Claire and Thorn slunk into rickety wooden chairs and pulled up to a small table. A single tin lantern with pinprick holes outlining the galloping shapes of unicorns sat at its center.

“Do you see any grandmasters?” Thorn asked, craning his neck to look around at the rest of the tavern’s visitors. Claire, too, glanced around, trying to take note of people’s sleeves. Guild members on the job had their rank sewn onto their clothes. A single ring on the left sleeve indicated an apprentice, while a single ring on both sleeves meant the wearer was a journeyman. Grandmaster Iris of Greenwood had had two white rings on each sleeve of her emerald robes, marking her as the most accomplished Tiller in Greenwood Village. But as Claire let her gaze slide from table to table, she didn’t see anyone who wore the right rings. There was, however, an empty table on a dais, with settings placed for five.

“I don’t think they’re here yet,” Claire said, careful to keep her voice low even though she didn’t think that anyone could actually overhear them in the clamor of the tavern.

“Maybe they’ll arrive soon,” Thorn said, nodding toward the high table. He shifted uncomfortably. The small chair wasn’t really made for someone of Anvil’s bulk. “It’s not quite lunchtime yet—”

“Order!” A small man with an elegantly waxed mustache and bulging triceps had suddenly appeared over Anvil’s shoulder.

“Sorry?” Claire asked.

“Order. What’s your order, ma’am?” the man barked. “There are mouths to feed, and it’s not like meals are going to make themselves. Cornucopia Cauldrons are things of the past.”

“The day’s special,” Thorn said quickly. “Two, please.”

The server nodded briskly, plunked two copper mugs of water onto the table, and hurried off.

“Thor—I mean, Anvil,” Claire said, leaning forward to resume their conversation. “That boy we saw, will he be all right?”

“I don’t know.” Thorn shook his head. “Sometimes people survive, and other times, they just kind of … succumb.”

Claire lowered her gaze to the table, where the lantern projected unicorns on the wooden surface. If Estelle wore the united Crown of Arden and Claire failed to make Nadia a queen, then more people would fall victim to the wraiths. More people would die.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Thorn said as he patted her shoulder in a clumsy attempt at comfort. “One of the reasons historians think the wraiths increased so much after the Guild War is because there were no more unicorns to sweep them away. But remember! There is a unicorn out there now—and Estelle hasn’t gotten it yet.” He smiled, but Claire couldn’t smile back.

A tiny, treacherous voice whispered in her mind: If Sophie transforms completely into a unicorn, maybe she can protect everyone.