Claire shook her head so hard that she could feel her bun wobble. “No, Mayor Nadia burned our Grand Test dresses, remember? They were completely ruined from our escape from the Citadel!”
Sophie looked as though someone had slipped ice down her neck. “You mean … the mane was real?”
“Yes!” Claire said triumphantly. At last, Sophie was listening! “I think if we go back to the old campsite, we’ll find more clues. We just need some chimera or a few pairs of Seven League Boots, and we can go right now!” She took a deep breath, flushed by her discovery. Even though she’d been standing still, she felt like she’d just ran the mile at Field Day. But unlike the end of a race, no one was cheering. Instead, Sophie was biting her lip.
“I’m not trying to be a pain,” Sophie said apologetically, “but …” she shrugged helplessly. “I can see the unicorn in my dreams, and I know he’s not at Woven Root.”
Her words were like an anchor, and Claire, who had felt like she’d been flying for the last few minutes, plummeted back to reality. A reality where Queen Estelle still had all the power, the Crown of Arden would never be reforged, and an old stone well could never be fixed.
“Claire,” Nett said suddenly. “Do you still have the mane?”
“No—yes!” Claire said. “I think I do!” She reached into her Hollow Pack, and after a little bit of ruffling, found it attached to a clean pair of socks. Meanwhile, Nett went rummaging through Nadia’s Spinner supplies and returned with a small wooden frame: a loom.
He pressed it into Sophie’s hands. “Go on, then,” he said. “Do it!”
Sophie frowned. “Do what?”
Nett blinked in surprise. “Spin! You’re still a Spinner, aren’t you? Do what Spinners do. Weave the tale out from the mane; ask it where it’s been, what it’s seen.”
“She’s not a Spyden, Nett,” Claire said, his words uncomfortably reminding her of the encounter with the beast.
“No,” Nett agreed. “But she is a unicorn. Go on, Sophie, just try!”
Stubborn lines set in around Sophie’s mouth, but as she looked at Nett—eyes still red-rimmed from crying—she seemed to reconsider. “All right,” she said. “I’ll try.”
They all took a seat on a few overlarge petal-stuffed cushions surrounding the tree-stump table. Sophie took the gleaming strand of unicorn mane and began to weave it, over and under the weft threads. Over and under. Over and under. The unicorn mane began to shimmer. To shine.
Sophie yanked her hand back. “It’s working,” she said, sounding awed. “Look!”
The unicorn thread began to weave itself through the loom, shuttling back and forth, and as it did, it left behind pictures: two girls in the center of a ring of rocks, a unicorn rearing over them.
“That’s the Sorrowful Plains,” Sophie whispered, eyes fixed on the weaving thread. “That’s us!”
The next image was the unicorn galloping, but the thread’s color dimmed, and the creature looked more gray than white. A few circular dots trailed behind the unicorn. Sophie gasped, and leaned so close over the tapestry that the tips of her ponytail brushed it. “The unicorn—he was injured after he helped us! And so he went looking for a place where he could be safe and heal.”
She pointed at the next image that was emerging on the loom. “He sought out—”
“Woven Root!” Claire exclaimed triumphantly, not needing her sister to decode the image of tents surrounded by flowers. Besides, she already knew the unicorn had been there.
“Yes!” Sophie said. “The only place left in Arden where magic still sounded and tasted like it did when he was a colt. The only place where jumbled magic was allowed to thrive.”
Claire jumped as Sena suddenly yelped. The weaving continued, and this time, two figures were woven next to the unicorn: a woman with a sword on her hip, and a man holding a wooden hammer. The tapestry had adjusted itself to give them both bright red hair.
“Those are my parents,” Sena breathed. “The unicorn! He went to my parents!”
“He did,” Sophie confirmed, her hand reaching out to touch the tapestry. “Your parents were the cleverest Alchemists in Woven Root. They managed to fake Mathieu’s execution and break Sylvia out of an unbreakable prison and stay hidden for all these years. The unicorn knew that if anyone could keep him safe and hidden, it was them.”
Claire stared at the magical tapestry, at the mane-woven figures of Sylvia, Mathieu and the unicorn. And then, suddenly, the weaving stopped, leaving the figures incomplete.
It was as though all the magic inside the mane had been used up. Like a flame that had reached the end of its wick.
Sophie reached out a finger to give the tapestry a nudge, but the weaving did not resume. She looked back up at them, her eyes so wide it was easy to see the ring of silver. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s the end of the story.”
“But what happened next?” Nett demanded. “You can’t just stop a story in the middle! Where are they now?”
“I think I know,” Sena said. She jumped up and ran over to her hammock, then proceeded to pour her parents’ journals from her Hollow Pack. She frantically sifted through them. Grabbing one, she hurried back to the others. “My parents’ experiments with the seams didn’t work because they were missing an essential piece: a unicorn.”
