Sophie yanked her hand back. “It’s working,” she said, sounding awed. “Look!”

The unicorn thread began to weave itself through the loom, shuttling back and forth, and as it did, it left behind pictures: two girls in the center of a ring of rocks, a unicorn rearing over them.

“That’s the Sorrowful Plains,” Sophie whispered, eyes fixed on the weaving thread. “That’s us!”

The next image was the unicorn galloping, but the thread’s color dimmed, and the creature looked more gray than white. A few circular dots trailed behind the unicorn. Sophie gasped, and leaned so close over the tapestry that the tips of her ponytail brushed it. “The unicorn—he was injured after he helped us! And so he went looking for a place where he could be safe and heal.”

She pointed at the next image that was emerging on the loom. “He sought out—”

“Woven Root!” Claire exclaimed triumphantly, not needing her sister to decode the image of tents surrounded by flowers. Besides, she already knew the unicorn had been there.

“Yes!” Sophie said. “The only place left in Arden where magic still sounded and tasted like it did when he was a colt. The only place where jumbled magic was allowed to thrive.”

Claire jumped as Sena suddenly yelped. The weaving continued, and this time, two figures were woven next to the unicorn: a woman with a sword on her hip, and a man holding a wooden hammer. The tapestry had adjusted itself to give them both bright red hair.

“Those are my parents,” Sena breathed. “The unicorn! He went to my parents!”

“He did,” Sophie confirmed, her hand reaching out to touch the tapestry. “Your parents were the cleverest Alchemists in Woven Root. They managed to fake Mathieu’s execution and break Sylvia out of an unbreakable prison and stay hidden for all these years. The unicorn knew that if anyone could keep him safe and hidden, it was them.”

Claire stared at the magical tapestry, at the mane-woven figures of Sylvia, Mathieu and the unicorn. And then, suddenly, the weaving stopped, leaving the figures incomplete.

It was as though all the magic inside the mane had been used up. Like a flame that had reached the end of its wick.

Sophie reached out a finger to give the tapestry a nudge, but the weaving did not resume. She looked back up at them, her eyes so wide it was easy to see the ring of silver. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s the end of the story.”

“But what happened next?” Nett demanded. “You can’t just stop a story in the middle! Where are they now?”