“I, well,” Claire said, flustered. She’d been so focused on what she must do, she hadn’t given much thought to the why. So she said the first thing that came to her mind. “Because Nadia is the oldest d’Astora. She’s the heir!”

Immediately, Claire knew she’d said something wrong. The Grandmasters began to whisper among themselves, and the sound was like angry hornets.

“A fancy name and royal blood is not a good enough reason,” Grandmaster Bolt snarled.

“But they were when Estelle showed up?” Sophie demanded. Her fingers, which she’d been resting on Claire’s shoulders, now dug into Claire’s skin with a painful squeeze.

Bolt looked down at Sophie with distaste. “We asked Estelle to prove herself. She promised us a unicorn.”

Sophie opened her mouth and for one terrible moment, Claire thought Sophie was going to do something brave and foolish and very, very rash. But then, she looked at Claire and took a deep breath. “But Mayor Nadia has proven herself,” Sophie said, her voice quiet. “Unlike the rest of you, Mayor Nadia has led a coalition of jumbled magic peacefully for years.”

“And,” Nett said, his usually bright voice dark with annoyance, “she’s overseen magic the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the days of King Anders the First!”

“Under her leadership, the chimera are even waking up again,” Sena pointed out.

The murmurs around them grew, and Claire sucked in her breath. Had they done it? Did everyone believe them?

“You’re very convincing,” the director said, looking at Claire. “A talented storyteller, for a Gemmer … but we have no reason to believe you.” He reached across the table and plucked the Love Knot Tine from the middle of it. To Claire’s dismay, more heads nodded in the cellar. For once, the Forgers, Tillers, and Spinners were all in agreement—and they were all in agreement against her, her friends, and Nadia.

General Scorcha nodded. “We have no need of queens, or royal blood.” She stood up from the table, her head narrowly missing a chandelier root. “Whatever strangeness is afoot, the Forgers will face it as Forgers always do: alone. We’ll leave as soon as the sun rises and the wraiths clear.”

Grandmaster Bolt put the Hammer Tine back beneath his breastplate, and then the grandmasters from the other guilds stood up as well. A Tiller Grandmaster picked up the Oak Leaf Tine. Now only one tine gleamed on the table.