A loud clang reverberated throughout the workshop as the hammer connected with the ax. The weapon flew from Thorn’s hand, spinning wildly in the air until it hit a pile of coins. Claire threw her hands over her head as metal bits clattered down around them. But even in the din, Claire could hear Thorn’s terrified yelp.
The hammer’s blow had knocked Thorn to the floor, and though he still looked like Anvil, a red lump was protruding from his head where a wayward coin had smacked him. But that wasn’t what made her breath catch in her throat. Scythe had stepped to loom over Thorn, and this time, his hammer wasn’t aiming for Thorn’s ax. It was aimed at his head.
“I’m giving you until three,” Scythe growled. “Who. Are. You?”
“I-I’m …,” Thorn rasped, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out.
“One,” Scythe began. “Two …”
Claire couldn’t look away. This was her fault! She’d been the one to say they should go to the Silverorium, though she knew how dangerous it was to cross the silversmith. Last time, she and Nett and Sena had ended up under a chain net. Last time, they’d almost lost their lives as Sena had looked for the stolen Unicorn Harp. Last time— Claire’s thoughts caught, as though on a hook, as she remembered what, exactly, had happened last time.
“Three!” Scythe’s hammer swooped down.
“Nadia! ” Claire yelled. “IknowNadia!”
Thud.
At the last moment, Scythe’s hammer had changed direction, shifting slightly to connect with the floorboards instead of Thorn’s head.
“What did you say?” Scythe practically snarled as he lifted the hammer back to his shoulder, revealing a new dent in the hardwood floor. He stalked toward Claire.
“Nadia,” Claire babbled. “I know Nadia and Cotton and Ravel and Woven Root!”
“What makes you think those names mean anything to me?” Scythe demanded as he tapped the hammer’s head against his palm. It made a wet, hollow sound.
“B-b-because,” Claire said, the letters tripping over her tongue as though they were trying to hide from his hammer, “Sena stole the Unicorn Harp to trade you for information about her parents. And you—you told her that her mom was somewhere near Constellation Range!”
“So?” Scythe sneered, but confidence surged through Claire. He was stalling. She must be right!
“So,” Claire repeated, “Constellation Range is where Woven Root is. Or was,” she added hastily. One of the ways the alchemist village managed to maintain its secrecy was by never staying in one place for too long.
Scythe studied her, silent. And then suddenly—he lunged!
Claire caught a glimpse of silver scissor blades in the second before Scythe grabbed Aquila’s gray hair and pulled. Hard.
“Let go!” Claire shouted over Thorn’s outraged cry, but it was no use. Scythe’s strong fingers had managed to pinch the Make-a-Face, and the enchanted cap, which had expanded and threaded its way across her body like a wet suit, protested the attempt at its sudden removal. Claire could feel the magic stretching across her, tension building like a pulled rubber band. The magic would either break, revealing her, or it would snap back against her.
She braced, ready for the recoil, but instead, there was a soft snip, and Scythe let go.
Without his hand, Claire stumbled forward. Helplessly, she tried to hold the unraveling halves of the Make-a-Face together, but yarn, Spyden silk, and river sand cascaded around her feet. And in the bulging sides of a knocked-over sugar bowl, Claire saw her own gray eyes and frizzy brown hair.
“You! ” Scythe gasped. Claire tried to hide her own face, though it was way too late. “You’re the girl who was with Sena. You’re Claire Martinson!”
“Leave her alone!” Thorn said, and Claire looked to see Anvil brandishing a silver candlestick, even if his eyes didn’t seem quite focused yet.
“Sit down before you hurt yourself, whoever you really are,” Scythe growled, never taking his eyes from Claire. “I don’t want to harm Apprentice Martinson. In fact,” he said, neatly twirling his hammer and hooking it back onto his belt, “I’ve been looking for her.”
Stunned, Claire felt her mouth drop open as a gazillion questions swarmed her, but all she could manage was a breathless, “What? ”
Scythe shook his head. “Not yet. Not here.” And with a meaningful look, he waved at them to follow him around the silver stacks to a familiar wardrobe.
