“I have my ways.”
Right. Ways. Unicorn ways.
One of the many magical abilities of unicorns was that they could open doors—any doors, including, it seemed, the ones set with the strongest of Forger locks.
“So we go inside,” Sophie continued, ignoring the plink of walnuts as Thorn dropped them back into the tin. “But instead of finding a unicorn, all we found were piles of treasures. Mountains of it. And oh, Claire!” Sophie’s eyes shined as she clasped her hands dramatically to her heart. “I wish you could have seen it. Some of those rooms—they looked like the illustrations from the storybook about Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves! Or the underground fairy world from the ‘Twelve Dancing Princesses.’ We saw golden tree branches with sapphire plums. Actual gold and actual sapphires!”
As Sophie continued to describe the many magical and fantastic things stowed in Fyrton’s vaults, Claire felt memories settle around the picnic blanket. This felt just like all those times before, when Sophie had outlined which Experience they were about to do next. But those stories had all been carved from Sophie’s imagination, and what her sister was describing now—a waterfall of steaming silver; gowns of woven platinum—was real. Sophie had actually seen and done what she was describing; these weren’t just descriptions of a wish.
“Yes, yes,” Sena slipped in while Sophie paused to take a breath. “We saw a lot of things—but no unicorn.” The Forger girl was sitting on a stool next to a cluster of candlesticks and the brighter light of Nett’s marimo, a mossy plant that grew in a ball that had once belonged to his mother, before she’d died in a wraith attack. In the bright light, Claire saw Sena’s hand drift uselessly over Fireblood’s hilt, her fingers locked in place by the golden gauntlet.
“And all those treasures,” Sena continued, “were shiny, which meant this one”—she jerked her head toward the high shelf where Gryphin was perched, happily lapping a saucer of vegetable oil—“couldn’t keep his beak to himself.”
“It was terrifying,” Nett said, his brown eyes darkening for a moment. “Gryphin angered a suit of armor, and so Sena had to duel it to save his tail. But she slipped and accidentally grabbed onto the gauntlet, which immediately clamped onto her. After that, she couldn’t touch anything that didn’t belong to her without the gauntlet turning red-hot—you know, making her caught red-handed. But Sena did manage to rescue Gryphin.”
“It wasn’t worth it,” Sena muttered as she glared up at the shelf.
“Ignore her,” Nett said, taking a bite of biscuit. “She luffs Gryffffin.”
“I do not!”
Nett swallowed. “Whatever you say,” he said amicably, but as soon as Sena looked back at her hand, Nett mouthed, she does.
Realizing she was losing her audience, Sophie quickly summed up the rest of the tale. “We were a bit loud, but luckily, Scythe was already on the lookout for us and he was the one who found us trapped in the Hall of Mirrors. He got us out, and brought us back here to see if any of his keys could unlock the gauntlet. We figured out pretty quickly it probably wasn’t going to work, and Scythe said that if Sena wanted to be able to use her sword hand again, the gold would have to be scraped off. He left us here to keep trying out the keys while he went to barter for a File Away, and then—well.” Sophie shrugged. “He returned with you.” She patted Claire’s knee, then took a sip from her own goblet.
“Wow,” Claire breathed. Her mind reeled with all the new information as well as bright images inspired by Sophie’s tale. She longed for her set of oil pastels, so that she could try to capture them, the way she usually did at home. All those magical objects! And among them, maybe even the Hammer Tine.
She was just about to ask Sophie, Nett, and Sena if they had seen something that looked like the point of a crown, when Thorn spoke up.
“Sophie, would you please pass the sugar?”
But Sophie didn’t seem to have heard him, and so Claire handed the bowl to Thorn, who accepted it with a small nod. Clutching her silver goblet, purple steam rising up from it, Claire couldn’t help but stare at the shelves in the secret room.
Once, they’d been crowded with illegal magical objects, sagging under the weight of such things as chokers and mirrors that revealed the gazer’s greatest weakness. But now the shelves were full of nothing but dust.
There was no Love Knot Tine here, stolen or otherwise.
“It’s all been sold,” Scythe said, answering Claire’s unasked question as he stomped by her and toward Sena.
