And Claire knew that she did.
“Then Thorn told me that a Forger was asking about me.” Sophie looked at Anvil apologetically. “I thought you were going to force me out of Arden. I couldn’t risk that! So I left Greenwood without asking Nett or Sena for help. I figured I would go to the capital and research crafting, but because of inspector raids and suspicious Tillers, I got all turned around.”
Claire wanted to interrupt and ask how, exactly, she’d kept it a secret that she wasn’t from Arden—and how she’d kept such a big secret from her—but now that Sophie was finally talking, Claire didn’t want her to ever stop. Though she still kept one eye on Malchain, she lowered the pitcher a fraction, drinking in her sister’s voice.
“I ended up in the Petrified Forest,” Sophie continued. “Anvil found me there, and saved me. And that’s when he explained—well”—her hands fluttered like white moths—“everything.”
“I see my cousin is making you do his dirty work, Princess Sophia.” A new, female voice came from the doorway. “Why are you making her explain?”
Looking up, Claire saw a small woman with steel-gray braids and a sensible dress bustle into the room, holding a tray with two steaming bowls. She looked how Claire would have imagined a fairy godmother to look: apple-round cheeks and gleaming spectacles. But when she bent over to set the tray on the nightstand, Claire saw two small axes strapped to her back.
A warrior fairy godmother, then.
“You are putting too much pressure on her, Anvil!” the woman scolded, and Claire was surprised to see the man look down at his toes. “She’s still young, even if her manners are better than yours. Why haven’t you introduced me to the new one yet?”
“Because you haven’t stopped talking,” Malchain said as Sophie hid a smile with her hand. “Claire, my cousin Aquila Malchain. This is her home.”
“Pleasure.” Aquila nodded to her. “Will you please put that pitcher down? It’s an antique.” And before Claire knew what had happened, the old woman had plucked the pitcher from her hands and replaced it with a bowl of soup. “There you go. Eat up!”
Claire looked sideways at Sophie, but her sister looked perfectly content—smug, even.
“Sophie, you still haven’t told me we why we should trust them,” Claire said, not bothering to lower her voice. She’d been through so much to get here, and she was tired of hiding places and hushed whispers. She just wanted to know why she shouldn’t dump this soup on Malchain’s head and take off running for the well. “If they aren’t Royalists, why was Malchain after you?”
“You haven’t told her yet?” Aquila looked at Malchain and Sophie. “Why haven’t you told her?”
“Because she just woke up,” Malchain said through gritted teeth. “If you would all just give me a moment. It’s hard to know where to begin …”
“At the beginning,” Aquila said.
“I suppose,” Malchain said drily. He looked over at the girls, and Claire was startled to see how different he appeared than from his Looking Glass form. His eyes were not lusterless at all, but deep as a bass note and filled with something like sadness. “I’ll take over the story, if that’s all right with you, Princess.”
Sophie nodded slightly. It was unnerving to Claire how easily her sister had adjusted to the title.
Malchain pulled a wicker chair from the corner and scooted it to the edge of the bed, while Aquila added a pinecone to the fire.
“What do you know about Queen Estelle of Arden?” he asked Claire.
“I know that people say she’s a hero,” Claire said, hesitating before plunging in, “but she wasn’t. She wanted to kill the last unicorn, not save him.”
Astonishment flicked across Malchain’s face, looking as out of place as a butterfly in winter. Claire doubted the man was surprised often.
He nodded. “You’re right. Queen Estelle is also responsible for the Unicorn Massacre that took place on the plains. She must never be woken from rock. Her return would mean a new reign of darkness for Arden.”
“How do you know?” Claire asked, wondering if the Malchains had some secret way of making the Petrified Forest give up its secrets.
“The Gemmers were losing the war,” Aquila said softly, taking a seat by the pinecone fire. “When Prince Martin defected from the Gemmers and Spinners, he went underground with some Forgers, helping them battle the royal armies. But when he heard what his sister had done, and what she was planning to do, he knew he had to do whatever it took to stop her.