“Sorry about the scissors,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But I had to be certain because, well, you’ll see.” He opened the wardrobe and slid the false back silently open, then stepped aside.
At first, all Claire could make out was bare shelves and clusters of candles. They were of uneven lengths, so that the shadows they threw looked like a set of crooked teeth munching on the wall. But after a moment, she realized that in a dark part of the room sat two figures. Their backs were to the door, all their attention focused on the pile of keys in front of them. As Claire watched, one of them with tufted black hair held up a golden key. “How about this one?” he asked.
“Where did you get it?” a girl with fire-red hair asked, and when the boy pointed toward a smaller pile, the girl sighed irritably. “That’s my ‘already tested’ pile!”
“Whoops,” the boy said. “Sorry about that, but don’t worry! The worst thing that can happen is that one day your nose itches and you forget you’re wearing the gauntlet and accidentally break your nose.”
“Not funny,” the girl ground out. “You try having your hand permanently locked in a glove of gold! It’s heavy! And— No, Gryphin. No!”
There was a squawk like a rusty hinge, and Claire caught a glimpse of candlelight on copper wings as a chimera about the size of a large drinking goblet pulled out of its dive. A silver key dangled in its talons, and the formerly neat clump of keys was now scattered across the floor. The girl let out an exasperated sigh while the boy scrambled after one still spinning on the hardwood.
Claire knew this boy and girl. But before she could say anything, a third figure melted out from the shadows. With an easy grace, the new figure snatched the chimera out of the air and plucked the key from its talon.
“Here you go, ” she said, her ponytail swaying sassily as she handed the key to the redheaded girl and sternly addressed the boy. “Nett, back off of Sena.” She paused and glanced toward the gauntlet-clad girl. “I think your jokes might be getting … out of hand.”
Sena Steele scowled while Nettle Green let out a gleeful whoop of laughter.
“Not funny,” Sena huffed, which only made Nett laugh harder.
The second girl ducked her head to hide a smile, turning her face ever so slightly toward the door where Claire stood, flanked on either side by Scythe and a Make-a-Face Anvil. The second girl suddenly straightened. “Scythe, you’re back! Did you manage to get the File Away? Or find out why another grandmaster meeting was called this morning? And—” She broke off with a gasp. “Wait … is that you, Anvil?! How did you—? But …” Her eyes finally landed on Claire. “Clairina! ”
And then Sophie was running toward her with a fluid grace that made Claire’s breath catch. Or maybe that was how hard Sophie was now hugging her, squeezing her as though she would never let go. This was no Spyden silk illusion. Claire wrapped her arms around her sister. Her human sister. Sophie was here! In Fyrton! With Scythe!
And then.
Something barreled through Claire, pushing at her insides like helium in a balloon: an emotion. But she couldn’t name it. Was it a stunning joy or a devouring fear?
Sophie was here. In Fyrton. Away from Woven Root.
The questions flooded Claire, each one clamoring, each one demanding an answer. But only one question could come first. Claire stepped out of Sophie’s hug and looked up at her big sister. “Why are you following me?!”
Sophie blinked in surprise. “I— What?”
And the thing that had been pushing at Claire grew sharper, twisting in her gut, and suddenly, Claire realized i
t wasn’t joy or fear. It was fury.
“Why are you following me?” Claire repeated, crossing her arms. “I told you I could do this! I told you to stay in Woven Root. Why don’t you believe in me? You never listen!”
“Claire, I—”
“YOU NEED TO BE SAFE!” She was shouting now, ignoring Sena’s and Nett’s stunned faces. It didn’t matter. She knew only that she had to make Sophie understand. That Sophie had to be safe. “I CAN DO THIS, SOPHIE! I DON’T NEED YOU TO DO THINGS FOR ME! YOU DON’T—”
“Claire!” Sophie said. Reaching out, she gripped both of Claire’s shoulders. “Calm down! We’re not following you. I know you can do things by yourself. We’re here because of the unicorn!”
“I— What? ” Now it was Claire’s turn to blink in surprise.
“The unicorn!” Sophie repeated. “The one from the rock—he’s been trapped!” She spoke fast, seeming to try to get the words out before Claire could recover from her shock and start yelling again. “The night you left, I had a dream—more than a dream, really. A message from the unicorn.”