“All the black-market objects sold?” Claire repeated Scythe’s words, surprised and also a bit uneasy. There had been so many of them!
“Guild tensions have been rising for some time now,” Scythe said, and settled himself next to Sena. He was much larger than his three-legged stool, and it creaked under his weight. Hunching over, Scythe pulled out a large file and gestured for Sena to give him her hand.
“In dangerous times,” Scythe said as he carefully cradled Sena’s golden fingers and began to file the metal, “people seek dangerous solutions. Desperate ones—such as untested jumbled transformations made of dangerous substances like Spyden silk.”
Thorn, who’d taken a quiet sip of his sugary tea, spluttered a bit at that. His ears, back to their normal large size, turned pink as he wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Sir, how could you tell we weren’t the Malchains?”
Scythe snorted and continued over the soft scritch of the file on gold. “Aside from the fact that Anvil looked terrified of his own ax? A few things. Like the fact Aquila hasn’t called me by my first name since I once rented out a treasure she wasn’t quite ready to part with—”
“You mean,” Sena interrupted with a raised eyebrow, “you stole it and sold it.”
“I prefer ‘long-term rental,’ ” Scythe said. “Don’t move while I’m doing this—you don’t want me to accidentally file off a finger! The other giveaway was that Nadia told me about the Malchains’ actual rubified condition.” He shook his head. “Haven’t heard directly from her in nearly ten years, and then two weeks ago, he showed up.”
He nodded to the pocket on his leather apron. Claire was confused at first, until she noticed the outline of an embroidered heron. So that was how: a Messaging Thread. The last time she’d seen one, a heron had unstitched itself from Sophie’s hem and flown to seek Nadia for help.
“Nadia let me know a gaggle of children would probably attempt something foolish,” Scythe continued. Sweat gleamed on his bald head and gold dust coated his hands. “She asked me to keep an eye out for them. Good thing, too,” he said, the rhythmic scratch pausing for just a second as he looked up to glare at Nett and Sophie, “or someone else might have discovered you trapped in the treasury.” The scratch-scratch resumed, and then—
“Aha!” Scythe suddenly said. There was one more scratch of metal on metal and then a sharp clank as the gauntlet fell to the floor. Sena’s hand was free.
“Yes!” she said, wiggling her fingers, which looked fine, if a little pink. After a few more shakes, Sena wrapped her hand around Fireblood’s hilt and gave it a few swings. Clearly she’d been practicing. The sword moved easily in a silver blur, reminding Claire of Lyric and the Spinner dancers and how easily they twirled their Starfell ribbons. Scythe, meanwhile, had picked up the golden glove and was weighing it carefully in his palm, already calculating its value. He placed it on an empty shelf and came to join the picnic.
“Nice work,” Nett said, scooting over to make room for the burly Forger. “Though I admit I’ll miss being able to use Sena’s hand as a mirror to check for any boogers.”
“Don’t worry,” Sena drawled, sheathing Fireblood at last and joining them. “I can slice off your nose if you want. Save you the inconvenience.”
Sophie and Thorn laughed, but Claire only smiled. Something still worried her. Something still didn’t make sense. “Mr. Scythe, one of the rules of Woven Root is that no one can leave Woven Root. So how are you here?”
“I never said I was a
member of Woven Root. I’ve never been,” Scythe said as he picked up the last two biscuits. “But I’ve known Nadia since before even she learned of Woven Root, back when she went by Diana.”
Claire nodded; she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with Scythe, but she felt better knowing Nadia trusted him with her most precious treasure of all: Woven Root.
She looked at Sophie. She seemed relaxed. Sophie must trust Scythe, too.
“Mr. Scythe,” Claire said, “are you able to send a message to Nadia?” And when he nodded, she took a deep breath. “Okay. Here’s what we know.”
Beginning with the Spyden’s words, she told them all about her journey to Needle Pointe, the discovery that the Love Knot Tine was a fake, and how they needed to gather the four tines of the powerful Crown of Arden in order to make Nadia queen. Because only a queen could defeat a queen. And only then would they be able to stop Estelle.
Estelle, who wanted a unicorn’s heart.
