Thorn, like Claire, had chosen to stay within the Woven Root community, and Nadia had offered to train him to be her scribe. It wasn’t very heroic, but Thorn seemed to take to the work happily, and Claire often saw him carrying armloads of tapestries and scrolls from tent to tent, helping with all of the guilds’ matters.

She and Thorn didn’t talk much about what they had lost, but sometimes, Thorn would share a funny tidbit about her sister or Claire would surprise him with something Sophie once said.

They were just waiting.

One week before Nadia’s inauguration, Claire found herself hauling home a collection of diamond bits that needed to be polished into Gemglows. They were a gift to Nadia from Stonehaven, and Zuli and Lapis had been very specific over dinner about how hard they’d worked to make sure all the pieces were the same size. It was a generous gift, only Claire wished it wasn’t quite so heavy—or so big.

As she wove between the tents that seemed to multiply overnight, Claire calculated where she would put this particular gift. Next to the racks of Flying Cloaks from Needle Pointe? By the vat of Swamp Berry cordial from the Tillers of Foggy Bottom? Or maybe, Claire thought, she could move the jumbled tapestry of golden thread and silk that had come from Mistress Weft, Kleo, and Lyric, and which depicted a life-sized portrait of Nadia herself.

Claire was still problem-solving when she rounded the last row of tents to arrive at Nadia’s many-quartered Pavilion. To her surprise, the tent was lit. Nadia must have finished her meetings early! She usually didn’t get home until well past midnight.

Claire walked in and set the diamond bits down with a soft clink.

“Aunt Nadia?” she called, but her aunt didn’t respond. And then—

“Hi, Clairina.”

Every hair on Claire’s neck rose. She knew that voice. And it sounded … totally normal, though maybe a bit more bell-like at the edges. She whipped around to see Sophie—two-legged, two-armed, ponytailed Sophie—standing in front of her.

“Sophie!” She threw her arms around her sister’s neck and felt her sister squeeze her back. Claire broke the hug. “You’re you! But are you still a—?”

“I’m still a unicorn,” Sophie said, “yes, but this is how I feel the most comfortable. After all, girls and unicorns aren’t that different, really.”

And Claire could see it was true. While Sophie looked almost the same, down to the freckles on her nose, there were two things impossible not to notice: the ring of silver in her eyes and a pale-pink scar on her forehead, one that perfectly matched the pale-pink star on Sophie’s collarbone.

But those were small things and easily explained away in the world of Windemere Manor.