“If we can even get up into those caves and find it,” Claire muttered as she hesitantly accepted the spoon Sophie handed her. “It’s really high up. I’m not even sure what we should do when we find it.”

“What was your plan?”

“I have a snippet of Spyden silk in the pack,” Claire said. “Supposedly it’s really rare, and I had the feeling from Cotton,” she said, referencing the teenage Tiller in Woven Root who had helped her and Sophie, “that it was stolen. I thought maybe the Spyden might want it back in exchange for some solutions. But maybe it won’t be special enough.” Claire paused. She hadn’t really thought it out beyond that.

Sophie blinked at her, her brown eyes looking black in the red glow of the stove. “What do you know about Spydens?” she asked.

“Not much,” Claire admitted. “And you?”

“I know that they are very old and that there are very few left. I know that they are skilled in the same way spiders are and that they can weave anything: maps, castles, and even different forms. And that they like to follow the rules.”

“Rules?” Claire repeated. “But I don’t know about any rules.”

“Manners,” Sophie clarified. “But don’t worry. Go on, eat. It’ll make you feel better. And you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t at least try.”

Claire stared at her sister again. “It’ll hurt your feelings?”

“Yes!”

“You are being. So. Weird. I don’t like it.”

“You’ll like starving less—I can guarantee that,” Sophie said, but she didn’t break out in the usual grin she’d make when teasing Claire.

Something was definitely wrong, and unease moved through Claire. She didn’t like this feeling. She didn’t like it at all.

Reluctantly, Claire pulled the bowl closer to her. She’d tried liver pâté before—how bad could this be? Taking a deep breath, she twirled her spoon, wrapping some seaweed around it. Before she could rethink it, she gulped it down.

The texture was like noodles boiled a little too long, but the taste was similar to crushed walnuts. In fact, if she could ignore what she was eating, Claire would have said it was pretty good. Or maybe it was good only because she was so hungry.

Which was why it took Claire a few minutes to notice that even though Sophie had sat down, she hadn’t put a bowl in front of herself. Instead, she’d pulled out a pair of knitting needles from somewhere and had begun to knit.

Click-clack. Click-clack.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Claire asked.

“Later,” Sophie said, not even bothering to look down at her hands while her fingers flew across the yarn, tightening soft loops.

“I didn’t know you knew how to knit,” Claire said.