Soon they reached the familiar, enchanting quarter of Fyrton known as Silver Way. The silversmiths were hard at work, and the steam muted the bright reds and oranges of their forges so that everything, even the fires, seemed to be gilded in silver. But even the haze couldn’t obscure Claire’s growing excitement. The Love Knot Tine could be just a few yards away. She might be able to hold it in the next five minutes, and after that, they would convince the Forgers to support Nadia. By evening, she might have half the Crown of Arden—and Starfell was still two nights away!

When they reached the Silverorium, they waited a moment while Scythe fished the right key from his belt, and Claire had to sink her heels into the stoop to stop herself from bouncing up and down with impatience. Somehow, she didn’t think Aquila would approve.

There was a click. Scythe pushed the door open and waved them inside his workshop. It was just as Claire remembered. Haphazard heaps of silver objects rose up to the ceiling. It was hard to tell how many objects were in his shop, exactly, because each polished item threw back a reflection of another polished treasure. Claire knew that somewhere in this forest of silver, there was a wardrobe that hid a secret room.

“Please remove your shoes and hats,” Scythe said, coming in after them and pulling the door shut. Claire made to remove her shoes, but suddenly, she paused. Thorn had already noticed the problem.

“We’re not wearing any hats,” he rumbled in Anvil’s deep voice.

“Really, now,” Scythe said, and Claire turned to see the man’s great bulk filling the entire doorframe. In one fist, he held a giant hammer, which he’d unhooked and now raised above his head. “You know my line of business. You were fools to think I wouldn’t recognize illegal jumbled magic. Reveal yourselves, and I might let you live.”

Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER

16

Claire stood frozen as Scythe’s hammer reflected a thousand times in the silver stacks, its blunt head gleaming in platters, helmets, flutes, and goblets. There was a grunt beside her, and in the next second, a new reflection joined the hammer: Anvil, struggling to tug the ax free from the strap on his back. Struggling in a way the real Anvil never would.

“I’d put that away if I were you,” Scythe warned as Thorn, with one final grunt, freed the weapon from its holster and pulled it around to his chest. Thorn held it awkwardly, the entire ax trembling in his grip as though it were a twig in a wind and offering just about the same amount of protection. For one second, Claire thought she saw Scythe hesitate, but then he shook his head … and swung.