“He sought the last unicorn, and together, unicorn and prince managed to trap Estelle in stone. It required a great deal of magic, though, and the consequence of this act was that the unicorn turned to stone as well. That was the price of ending the war: Arden’s last unicorn.”
Slowly, Claire sat down on the edge of the bed next to Sophie.
“With no more unicorns left in Arden,” Aquila continued, “Prince Martin knew he must protect the Unicorn Treasure at all costs.”
Claire frowned, pressing the soup bowl’s warm sides against her hands. “But I thought there was no one all-powerful Unicorn Treasure that would be magic enough. I thought that the unicorn artifact the Royalists have been looking for this whole time was actually me and Sophie.”
“You were right,” Aquila said, smiling at Sophie who was listening intently, “she is smart.”
Claire flushed with pleasure, as Anvil cut back in. “Prince Martin asked the most talented Forger of the time, Alloria Malchain, for her help. Together, they created a passage between worlds, a magical place where fire meets water, and where both he and the Unicorn Treasure would be safe from Estelle’s greed. Knowing that his blood would unlock his craftsmanship, he exiled himself until a time when the unicorn could be safely awoken, in a time when no one would want to kill it.”
“Well, there’s a unicorn out there now,” Sophie said excitedly. “Claire woke him! He healed me.”
Aquila and Malchain exchanged a look.
“Maybe, my dear,” Aquila said tenderly. “But the unicorn is very old, and the power needed to heal someone so close to death must be very great indeed. I’m not sure of the … consequences.”
Sophie’s face fell a little, but Claire could tell that she hadn’t let go of her hope. And maybe Sophie was right to hope. After all, Claire hadn’t seen what had happened to the unicorn. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if there had been one until she’d seen the thin scar on Sophie’s collarbone where before there had only been a gaping wound.
The soup bowl was now cold, but Claire didn’t care. “And what is the Unicorn Treasure?” she asked.
Malchain looked at Sophie, and Sophie nodded. She reached around her neck to unclasp Great-Aunt Diana’s necklace—the moonstone one she had found in Windemere’s linen closet. Carefully, Sophie laid it on top of the quilt.
The four teardrop moonstones glimmered softly, iridescent rainbows against the quilt.
Sophie nudged Claire. “Go on, pick it up.”
Claire tried to read her sister’s face, but it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. The necklace’s weight was comforting in her palm, smooth as a marble and oddly warm to the touch. And though there was a faint magical thrum under her finger pads, something felt … off.
Not wrong, far from it.
But she didn’t get the same sense of rockness she’d experienced in the wyvern’s cave, or in the Petrified Forest, and then again on the Sorrowful Plains. In fact, they didn’t feel like rocks at all …
Claire looked up to Malchain and Sophie, who were staring at her intently. “They’re not moonstones, are they?” she asked. “They’re not rock.”
“You are right,” Malchain said, nodding. “They are not. They’re what we call ‘moontears.’ They each hold, within, a unicorn waiting to be born. They are the last hope of Arden—the unicorns’ greatest treasure.”
Claire gaped at him, at the wild, wondrous things he was saying. She was glad she had sat back down on the bed. She wasn’t sure
if her legs would have been able to support her.
“Though we’re not entirely sure what must be done next,” Malchain said, his gray eyes boring into hers, “we are certain that only a princess of Arden can waken them.”
“That’s why Anvil was able to track me so easily,” Sophie said softly, putting her hand on Claire’s. “Alloria Malchain forged a Kompass so that her descendants would know when the moontears had returned. For three hundred years, their family has watched the needle, waiting for it to spin. And finally, several months ago, when you and I first arrived at Hilltop Palace, it did.”
Sophie twisted a strand of dark hair around her finger. “Malchain and Aquila took me to the Sorrowful Plains, and I tried to wake Unicorn Rock. It didn’t work, obviously, but we didn’t know why until now. We needed you, Claire.”
