinners were for Queen Estelle’s return.
When they reached the top of the steps, instead of leading them through the grand arched doors of the museum, Lyric slipped around the corner to a side entrance. Stopping, she pulled out a key. “My sister, Kay, is a stage assistant,” Lyric explained, fitting it in the lock. “She was asking Mama to come drop off so many things that the director finally gave Mama her own key so she wouldn’t have to stand out here so long and be questioned by the Wraith Watch. They’re usually here to guard the Love Knot Tine, but after the Forger attack yesterday, I think they’ve all been sent to the city’s perimeters instead.” She gave the door a push. “Welcome to the Historium!”
All the museums Claire had ever been to—with the exception of a children’s museum the Martinsons visited every couple of years—had been quiet places, somewhere between a church and a library.
Needle Pointe’s Historium was anything but.
Claire jumped at the roar of noise that greeted them as Lyric ushered her inside.
“Mind the ropes!”
“Where’s my hat?” a boy dressed in a green jerkin and tall boots called as he rushed through the hall. “I’m on in ten minutes!”
“Did you ask Roberto?” a woman called as she hustled, arms full of long gowns, toward another door. “Dancers, don’t forget to give me your props when the number is up!”
Claire blinked. “Where—?”
But she was interrupted as a Spinner wearing a wig of gray curls and drawn-on wrinkles hobbled by and exclaimed, “Patches, Lyric! Where have you been? Your sister has been looking for you!”
“Sorry, Bard,” Lyric said and nodded down to the box in her hand. “But I have the spare ribbons. Where should I put them?”
From somewhere down the chaotic halls came a bellowing. Bard winced. “Probably best to head to the stage directly. They started rehearsal already and … uh, the director has been a bit …” He trailed off as the bellow grew louder. “Touchy,” he finished.
Before Claire could quite wrap her mind around the conversation, Lyric had nodded and broken into a jog.
“Lyric?” Claire panted, slightly out of breath. “Why didn’t you say the Historium was a theater? I thought it was going to be a museum!”
“What’s the difference?” Lyric asked, opening yet another door and walking behind a set of pulleys and ropes. “Performance is how we remember our history. Why should the past be confined to books and objects? Besides, it’s more fun this way!”
She swooshed Claire into an auditorium of plush red seats and pushed her into one just as the conductor lifted his hands and the curtain raised. Dancers, all in shimmering silks and holding fluttering ribbons, twirled onto the stage.
Claire’s breath caught. She’d seen a few ballet recitals before—they were impossible to avoid if Sophie Martinson was your older sister—but these dancers were as different from the intermediate Tuesday afternoon class as a puddle was from a lake. This wasn’t even like the professional ballet the Martinson family had decided to see a few years ago over winter break. Those dancers had only seemed to fly across the stage, but in Arden … Claire leaned in her seat, squinting at the stage.
“Lyric,” Claire whispered, wondering if she were seeing things. “Their slippers—they’re not touching the ground!”
“Of course not,” Lyric whispered back. “Because they’re not slippers; they’re Flyers, which, you know, fly.”
How wonderful! And practical. Claire wished she could show the footwear to Grandmaster Carnelian of Stonehaven. If the Gemmers had some of these shoes, it would be so much easier for them to fix the crumbling gargoyles that lined the Citadel’s soaring domed roof—and much less dangerous.
The sounds of violins and harps reached inside and soothed her, and for a moment, Claire let herself get lost in the melody and movement. Each costume was an incandescent white, the color reminding her of a soap bubble when the sunlight caught its curve. With each kick and grand leap, the dancers sparkled. As the music gathered force, the twirls became tighter and the ribbons arced higher, looking like liquid moons. It was beautiful. It was magical. It was—
“Stop! Stop! Stop!”
Claire jumped in her seat as a tall, thin man unfolded himself from where he’d been sitting in the front row. Like all the other Spinners, he, too, seemed to take his clothing seriously. Bedecked in a fine suit of orange brocade and with his Royalist cloak tossed jauntily over a single shoulder, he looked a bit like an off-kilter sun setting against a navy sky. But unlike the other Spinners, his white-blond hair was wild. It stuck up in all directions. Here and there, Claire could see some dangling threads as well as an unraveling braid or two, as though nervous fingers had been tugging at their ends.
“You look like a bunch of popcorn!” the man exclaimed. “And not beautifully falling stars!” Striding up onto the stage, he plucked a streamer from a stunned dancer and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it shimmying into the air. With another flick, the ribbon shifted direction, shuttling back and forth like a fish swimming upstream.
