Claire would rather wobble on one leg than trust Thorn, but she couldn’t risk accidentally putting her foot down before she found out what he knew. And so, for the second time that night, Claire let herself tumble back onto the ground. Her hand squished down into a rotten apple, but she didn’t care.

“Tell me,” she demanded, crossing her legs but leaving her red cowboy boots on.

For a moment, Thorn stood silent, looking just as he always did: blue eyes bright beneath sandy hair, with ears that stuck out just a little too much, though he did appear taller than when she’d last seen him a few weeks ago. A growth spurt might have accounted for the new hollows in his cheeks, or maybe that was due to the thin circlet of gold that flashed in his hair.

“When we were at the Drowning Fortress,” Thorn began slowly, “Sophie said something about the queen, something I didn’t believe.” He stumbled over the words, and his eyes remained fixed on the distance somewhere over Claire’s shoulders. “Do you remember?”

Claire frowned. “You said you had something to tell me, Thorn. Not the other way around.” She was surprised at how cold her voice sounded, but if she let herself unfreeze even a little, her own question would escape, the one she wanted to scream to the entire orchard: Does Queen Estelle already have Sophie?

“Right, sorry.” Thorn ducked his head, and his hair fell forward to cast a shadow across his cheek. “I overheard something. Something the queen didn’t want me to hear, but she has this—this plan to save Arden. And it’s … it’s horrific,” he finished with a hush.

The only useful unicorn is a dead unicorn. Claire shivered as Estelle’s words seemed to creep across her skin. The last time she’d seen the queen, Claire had been trapped with her friends in an underground treasury while the queen bedecked herself in unicorn artifacts. Some of the objects had been made of mane and tail, but the others … the others had been hewn of horn and hoof, sinew and leather. Things that could be harvested only from a unicorn that was …

An image of Sophie, soaking wet and laughing as she ran after their mother on the front lawn of Windemere Manor, flashed across her mind. Claire couldn’t bring herself to finish her thought.

“Thorn,” Claire said, taking a deep breath. “What do you know?”

Thorn looked up at the sickle moon. It was even thinner tonight and would disappear entirely in just a few evenings. Its points, though, were sharp, and when Thorn looked back at her, it seemed as though the moon had sliced his soul in two. “Queen Estelle says that to get rid of the wraiths—she’s ordered me to …” He gulped. “She needs a unicorn’s heart.”

Claire’s own heart beat once. Twice, then stopped entirely.