“Welcome, Forgers; welcome, Tillers; welcome, Spinners; and welcome, Gemmers. Welcome,” Estelle said, opening her arms to the crowd, “my dearest Royalists, who have never lost faith, and to all of my beloved Arden.”

The crowd roared again, and the sound jolted Claire from her daze. She looked around for Sena—but the crowd had swallowed her whole. Claire was alone in a sea of hundreds that kept pushing forward, sweeping her nearer and nearer the unicorn and the queen, who had started to speak again.

“You know me, Arden, though we have never met,” Estelle proclaimed. “You’ve spoken of me, sung of me, waited for me: the last queen of Arden who used the final drop of her power to spare Arden’s last unicorn for a time when the world was ready. For a time of change. That time has come.”

The crowd stayed quiet, breathless with excitement, loath to miss anything the queen might say.

“Tonight,” Estelle repeated, raising the ram cane like a royal scepter, “I come to you not as a legend from another age but as a leader for this one. Tonight, the Crown of Arden will again be remade, and a new era shall begin. One of infinite possibilities, of wonder, of magic”—she placed her hand on the gleaming arched neck—“of unicorns!”

At that, the crowd thundered so loudly, Claire could feel the timbre of it in her bones. Spinners flung their ribbons into the sky while the night air burst with the scent of lilies and jasmine, roses and hyacinths. Spring flowers that shouldn’t have been anywhere close to bloom. Even the Forgers rattled their shields in anticipation. With each new cheer, Claire felt their chances of persuading the Forgers to give them their tine slip away.

Where was Nett? And Sena? And Thorn?

Where is Sophie?

Claire stumbled forward. Only a single regiment of Forgers stood between her and the unicorn now, but they were trained soldiers, and there were no gaps between their shields to let Claire wiggle by. She would need to backtrack. Turning, she tried to slide through the crowd, using her shoulder to push.

Meanwhile, Estelle nodded at Fray, who stepped forward, the unicorn’s horn casting a radiant glow on the old woman’s face, but there was nothing that could take away the cruel, proud lines etched around her mouth. In her hands she held a pillow, on which sat a black arc: the Love Knot Tine. From where she stood, Claire could not tell if it was the fake tine Thorn had delivered or the true Spinners’ tine. Either way, Fray placed it on a broken, waist-high pillar near the queen.