“Me?” Claire asked, confused. “Why?”
“I’m not a Gemmer, but you are.” She shrugged casually, but Claire recognized the tiniest twinge of envy in her movement.
Malchain stood up, looking ridiculously big and solid in the small, airy room. “Princess Claire, we will not keep you against your will, but we ask—no, we beg—you to stay, for a little longer at least.”
He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her reply, but Claire was still caught on that strange word: “princess.”
“What would I do?” she asked, buying time.
“We’d go to Stonehaven,” Malchain said. “It’s one of the few remaining Gemmer settlements, and perhaps the only place where there might be more information on how to care for moontears. You also need training.”
Malchain eyed Claire as though she might turn the room to pebbles at any moment. “An unpracticed apprentice with obviously strong powers makes me nervous, even if you aren’t a Forger.”
Thoughts and information skidded in Claire’s mind. “Can … can I talk to Sophie? Alone?”
Malchain hesitated, and Aquila swooped in. “Of course, my dears. Just ring the bell when you’ve decided.” She pointed to the little copper bell on the nightstand. Malchain looked like he wanted to say something, but Aquila opened the door and waved him out.
After the door clicked shut, the sisters were silent for a moment.
Claire kept her eyes on the quilt, tracing the embroidered leaves that curled around the edges.
“Claire, look at me.”
She didn’t want to, but after all they had just been through, she wasn’t about to refuse her. Meeting Sophie’s eyes, she was once again struck by how well she looked. Not just pretty, but healthy and strong.
“What’s wrong, Claire?”
“Nothing,” she said, shrugging. “It’s overwhelming, the whole ‘princess’ thing. But—”
“No, not that,” Sophie said, and her eyebrows lifted. “There’s something else. I know you’re mad at me. Tell me.”
“You really don’t know?” Claire asked.
“Just tell me, already!”
“Fine,” Claire snapped in her most Sena-like way. “How’s this: you knew I was in Arden!”
“What? No I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did,” she insisted. “How else did you know I was at the Sorrowful Plains? How else did you show up at exactly the right time?”
“Oh!” Sophie said. She gave a smug smile. “That’s easy to explain. The Malchains forged different ways to keep an eye on Queen Rock without having to actually be at the Sorrowful Plains. You know how scientists use seismographs to measure earthquakes? The Malchains crafted something similar, but instead of drawing waves, it draws full scenes of what’s happening there at any given moment.”
She reached out and tugged one of Claire’s curls that had long ago fallen from her braid. “You can’t believe how scared I was when I checked it this evening and saw that it had drawn you, surrounded by a bunch of Royalists. Neither Anvil nor Aquila were home, so I ran to you as fast as I could.”
She squeezed Claire’s leg. “You have to believe me. If I had known you were in Arden earlier I would have come to you immediately!”
And by the tilt of Sophie’s head and the slightest squint of the eyes, Claire knew—from the ends of her curls to the tips of her toes—that this time, Sophie was telling the truth.
Claire nodded, and Sophie opened her arms. Claire fell into them.
She could have stayed like that for ages, basking in her sister’s pride and admiration. There were no words to describe what she was feeling—but she thought that if she only had a paint set, she would be able to capture its impression.
It was Claire who finally broke the hug.
“So what do you want to do?” Sophie asked.
“You’re asking me?” Claire was surprised. Sophie had never before asked what Claire thought about something. She normally just did, and waited for her little sister to follow.
“Of course.” She grabbed Claire’s hands and squeezed. “You came all this way to take me home, and I promise, if you say you want to leave, we will. We will go straight back to the well and never come back. Mom and Dad won’t know either way because of the difference of time. It’s up to you.”
Claire had thought she’d known the answer, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure.
A memory of blue flames turning yellow consuming the Unicorn Harp on the Sorrowful Plains darted into her mind. Arden was a place both dangerous and lovely.
Yes, there were wraiths, but there were also lonely wyverns and glories of fireflies. And unicorns.