“Watch carefully,” he instructed, and with a final flick, he let go of the streamer—but this time, it did not float back down. Instead it stayed suspended, twisting itself into the shape of a star.
“That is how all your ribbons should look on the eight count,” the man said. “But you’re all a beat too early!” He reached up a long arm and tugged the ribbon. The star immediately undid itself and folded itself neatly in his palm. Letting out a great sigh, the man rubbed his temples. “Let’s review again why the Starfell Dance of Ribbons is so important. Can anybody—?” But he hadn’t even formed his full question when a forest of hands shot up in the air. Claire bit back a smile. The kids of Needle Pointe, it seemed, didn’t have a shy bone in their bodies. The Spinners really were a guild of Sophies.
The director nodded to a girl with hair as black as Lyric’s who promptly said, “Because it’s tradition. The Dance of Ribbons is always performed on Starfell.”
“Yes, but why?” the director asked. “Why this dance at this time? Anybody?”
Only one hand went up, and the person didn’t wait to be called upon. “I know, Director!”
Claire glanced toward her left while the rest of the dancers and the director turned around to look out over the seats in the auditorium.
“Is that you, Weft?” the director asked, scanning the dark shadows in the theater.
Beside Claire, Lyric slowly stood up. “It’s me.”
The director fixed a tough eye on her. “I thought you were cut from auditions already.”
Lyric hung her head. “I was, but … I still know the answer, sir.”
“Go on, then.”
For once, Lyric was quiet, and Claire recognized the slight quake in her knees. “You got this,” Claire whispered quietly. “He’s no Spyden.”
There was a slight uptick of her lips, and then Lyric spoke. “The dancers, they’re supposed to represent the shooting stars. And the ribbons in their hands are meant to remind the audience of unicorn manes and tails. There are songs about unicorns galloping up the mountains during Starfell, as though they were racing the stars themselves. The light of the shower would turn their manes and tails all silvery. That’s why we dance with silver ribbons and decorate Needle Pointe with them around Starfell.”
“Very good,” the director said, and Lyric beamed widely as he turned back to address the dancers on the stage. “You can hit your steps perfectly, but if you don’t know the meaning behind what you do, then the motion is worthless. When you dance, I want you to think about how these steps connect us to the past and how the Dance of Ribbons was created to remember something of great value.”
His voice lowered and took on a wistful tone, and he flicked his wrist. The silver ribbon again raised effortlessly into the air. This time, it did not fold itself into a star but arced up, flowing into the outline of an arched neck, a pricked ear, and a spiral horn. The ribbon whipped along faster and faster, tracing the outline of a silver unicorn onto the air.
> “Which is why,” the director said with a final flick, and the unicorn neatly folded itself up, “you must concentrate! You are the ones selected to perform for Her Majesty’s coronation. When the queen sees you dance, she will select the best of you to join her court. And if you’re chosen, you will bear witness to one of the greatest days in Arden’s history: the return of the unicorns.”
His words sent a trill of excitement flapping around the room. Dancers lifted their heads, smoothed out their costumes, and set their jaws as they all prepared to rehearse again, for such an opportunity, for such an honor.
“And we have mere hours to whip you into shape!” the director shouted, his voice snapping everyone into position. The silver ribbon fell down into his palm. “We only have three sunsets until Starfell, so I advise you to take position again and remember, for all that’s spun and silken, don’t forget to keep your toes pointed!”
As the dancers hustled into their places, it felt as though one of their ribbons had cut itself loose, only to wrap around Claire’s ribs.
Three days. Three days to gather each of the four guilds’ tines, reforge the circle, crown Nadia, and then, after all that, defeat the queen … and save Sophie.
It seemed impossible.
It was impossible.
But Arden was a land built on the impossible, and it could hold at least one more. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully.
“Lyric,” Claire whispered. “Can you take me to the Love Knot Tine now?”
Lyric nodded, but she looked longingly at the stage. “It’s just out these doors, in the lobby.”
“The lobby?” Claire was surprised. Lobbies usually made her think of movie theaters, where on special occasions Dad would stand in line to get a small bag of popcorn for the family to share. Those places were usually a bit sticky from spilled soda drinks and dropped candies. She couldn’t imagine a crown’s point being stored someplace like that. But then again, she hadn’t expected it to be in a theater, either.
“Yeah.” Lyric nodded. Keeping her voice low, she quickly explained, “After the Guild Treaty, the Spinner grandmaster in charge of Needle Pointe decided to display the Love Knot Tine in the most public place possible: the Historium’s lobby. That way, we are all responsible for its safekeeping. The more eyes on it, the better!”
Fire in the Star Page 7
