“I’m so sorry,” Thorn said, his worry making Anvil’s movements surprisingly jittery. “There must have been a smudge on the spyglass that knocked me off course!”

“It’s all right,” Claire said, trying not to think what kind of swampy creatures could be lurking about. “Just get me out!” Anvil’s strong arms reached for her, and a moment later, Thorn had pulled her out of the swamp and onto the rock next to him. Claire’s toes stretched to soak in the heat of the sun on the boulder. It felt nice … until she realized she shouldn’t be able to feel the boulder through the Seven League Boot.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw one last flash of red cowboy boot before Foggy Bottom swamp closed over it, swallowing it whole.

“Ah,” Thorn said, one hand covering his mouth. “That’s not … great.” A muddy bubble from the swamp popped, as though in agreement.

Claire took a deep breath. “There’s still one boot left. Maybe if I …?” She gestured to his back. Thorn bent down, and Claire scrambled up. She was out of practice piggyback riding, but what other choice did they have?

Claire shook her arm to let the rest of the swamp muck wick away from her clothes, a useful side effect of wearing Spinner-made fabric. “I’m ready,” she said.

Thorn stepped alone.

This time, the world didn’t just rush at them; it sprinted. The colorful streaks smeared together, becoming the same gray as a pencil smudge. How could Thorn see? Was he even in control? Claire screamed, but the Boot yanked them away before she could hear the sound of it.

They were going too fast! They were going to splatter; she was sure of it! And then no one would know how to stop Queen Estelle! Sophie would never be Sophie again. And the worst part, Claire would never get to say—

Thump! Claire’s grip on Thorn’s shoulders broke as they crashed into a field.

She rolled, everything spinning until she finally came to a stop in front of a set of long, sharp claws. Copper claws.

Chimera claws.

Gasping, Claire looked up into the snarling face of a chimera, with a wolf’s teeth and a cheetah’s whiplike tail, all the green of an old penny. A frozen chimera. And as Claire gazed around, she saw they were in an entire field of such chimera, rusted still for nearly three hundred years. Which meant …

She stood cautiously and peered over the long yellow grass that reached her shoulders. Yes, there it was, in the shadow of Mount Rouge: the gold fence that spiked around Fyrton.

“Thorn,” Claire breathed, “You did it! We’re here!”