The great domed roof of Starscrape Citadel loomed in her mind, its sleekly polished marble distracting from the crumbling ramparts and the ruined village in its shadow. The once gleaming copper of chimera, now green and weathered by the elements, standing frozen in fields.

The memory of watching Forgers march in their city, training to fight because of a rumor crafted by the queen; children left orphaned by wraiths who stalked and turned Arden’s night into something to fear; a pile of charred unicorn artifacts, a sad shadow of the living creature Claire had seen only once. All of them orchestrated by Queen Estelle’s hand.

But Arden was more than what Queen Estelle had made it to be. It was more than suspicious guilds and haunting wraiths and dead unicorns.

There were fireflies that glowed in the swamps. Halls lit by diamondlight and song. Feasts beneath bright lanterns where alchemists shared both stories and talents and whispered of a better and stronger Arden, just beneath the surface.

And there was Nett.

Sena.

Aunt Nadia.

Anvil and Aquila and Zuli and Lapis and Cotton. The freckled scribe in Greenwood who scratched notes at her trial. The Forger inspector who asked for her papers. The Spinner trader who led horses down the river. And all the many people Claire had seen in her travels—and all the ones she hadn’t seen.

All of them at risk. All of them in danger.

A new question seared through her, begging to be asked. But how could Claire ask it? Because there was Sophie—a girl, a sister, a heart who wished so hard that it could contain moonlight and an infinite amount of possibility. And then there was Arden.

To save an entire world … or to save her sister.

Claire. Sophie’s voice again echoed in her mind. Ask the question.

But which—?

Claire.

“Well? Hurry up!” The girl she had rescued had lifted an earmuff braid up for a second to scold Claire, then she scooted it back in place.

Forcing herself to look directly at the Spyden’s fathomless eyes, Claire cast her words and hoped she’d chosen right. “The queen will destroy Arden; how can she be defeated?”

The pincers clicked. “Only a queen can defeat a queen.”

Claire held her breath, waiting for the Spyden to continue, for details and a plan to come spinning out, the solution to all their problems, but no more words followed.

Wait. That was it?

That was the answer that the great Spyden had spun from threads of air? Claire’s blood heated.

“That’s not an answer!” she exploded, frustration pushing away any nausea she felt looking at the hairy forest of legs. “You’re supposed to give answers! You’re supposed to tell how. How do I—?”