She stared at the sharp point, barren of its moontear. Even though the piece of crown looked like all the other sketches she’d seen and matched the crown in the pencil’s memory, it didn’t sing.

The tine felt dull under her fingertips. And … not heavy, like Estelle had described.

It felt … wrong.

She stared at the point as the horrible truth sank in:

This Spinners’ Love Knot Tine … it was a fake.

Disappointment slammed into Claire, and she swayed. What now? She’d lost so much time here—and for what? Who had the real Love Knot Tine?

“Halt! Who goes there?”

Slug soot and rust and patches! She wasn’t alone in the Historium!

Claire whipped her hand away from the vault and turned away. In the dim light of the lobby, she could make out three figures coming toward her, one of them dressed in Wraith Watch white and the other two in Royalist-blue cloaks.

“It’s m-me, me?” she stammered, taking a step back from the podium. “Elaina? I’m a friend of the Weft family? I accidentally left something here earlier today?” She tried to make her sentences sound commanding, but they all sounded like questions.

“Your name isn’t Elaina,” a new voice said.

Claire’s heart stopped. A tall boy with bright-blue eyes, sandy hair, and overlarge ears stepped into the light of her marble.

Thorn Barley had arrived.

She was out of options, out of lies, and out of time.

Claire turned—and ran.

She sprinted into the auditorium, flung herself onto the stage, and disappeared into the wings. Pounding down the twisting hallways behind the Historium’s stage, Claire ran faster than she ever imagined she could. The footsteps were coming closer! But she was running out of breath.

She reached for a nearby door, and flung it open. She had only a moment to see that it was the same closet Kleo had pulled her into before the door swung shut, locking her in total darkness. Scrambling on her hands and knees, Claire made her way toward the corner, trying to be as quiet as possible. But even with care, a few shoes thumped to the ground. At last, her fingertips found what they had been looking for. As quickly as she could, Claire tugged on the red cowboy boots that Kleo had called “Seven League Boots.” The boots that could get her seven leagues from here in a single step … or splatter her completely.

It would be her last resort.

As soon as her heel sank into the last one, she heard footsteps and muffled voices outside the door.

“Which way, Your Highness?”

“Take the left corridor,” Thorn said, his voice commanding. “Oscar, you go right.”

“Are you sure?” one of the guards asked. “She might have gone into a closet.”

“No,” Thorn said. “I definitely saw her pass this section.”