The next time the cart stopped, it was behind a crumbling wall, part of what might have once been the stables. “I have to go,” Thorn said, looking anxious, his royal act dropped. “If Mira Fray doesn’t see me and the Love Knot Tine soon, she’ll know something is wrong. If the unicorn is anywhere, I would check the kitchens—they’re next to the dungeons but still intact and a good place to hide something as big as a unicorn. The north wing, too.” He tugged their knots free, and then he took off into the crowds.

“We should split up,” Sophie said as they pulled Royalist cloaks over their Forger outfits. (A jumbled combination of Sophie’s spinning skills along with a Grafting Draft in Nett’s Hollow Pack had resulted in three exact duplicates of Claire’s stolen Royalist cloak.) “We’ll cover more ground that way. Claire, you come with me and—”

“That’s not a good idea,” Sena said, blunt as usual. When Sophie looked at her, the Forger explained. “I mean, Estelle is more interested in the two of you, right? You definitely look like sisters. You’re more recognizable together.”

Claire’s heart sank. She’d just been reunited with Sophie, but she knew Sena was right. And from the disgruntled look on Sophie’s face, Sophie knew it, too. She gave Claire a quick hug before nudging her toward Sena. Sophie and Nett then stepped into the crowd, heading toward the north wing, while she and Sena moved forward. They would need to cut through some of the bigger ruins in order to reach the old kitchens.

When Claire had first seen Hilltop Palace, she had been too shocked to take in its details—other than the fact that it must be in another world far away from Windemere Manor. Its walls still stood, forming corridors, but there was almost no roof. Claire had the vague sense of rattling inside the rib cage of a giant fossil. One turn and then another and then—

Sena stopped suddenly, and Claire almost smacked into her. “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously. “Is it Estelle?”

Sena stepped aside to reveal a wall of people. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, packing what Claire realized must be the ancient throne room. There seemed to be at least a thousand people, all crammed into the space, their curiosity stamping out any concerns about standing next to someone from another guild.

Tillers clustered together, their green tunics and robes matching the moss on rocks, while the Spinners, dazzling in their costumes of glitter and white, balanced on their toes, trying to see through the congregation. Only the Forgers stood apart, in obedient silver lines, still deciding if tonight would mark a celebration—or the start of a war.

“We need to cross,” Sena said. “The old kitchens are on the other side, but there’s no way we can make it—”