Soon, Claire found herself in a dark courtyard lit by Gemglows, where a makeshift forge had been built. She recognized the large figure of Scythe looming over the anvil. With each swing of his hammer, he sent orange sparks into the night sky, which illuminated the other figures standing around him, assisting: Grandmaster Carnelian, Mathieu Steele, and, to her utmost astonishment, Mistress Weft. With a look of great concentration, she used a silk fan to direct wind currents to specific parts of the blaze, adjusting the fire’s heat.

“Elaina! Er, I mean, Claire! ”

Surprised, Claire turned to see Lyric rush at her, her many braids flying out behind her. With a squeal, Lyric wrapped her arms around Claire’s waist. She still wore bits and pieces of her white Starfell costume, but a Forger’s warm leather coat had been thrown over her shoulders. “I can’t believe what you’ve been up to! Your stories even make our Spyden adventure seem tame. How did you—”

“That’s enough, Lyric,” Mistress Weft called, looking up. Smoke had tinged her ruffled apron gray, and though she looked weary, she didn’t seem mad that Claire had lied to her. “Hello, Princess Claire. Did you bring the Stone Tine?”

Claire nodded and pulled the tine from her pack. Grandmaster Carnelian smiled at Claire. He seemed thinner than before, and now he sat in a wheeled chair with tourmaline spokes—the consequence of his great battle with Jasper and the ensuing days of seige by Estelle. His eyes flashed as he accepted the Stone Tine.

With expert fingers, he examined the piece of crown. “Are the flames hot enough, Scythe?”

“Yes, sir,” the Forger called back.

Carnelian rolled his chair toward the flame. “Then let’s finish this and go after that miserable, mesmerizing manipulator. Now please, everyone stand back!”

Claire did, and she watched as the Grandmaster of Stonehaven used his glassblowing instruments to manipulate the tine in the heat. Its edges warped, looking almost molten. With a look of great concentration, he slipped the tine into its place.

“Water!” Scythe called, and Mathieu hurried forward with a wooden bucket. A second later, there was a hiss and enough steam for Claire to wonder for a second if they were back in Silver Way.

The four adults collapsed on a nearby bench, clearly spent.

Scythe gestured for Claire to move to the bucket. There, at the bottom, sparkled the Crown of Arden, each of its tines submerged beneath the water.

The most powerful object ever crafted, capable of twisting rivers and moving mountains—reforged, once more.

Claire plunged her hand into the water and grasped the Crown of Arden. It was whole in her hand and she felt a warm flush of triumph race through her, but as she lifted it from the water, she began to frown.