A strange mixture of awe and worry washed through Claire, sweeping away her fury and leaving only Sophie’s incredible statement: a message from the unicorn.
“What?” Claire breathed again. “You—you spoke to the unicorn? Where is he?”
Now that it was clear Claire was done yelling, Sophie released her shoulders.
“Kind of. We share dreams,” she said, with a quick glance to the two adult Forgers. She kept her voice low, and Claire understood Sophie was protecting the secret of her creeping change. “I’m able to see his dreams, and he can see mine. He doesn’t really talk, but he shares his memories and feelings with me—feelings of being confined, but always by different things.”
She raised her voice again to a regular volume and continued. “Sometimes it’s metal, other times it’s thread or stone or roots, which makes me believe that one of the guilds has him, but I’m not sure which one.”
“We have some ideas though!” Nett piped up.
Sophie nodded and held up four fingers. “We know it’s not the Gemmers, since you and me, Claire, were at Stonehaven and we would have definitely heard about it.” She put down a finger. “And it’s not the Tillers—we just spent a couple of days in Tanglevine, the biggest Tiller village, but the only things we found there were a few snapdragon bites and a nasty run-in with a Guarden Rose.”
Over Sophie’s shoulder, Claire saw Nett roll up his tunic sleeve to show off his arm, which was mottled black and blue and punctuated with thorn-prick-sized scabs.
“So,” Sophie continued, now with only two fingers held up, “that left us with either the Forgers or Spinners. We were closer to Fyrton and also, since the Forgers have declared war on Estelle, it made sense to us that they would be the ones to keep a unicorn hidden—to use as a secret attack, or something. We snuck into Fyrton and then went to their treasury, but then—”
“But then that flying nuisance ruined it for us!” Sena said with a pointed glare, directed toward somewhere above Claire’s head. Claire followed her gaze. Perched on the top of a tall, empty shelf, the chimera looked down at her with interest. It had the head and wings of a magpie and the body, tail, and hefty paws of a lion cub.
“What is that?” Thorn asked in Anvil’s voice.
“Gryphin!” Nett piped up proudly as he rushed in to give Claire a hug. “Sena and I crafted him following the directions in some of the journals we found in Sena’s parents’ workshop. He’s part lion and part magpie. He’s meant to help us locate the unicorn, since magpies are good at finding shiny things, but he’s been a bit … distractible.”
Sena snorted. “That’s an understatement. No, no, no, Gryphin!”
But it was too late. The little chimera had already launched himself off the shelf and was diving straight for Sena’s hair. A second later, the copper creature careened into Sena’s shoulder and promptly wrapped the Forger’s long red braid around himself before closing his eyes. Gryphin appeared to be settling in for a nap.
Sophie’s lips twitched while Sena scowled.
“He likes Sena best,” Sophie explained. “Sena saved his life.”
Claire’s head whirled. Just a minute ago, she’d thought Scythe was going to kill her but now, incredibly, she was with her sister again, and Nett, and Sena, and she’d received the miraculous, wonderful news that the last unicorn, the unicorn she’d called from rock, the unicorn that had started a change in her sister, was alive.
Which meant there was still a chance Sophie could be just Sophie again.
Claire studied her sister. Sophie was wearing a black leather vest over a sweater of a purple so light it was almost gray—clothes appropriate for a Forger working near soot and hot flames. A disguise, then. A streak of white still gleamed in Sophie’s dark hair, but other than that, nothing seemed to have changed since Claire last saw her. There was no telltale bump on her forehead, though if there had been, it might be hidden under her bangs.
As though Sophie could read her thoughts, she brushed away her fringe to reveal smooth skin.
“I’m fine, Claire,” she said softly. “Seriously. And I feel good, better than good.”
Claire reached out and hugged her sister again.
“I’m sorry for yelling,” she mumbled into Sophie’s shoulder. “I just missed you.”
“Obviously.” Sophie squeezed back. “But even though I know you can take care of yourself, don’t do that again. You can’t just leave.”
