“How dare you!” Sophie said with mock indignation, but her eyes sparkled. And even though questions still poked and prodded Claire, she felt lighter than she had in a long, long time. Sophie was here, and Claire now knew that together, they could do anything: Collect the tines. Save a unicorn. Go home.

“I don’t get … what’s happening,” Thorn said, sounding slightly dizzy. Claire turned to look at him and saw that Anvil’s eyes were as round as dinner plates as he stared at the copper chimera, and Claire remembered that he’d never been to Woven Root and, therefore, had never seen a chimera move until now. However many questions she had couldn’t come close to Thorn’s.

Sophie turned a dazzling smile on Thorn. “Anvil! I’m so glad you’ve been de-rubified! How did they fix you?”

“That’s not Anvil Malchain,” Scythe said as he finished bolting the seventh and final lock on the secret door. Sophie’s smile slipped, and her eyes narrowed as she stared at Thorn. Under Sophie’s gaze, Thorn seemed to collapse a bit. Even though Thorn still looked just like Anvil, as his ears sank toward his shoulders, Claire was suddenly reminded of the first time she’d met Thorn in Greenwood’s stables.

“Is that …?” Sophie paled. “Thorn?”

For a moment, Thorn didn’t move. Then he nodded.

Gasps startled from Sophie and Nett, while there was a slight hiss of metal as Sena yanked Fireblood from its scabbard.

“Stop!” Claire said. “Give him a chance to explain.”

Sena scowled. “But—”

“Put that away,” Scythe ordered Sena, turning his back on the secured door. “No need to make a bloody mess in my wareroom.” He tugged the scissors from his tool belt and handed them to Thorn. “Snip that illusion off, will you? The rest of you,” he said, looking at Claire, Sophie, and Nett, “come over here and help me.”

Scythe trudged to the back corner, knelt down, and pulled open a trapdoor Claire hadn’t noticed. A secret room inside a secret room! Though as Claire peered closer, she saw it wasn’t really a room at all but a tiny cellar stuffed with all kinds of dried food and travel provisions.

“Here,” Scythe grunted as he pulled up a dusty picnic blanket and threw it at Claire. “Go spread that out. We don’t have much time, by the sound of things, but stories and plans are always best with a full stomach.”

Sophie took a corner of the blanket. Grinning at Claire, she added, “And with sisters.”

Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER

17