She flipped the journal open to a page with lots of words and an illustration of unicorns. Tapping the picture, she explained, “The lore around unicorns is mysterious, but it is common knowledge that they can open any door.”
“So,” Claire said, her heart pounding. “Does that mean the unicorn is in our world?”
“Any world!” Sena beamed. Then she seemed to realize what she said, and the smile slipped off. “But we have no way of knowing where.”
“Wait a second,” Sophie whispered. “Wait a second! Wait a second!” She leaped to her feet, and Claire was momentarily reminded of a time when Sophie had excitedly come up with a brand-new way of playing checkers, one that involved all the pieces of their Monopoly set plus a gold coin Dad had brought back from his trip to Canada.
“All this time,” Sophie said, “I thought the unicorn was showing me metal, rock, thread, and plants to tell me that one of the guilds had trapped him. But that wasn’t what he was saying at all—he was giving me a map. Metal, plant, thread, stone. We need to jumble all our magics together, along with a unicorn—if we want to find him. We need a Tiller,” she said, pointing to Nett, “a Gemmer, and a Forger”—she nodded at Claire, then Sena—“and,” she placed a hand on her own chest, “me: a Spinner-slash-unicorn.”
“I don’t follow,” Sena said, sitting back down on the petal-pouf with a frustrated crunch. “My parents are a Tiller and a Forger—I doubt a Spinner or Gemmer helped them.”
“Exactly!” Sophie said. “They only had half the guilds and a unicorn, which was enough to get into the seams of the world, but wasn’t strong enough magic to get them back into this one—or into another.”
Sena’s face whitened. “You’re saying they’re trapped between worlds?”
Between worlds. Claire had thought a lot about the fireplace and chimney in Windemere and the well in Arden, but she never really thought about that long, dark space where only the ladder seemed to exist. It terrified her.
“But why did the unicorn make them go there?” Sena cried.
“Because,” Sophie said, turning to look out the tent’s window where even now they could hear the Tillers and Spinners preparing to depart. “It wasn’t safe for him to be in Arden yet. Until the guilds are willing to work together to defeat Estelle, it is too dangerous for him. And so, he went to a place that could only be reached when the four guilds were reunited.”
Reunited. Like the four tines of Arden needed to be.
“It’s almost dawn!” Claire said. The guilds would soon be gone, along with their tines and their only chance to defeat Queen Estelle. “What do we do now?”
“Do?” Sena’s amber eyes glittered, but Claire couldn’t tell i
f it was with fear or excitement. “We’re going to open the seams of the world. We’re going to get them back.”
They scrambled around the tent collecting items while Sena ordered them about, as though she had taken notes from General Scorcha. And as Nett, Sophie, and Claire worked on their assignments, Sena pored over her parents’ journals, occasionally reading out loud some of the more interesting passages:
“Magic is in the material, but what makes up the material? The elements of the universe: earth, fire, water, and air.… The Way Between is the place where one possibility ends and another begins …”
“What does that mean?” Nett called from his place in the center of the tent. He was tying vines around three large branches, lashing them together to form the outline of a freestanding doorway.
“Shush,” Sena commanded, and continued reading. “The few travelers who have managed to safely traverse the Way Between and arrive in other worlds brought back stories of strange and most wondrous magics: of horseless wagons made of steel, and hand-sized, block-shaped wands that can contain entire libraries, sing on command, and make communication across vast distances. They are called ‘fohnes.’ ”
“Phones?” Claire looked up from where she’d been placing geode bookends from Aunt Nadia’s desk around the base of Nett’s doorway, hoping it would help keep the wood upright. “Like—cell phones? And cars?” She’d never thought that there was magic in her own world before, and from the expression on Sophie’s face, she could tell her sister was mulling it over. Maybe there was magic, only it was called by another name.
Sena shrugged and flipped the page. “I don’t know anything about selling the ‘fohnes.’ ”
Finally, the doorway was complete.
Taking a step back to eye their handiwork, Claire winced. It looked rickety and a bit silly, a door leading to nowhere. Sena had informed them that they didn’t only need to open the seams, they needed to make sure that the unicorn and the Steeles would be able to find the door—it had to act as a beacon, a kind of lighthouse, as well.
Now that he’d finished lashing the frame together, Nett coaxed moss over the wooden rails, explaining that moss was a guiding plant, usually growing on the north side of trees, which helped Tiller journeymen locate themselves. Then, he and Sena had used the top of Nadia’s wooden desk to create the actual door. It hung on the doorframe with two copper hinges forged, with Gryphin’s permission, from two of the chimera’s molted feathers. Sena had heated a third copper piece and shaped it into a tiny bell that was now strung on top of the door.
