Claire glanced away from her drawings to smile at Lyric, but the girl was already throwing herself at Claire for a hug. “Elaina!” she squealed excitedly. “Your memories, they’re coming back! You remember you have a sister!”

Claire smiled. It couldn’t hurt to say the total truth for once. “I do.” She settled comfortably against the pillows and watched as Lyric tried out her newly chalked shoes. “And I miss her.”

Claire knew she would miss Lyric, too, as she watched the younger girl, inspired, begin to practice her dance moves on her own. But Claire couldn’t risk telling her the plan. An uncomfortable thought brushed against her. Was this how Sophie felt all those times she’d chosen to leave Claire in the dark? If it was … well, Claire still didn’t like it, but maybe she understood her older sister just a little bit more.

Claire was about to say good night, instead of good-bye, and head to Kleo’s empty room to pack when her eyes settled on a pile of books stacked up next to Lyric’s bed: Royal Compendium, Histories of Arden’s Queens and Kings, Journals of Majesty. And last but not least, The Crown and Its Making.

No wonder Lyric had been able to answer the director’s question! She’d been doing her homework, throwing her heart and soul into becoming an expert on the d’Astora family. That was another thing about Lyric that made Claire think about Sophie. Sophie, too, would become invested in a certain topic or era and become an expert on everything about it. So far, Claire had been a part of Experiences involving Greek gods, Shakespeare’s plays, and right before she went into the hospital, Jane Goodall and other naturalists.

“Can I see your books?” Claire asked.

Lyric nodded, too out of breath from her deep knee bends to respond.

Flipping The Crown and Its Making to its index, Claire scanned the topics for something that could be helpful. She thought “The Breaking of the Crown” might hold something useful, but the pages there, written by a Spinner historian named Alice the Acute, contained only information Claire already knew: that the Spinners had chosen to display their portion of the crown proudly, while the other three guilds were more secretive about what had been done to their tines: if they had been hidden, destroyed, or maybe even lost.

She flipped the pages again—and froze.

It was a simple drawing, done in ink and charcoal. It didn’t prance across the page, but Claire had seen it before and not only seen it—but drawn it: a queen and princess, their backs toward the viewer, stared upon the Crown of Arden.

“Hey, Lyric?” Claire called, and the girl came over. Claire pointed to the sketch. “What is this?”