By the time Claire got to the end—with a few helpful insertions by Thorn and a few gazillion questions from Nett—Scythe had stood and started to pace. His legs were so long, however, that he needed to take only five steps to cross the entire length of the room.
“How did you know that the tine was fake?” Scythe growled, not angrily but in a focused way. Claire pulled the pencil out from behind her ear, and his brow lifted in amazement.
Next to her, she heard Sophie let out a soft “Wow.”
“Give it to me,” Scythe said, holding out his hand. “That looks like Charlotte Sagebrush’s pencil! It’s one of the most valuable treasures in all of Arden! Why, I bet it could fetch—”
“You’re right,” Claire agreed. “It is priceless.” But instead of handing him the pencil, she tucked it back behind her ear. Scythe frowned, and Claire wondered what he would do, but then suddenly, from beyond the hidden door, they heard a sound: bells.
Sena shot upright, her eyes flicking to Scythe. “What are they saying?”
Scythe was already walking to the door. “It’s muffled,” he said gruffly. “I’ll need to go out to hear the message properly. You,” he said, pointing at Thorn, “come with me to keep watch.” A second later, both Forger and Spinner disappeared.
“What’s going on?” Sophie asked, setting down the cloth napkin she’d been folding into a blossom, as though she’d wanted to make something for the pencil’s leaf.
“In a time of war,” Sena explained, “if the Fyrton leaders need to get a message out quickly, they relay it through the bells.” She shook her head, her brows furrowed. “Usually around this time of year, the bells would be tolling ‘Unicorns in the Snow.’ ”
At Sophie’s cocked eyebrow, Sena added, “It’s a traditional Forger song for the Starfell holiday. On Starfell night, the newest class of apprentices get to ring the bells during the shower—supposedly to let the stars know not to fall on our roofs.”
“But I’m guessing whatever we just heard wasn’t ‘Unicorns in the Snow,’ ” Sophie said, and when Sena shook her head again, Claire felt Sophie’s warm breath on her shoulder as her sister sighed. Sophie was worried about the unicorn.
Claire looked around and lowered her voice. “Sophie,” she said, “what’s it like to share a dream with a unicorn?”
Sophie shook her head, and for a moment, Claire thought it seemed she’d shaken a mane. “It’s hard to explain. It’s definitely spectacular, but even then, that doesn’t cover it. Maybe if there was a word for something that was strange and perfect and strong and gentle, that could be a start.”
Sophie looked at Claire, and for a second Claire thought Sophie might be about to cry from the wonder of it all, but then she realized that the glitter in her eyes wasn’t due to tears. No, Sophie’s eyes, which had always been as warm and brown as maple syrup, now held the thinnest ring of moonlight silver around her pupils. It was faint, but it was there. Cold bloomed in the pit of Claire’s stomach. What did it mean? How much longer did they have? And what if—?
But before she could finish that thought, she heard loud stomps as Scythe and Thorn burst back into the room.
“What is it?” Sophie asked, shooting to her feet and overturning her tin mug. A few drops of purple tea spotted the tablecloth. From above, Gryphin gave a startled “Purr-kaaa!” and flapped down to land heavily on Sena’s shoulder.
“The Forger guild has agreed to a temporary truce,” Scythe said, ignoring the tiny commotion around the chimera. “War is stopped for now, and the armies won’t attack Stonehaven just yet, but they might decide to give Estelle the Hammer Tine after all. They’ll hold off on their final decision until Starfell! And worse—I just saw a regiment led by Grandmaster Bolt and General Scorcha gallop out of the gates. The Hammer Tine is already on its way to her.”
The pit in Claire’s stomach was now so big, she thought it would swallow her whole.
Estelle had done it.
At Starfell, she would have all four tines. She would have the complete Crown of Arden and become so powerful that there would be no possibility of ever stealing it from her to crown Nadia. Estelle would win. And Sophie …
“Why?” Claire cried out, forgetting to keep quiet. “What changed the Forgers’ minds?”
“Estelle got her proof,” Thorn said. Ash seemed to have settled under his cheeks. “She has the unicorn.”
“Did you know this?” Sophie asked, whirling on Thorn and speaking to him for the first time.