Her heart squeezed—and friends, too. What had happened to Sena and Nett? Were they okay?
And Claire realized then what she wanted to do.
“I want to stay,” she blurted out. For a heartbeat, she wished she still had her pencil’s comforting point, but her sister’s hand was there to squeeze instead. “I want to help.”
A smile broke across Sophie’s face. “Are you sure? You could always go back while I finish things here.”
“No, I want to stay,” Claire said, wrapping her thumb around Sophie’s like an anchor. “We’re sisters. And this time, we’ll be together.”
Sophie squeezed back. “Always.”
Claire smiled and rang the bell.
EPILOGUE
He was too late.
The boy stood among shards of black stone, their razor-sharp edges scattered across the Sorrowful Plains like memories best forgotten.
Unicorn Rock was gone, though Queen Rock still stood.
He puzzled at it, wondering why the wraiths had chosen to destroy the first instead of the latter. Or why they had destroyed Unicorn Rock at all.
A breeze brushed his cheek, and with it came the smell of smoke, though the nearest village was a few hours’ ride from the plains. Not for the first time he was glad he’d waited until morning to come. Even in sunlight, the plains were … ominous. Desolate. Creepy.
But it would be worth it when he’d proven himself to them all.
Setting his travel pack down, he pulled out a small bundle of sticks and a handful of straw he’d packed for just this moment. Quickly, he stacked the twigs and straw together in a small pile. He spent the next fifteen minutes rubbing two sticks together, trying to get a fire to start. He’d always been the slowest of the apprentices at these things, but not for long …
First there was smoke, then a spark, and finally—flame.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small handkerchief, careful not to touch the red flecks on it. Unfolding the fabric, he removed the pearly tooth from its center.
His heart began to pound.
Soon.
He held the Unicorn Tooth over the fire, but there he paused.
What if Grand was wrong?
But what interested him more was what if his Grand was right? That was why he’d come. Well, that, among other reasons.
If you stick to what people think of you, that’s all you’ll ever be, she had said.
He dropped the Unicorn Tooth into the fire, and the flames flared blue. He hoped that meant the pure magic trapped
within the unicorn ivory was being released. He hoped that it and the drops of blood would be enough.
Holding the handkerchief by a corner, he thought how lucky he’d been that Claire—Princess Claire, with Gemmer blood—had scraped her knees on the banks of Rhona River. It hadn’t been until later, when the three were already down the river and he was trying to fall asleep, that he’d truly realized what Nett had said: Sophie had escaped down a well.
So he’d stolen a Greenwood horse and hurried to join Claire in Fyrton. He’d recognized the remnants of Insta-Grow outside Phlogiston Academy, and after he’d talked his way in, he’d gone to the library. Claire hadn’t been there, but he’d seen the tooth, and an idea had come to him, one that would guarantee he would find Sophie … he just needed magic first.
And then, just as he’d been about to set out, he’d seen Claire and the others break into Scythe’s Silverorium. When he’d rescued them and learned that they were also going toward the Sorrowful Plains, he realized he did not want to share his plans.
He did not want their help.
He did not want them taking credit for what he had discovered.
Arden needed only one hero.
For a moment, he wondered if it was possible that Unicorn Rock hadn’t actually been destroyed by wraiths. That the unicorn had been awakened. But that was impossible, because he had sent Claire on a longer route under Mount Rouge, through the mines and into the swamps, while he rode straight for the Sorrowful Plains.
And now he was here, staring at the handkerchief. Alone. Ready. Lucky. So lucky, in fact, that he thought it must be fate.
He was destined to wake the queen.
He was destined to finally get his magic.
Thorn Barley raised the blood-speckled handkerchief to Queen Rock, and hoped Grand had been right.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Magic doesn’t stop on this side of the chimney—far from it. I am incredibly lucky to have an entire academy of Forgers, Tillers, Spinners, and Gemmers who helped in the crafting of The Unicorn Quest.
The Unicorn Quest Page 23