A loud gasp erupted from Thorn, and Claire glared at him. Thorn quickly changed his gasp into a yawn.

“Pardon,” he mumbled, and Claire was treated to a sight she thought she’d never see: Anvil’s ears turning pink. Scythe stared at him quizzically as Thorn continued to ramble. “I’m just tired. Axel,” he said with a pointed look at Claire, “is a Grand friend. One who writes letters.”

Claire nodded ever so slightly to show she understood: Axel was a Royalist and a messenger. But why was the council of Forger grandmasters agreeing to meet with him if they had already decided to war against the queen?

Panic squeezed Claire’s insides. Estelle already had the Gemmers’ Stone Tine and the promise of the Oak Leaf Tine. Estelle might, for all Claire knew, even have the real Love Knot Tine. Perhaps Estelle had ordered her Royalists to replace the real one with a decoy, in order to doubly ensure someone like Claire couldn’t foil her plans. And if Estelle hadn’t, then who was the thief? And where had the stolen piece of crown gone? And— Wait a second.

Claire backtracked through her questions. Because if anyone would know where a stolen treasure had gone, it would be …

“Scythe, er, Edgar,” Claire said, interrupting a rather uncomfortable interrogation as the silversmith probed Thorn for more information about what Anvil had been up to the last two months. “Has anything, I don’t know, regal come across your shop recently?”

Claire held her breath. Scythe was the head of a thriving black market of dangerous, jumbled, or sometimes stolen magical artifacts, but she knew she was taking a risk mentioning his secret establishment. Scythe’s expression, however, remained calm as he studied her.

“Interesting you should ask,” he said, making Claire’s heart leap. He knew something—she was sure of it! And her certainty only grew sharper as he pushed back his chair and said, “Perhaps this is a discussion that should happen someplace more private?”

After plunking down a few silver coins next to the lantern, Claire and Thorn followed Scythe out of Alkaline’s Kettle and back into the maze of Fyrton. Claire wondered what the other Forgers thought when they saw the three of them—Scythe, Anvil, and Aquila—walking together. She knew they must make a formidable picture, so long as the Make-a-Face was still holding. Her fingers darted up to her chin, and she was relieved to feel it was still just a bit too round.