He shook his head, blond hair flying. “No,” he croaked out. “I swear I didn’t!”
“I believe him, Sophie,” Claire said. She remembered how sickened he looked when he told her of the queen’s plan to carve out the unicorn’s heart. Now she felt sick. After the queen used the unicorn to convince the Forgers to give her their tine, Estelle would have no need for a living unicorn anymore …
“But it just doesn’t make sense,” Sophie said, shaking her head so vehemently that her ponytail brushed the tip of her nose. “In my dr— I mean, my information doesn’t say the queen has him. His messages are images of the four guilds: locks, and reeds, and jewels—he’s definitely been captured by one of the four guilds!”
But Nett, who’d been unusually silent, finally spoke. “Maybe he wasn’t saying the captor is one of the guilds, Sophie,” he said quietly. “Maybe your, uh, informant was trying to tell you he’s at a place where all four guilds are gathered together. After all, the Royalists have members from all four guilds, right?” He glanced at Thorn for confirmation, and Thorn nodded. “And they will all be gathered at Hilltop Palace.”
“Maybe …,” Sophie said, though she still sounded uncertain.
“There’s only one thing to do, isn’t there?” Sena said. “We have to save the unicorn. We have to free him from Estelle so she can’t convince the Forgers to join her. We’ll save the unicorn, and then the unicorn can help us convince the Forgers to give Nadia their tine. And then …” She shrugged. “Then we’ll tackle getting the other three.”
“But how will we get there in time?” Nett asked. “Starfell is tomorrow—how are we going to travel there without being captured ourselves?”
Claire remembered the one red Seven League Boot out there in the chimera’s mouth, but even if they could retrieve it without being seen, there were too many of them to make the journey with one boot.
No one spoke. And then—
“Me,” Thorn said, looking miserable. “You’ll sneak in through me.”
CHAPTER
18
The first few hours of traveling as prisoners of His Royal Highness Thorn Barley of Arden were surprisingly fun. Though the wooden cart and bony mare Scythe had procured for them were a far cry from Mom and Dad’s car, it didn’t feel too unlike going on a special weekend trip to the lake.
After Thorn’s suggestion, they had spent the rest of the day and most of that night preparing for what was to come. When dawn had at last broken, Scythe had helped them ride out of Fyrton without any questions. Once they were on the road that
led to Hilltop Palace, he’d handed the reins over to Thorn and clambered off the cart. The Forger would not be traveling with them to save the unicorn and collect the tines, but instead would be following his Messaging Threads to wherever Nadia and Woven Root were currently camped and would let her know the Spyden’s words: Only a queen can defeat a queen.
But Scythe hadn’t left them without some help. “If you encounter a Royalist, you can easily claim you’re on a secret mission for Estelle,” Scythe had said to Thorn, who would be riding up front while the others hid in the cart. “But if a Forger stops you, just flash this Fool’s Gold coin.” He’d explained that when it was in Thorn’s pocket, the coin would be as smooth as a windless lake, but as soon as he showed it to a Forger, it would immediately etch the crest of the grandmaster the viewer happened to respect the most and lead them to believe Thorn was traveling with that particular grandmaster’s permission.
“Fool’s Gold helps ensure my business runs smoothly,” Scythe had said after he’d pressed it into Thorn’s palm. To which Sena had muttered, “And keeps treasures flowing into your shop.” Thankfully, however, Scythe didn’t seem to have heard her dry quip, and Claire had quickly swallowed back her smile. She’d missed Nett and Sena, her first friends in Arden, and the little copper chimera quickly found a large place in her heart.
“How did you do it?” Claire asked now as the cart’s wheels trundled over grit and dirt. She stuck out a finger and gently petted the copper feathers. Gryphin made a sound midway between a chirp and a purr. Claire grinned.
“It was all Sena,” Nett said, stretching out his own finger to scratch the base of his lion’s tail. “She has a real talent for chimera.”
“I’m all right, I guess,” Sena said, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.
“All right?” Nett said, shaking his head. “You’re way better than all right!” He turned to look at Claire, his brown eyes serious. “The Forgers in Woven Root say she’s got a knack for metalwork they’ve never seen before.”
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