A weak chuckle escaped Claire, and she let go. “I learned from the best.”
“How dare you!” Sophie said with mock indignation, but her eyes sparkled. And even though questions still poked and prodded Claire, she felt lighter than she had in a long, long time. Sophie was here, and Claire now knew that together, they could do anything: Collect the tines. Save a unicorn. Go home.
“I don’t get … what’s happening,” Thorn said, sounding slightly dizzy. Claire turned to look at him and saw that Anvil’s eyes were as round as dinner plates as he stared at the copper chimera, and Claire remembered that he’d never been to Woven Root and, therefore, had never seen a chimera move until now. However many questions she had couldn’t come close to Thorn’s.
Sophie turned a dazzling smile on Thorn. “Anvil! I’m so glad you’ve been de-rubified! How did they fix you?”
“That’s not Anvil Malchain,” Scythe said as he finished bolting the seventh and final lock on the secret door. Sophie’s smile slipped, and her eyes narrowed as she stared at Thorn. Under Sophie’s gaze, Thorn seemed to collapse a bit. Even though Thorn still looked just like Anvil, as his ears sank toward his shoulders, Claire was suddenly reminded of the first time she’d met Thorn in Greenwood’s stables.
“Is that …?” Sophie paled. “Thorn?”
For a moment, Thorn didn’t move. Then he nodded.
Gasps startled from Sophie and Nett, while there was a slight hiss of metal as Sena yanked Fireblood from its scabbard.
“Stop!” Claire said. “Give him a chance to explain.”
Sena scowled. “But—”
“Put that away,” Scythe ordered Sena, turning his back on the secured door. “No need to make a bloody mess in my wareroom.” He tugged the scissors from his tool belt and handed them to Thorn. “Snip that illusion off, will you? The rest of you,” he said, looking at Claire, Sophie, and Nett, “come over here and help me.”
Scythe trudged to the back corner, knelt down, and pulled open a trapdoor Claire hadn’t noticed. A secret room inside a secret room! Though as Claire peered closer, she saw it wasn’t really a room at all but a tiny cellar stuffed with all kinds of dried food and travel provisions.
“Here,” Scythe grunted as he pulled up a dusty picnic blanket and threw it at Claire. “Go spread that out. We don’t have much time, by the sound of things, but stories and plans are always best with a full stomach.”
Sophie took a corner of the blanket. Grinning at Claire, she added,
“And with sisters.”
CHAPTER
17
Fifteen minutes and one self-boiling kettle later, Claire found herself sitting cross-legged on the edge of the blanket, holding a bit of cheese in her hand. Beside her, Nett was busy unwrapping the last of the biscuits while Thorn—returned to his usual blond-haired state—sat quietly across from Claire, occasionally sneaking a glance at Sophie. Seated next to Claire, Sophie was in the middle of recapping just exactly how a golden gauntlet had come to clamp onto Sena’s hand.
“So,” Sophie said with a toss of her white-streaked ponytail, “we asked ourselves, ‘Where would the Forgers hide something as rare and precious as a unicorn?’ And that’s when Nett suggested—”
“The Fyrton Vaults,” Nett supplied.
Sophie shook her head emphatically. “Right. Because—”
“Because the Fyrton Vaults are the most secure place in all of Arden,” Nett interrupted again as he reached for the kettle and poured in a packet of dried leaves. Immediately, the smell of new sketchbooks and sunshine filled the space. “They’re hard to break into, and even harder to break out of, and full of dangerous decoy objects to protect the real treasures. They’re a perfect place to hide something you don’t want others to know about.”
“Excuse me.” Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Who’s telling the story?!”
“Sorry,” Nett said, sounding cheerful and not sorry at all as he poured the newly made tea into silver goblets and handed them around. Claire hid her smile behind the rim as she accepted hers.
“Go on, Sophie,” she nudged. “What happened? How were you able to break into the treasury if it was unbreakable?”
Sophie’s eyes darted to Thorn, who at that very moment had been staring at her. Quickly, he turned away, reached for the tin of walnuts—and promptly knocked them over onto the blanket. As he was scrambling, Sophie looked at Claire meaningfully.
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