Claire hastily drew her eyes away and checked to make sure she was truly alone. It seemed that she was and that Lyric’s theory was correct: the Wraith Watch was on high alert on the edges of the city instead of inside. Still, she was cautious stepping forward. In a world where everyone could manipulate magic in the material, anything could sound an alarm. Anything could be a defense. She scanned the ceiling. There were no obvious nets waiting to drop down from above, and the carpet under her feet seemed disinclined to wrap her up like a burrito.

That left only the red velvet rope, cordoning off a six-foot circle around the pedestal.

That definitely looked dangerous. Using the toe of her other foot, Claire slipped off a boot and tossed it inside.

Nothing happened. She’d have to risk it. Holding up the velvet rope, she quickly ducked underneath.

Again, nothing happened. Still, two minutes passed before Claire felt comfortable enough to slip her boot back on and step forward.

Now she was close enough to see that the vault wasn’t just a typical glass box balanced on a podium like how so many artifacts were displayed in museums at home. The neck of the podium had been cleverly crafted to look like the trunk of a tree, its branches arching up and over to form the protective box around the tine.

It took Claire one more step to realize that the podium didn’t just look like a tree—it was a tree. Glass roots sank into the carpet, disappearing into the foundations of the Historium. And the glass wasn’t glass at all but thick, clear diamond: a Diamond Tree Vault.

Her breath caught. This diamond tree was jumbled magic, clearly of both Gemmer and Tiller craft. Which meant at least some members of the Tiller guild had joined the queen’s Royalists. She knew of at least one Tiller who’d already joined the queen’s army: Francis. He was Nett’s grandfather and Sena’s guardian after she’d been exiled from the Forger guild. And he’d been Claire’s friend. Or so she’d thought. In truth, he’d been a Royalist, and he’d figured out who Claire and Sophie truly were—and had betrayed them both.

The betrayal still stung. Even now, when she thought about it, Claire had a hard time breathing. In fact, she felt weirdly out of breath, and her vision blurred.

She caught a glimpse of the crown piece, though it was difficult to make out through the beveled glass casing. It wasn’t gold, like Claire had expected, or even silver. It was black. But the black of a raven’s wing, or eyes, or a starlit sky. The strange metal had been twisted into a point, with a hollow spot at its base meant for a stone, or perhaps a moontear.