With a small flick, Sena set the bell chiming, a gentle, high note that made the hair on the back of Claire’s neck stand up in a good way. She could imagine the sound soaring through the door, seeking out Mathieu and Sylvia. Calling them home. Then, Sena tugged on the handle—a loop of ribbons Sophie had braided together. As she was the one who would be opening the seams, Nett and Sena had thought the handle should be made of the material Sophie was most comfortable with.
Still, the overall effect was … haphazard.
“Sena,” Claire said cautiously, not wanting to hurt the Forger’s feelings and knowing they were short on time, “are you sure we don’t need to make a well?”
Sena nodded, her red braid swinging as she pulled on the ribbon handle to make sure its knots were tight. “In all their notes, my parents keep underlining that there is never just one way to do something. I think we need to play to our strengths. And I’ve never made a well before, have you?”
“No,” Claire admitted. “But that’s another thing. According to Anvil, the well was made by a Gemmer, Forger, and unicorn. There were no Spinners or Tillers, so maybe we’re wrong.”
“Is that so?” Nett crossed his arm and cocked a black eyebrow at her. “And what, exactly, was that ladder made of that got you safely through? Wood! Of course there was a Tiller who helped. And I bet there’s some unknown, unnamed Spinner who helped pull it all together. If there’s anything we’ve learned with the Royalists and Queen Estelle, it’s that sometimes, the history that’s passed down is wrong.”
Peering around the doorframe, Sena stared at her foster brother in disbelief. “Nett, are you sure you’re feeling all right? You love your historians!”
“Timor the Verbose is a great read, it’s true,” Nett protested as he gave his marimo a little pat. They still needed its light, but the dark outside was lifting. The sun would rise soon. Sena seemed to have noticed the same thing.
“Claire,” she beckoned, “it’s your turn.”
Claire nodded and stood in front of the door. With a deep breath, she tugged her pencil out from behind her ear. Her job was to make sure Sena’s parents and the unicorn would recognize this seam as an opening to Arden.
And so, she set her pencil to the smooth wood of the door, and began to draw.
The Rhona and the Tayrn flourished under her pencil, and soon mountains and fields unrolled beside it, along with scenes of Spinners rowing in their narrowboats, Tillers tending apple orchards, Forgers bending over flames, and Gemmers standing in a citadel’s tower, looking out over a wall they could not cross. Soon, the door was covered with a map of Arden—its towns and its people and its creatures.
Claire made a few more quick lines, adding a wyvern wrapping around Mount Rouge. She let its tail drop down to tickle the image of a sleeping Gryphin in chimera fields. The little copper creature perched on Sena’s shoulder crooned appreciatively as Claire lifted her pencil away.
“There,” she said, collapsing on the petal-pouf nearby to let the others take a closer look. “Done.” She felt a bit dizzy, but she wasn’t sure if that was the nerves or just the result of a long day followed by an even longer night.
“This is spectacular,” Sophie said, “But …”
Claire straightened up. “But what? Did I mess up the map?”
Sophie shook her head. “No, not at all! But while this is the Arden Sena’s parents know, I don’t know if the unicorn will recognize this as his home. I’ve seen bits of what life used to be like—memories of racing the wind in Spinner sails and long afternoons in Tiller gardens, helping people with the more tricky crops. Forgers even used to make shiny golden rings for the unicorn foals to play with. And this—” she gestured at the door, “doesn’t even have a single unicorn on it.”
“I can fix that!” Claire said, rising to her feet. She was still tired, but Sophie’s words had ignited her imagination. “I’ll try again. I’ll draw you a world full of unicorns.”
As Sophie began to share, Claire drew the unicorn’s dreams on the door—dreams of long-legged foals sleeping on meadows, of cold sea spray flying off his mane, of a family of sisters and brothers who knew each star by name and every shadow on the moon.
Sophie spoke with longing in her voice, and Claire let the longing seep into her work on the door. Claire knew the feeling well.
This needed to work. They had to open the seams. The unicorn must return to Arden.
Suddenly, it was like someone had turned up the volume on Claire’s senses. The air became sweet. The textured grain of the door stood out in sharp relief. An unexpected certainty swept through her. And then—
She stumbled back, away from the door. From the round eyes of her friends, she knew they heard it too. Because even though nothing seemed to have changed in the tent, there was a sound coming from behind the door. An endless, deafening hum. A vibration of rock scraping across rock, strings disturbing the air, metal bending, green things growing. The sound of the winds of the worlds racing across the mouth of a chimney.
The copper bell chimed as the door began to shake. Flecks of moss flew off and the hinges groaned in protest.
“Open it!” Sena said. “Sophie—open it before it collapses!”
“Not yet!” Sophie said, the silver in her eyes seeming to shine brighter than ever. “They’re not there yet—and if I open it too soon, I’m scared we’ll get trapped in the seams!”
The door shook harder.
The wind behind it whipped, and its rush filled Claire’s ears with a rhythmic drumming. No, not a drumming—hoofbeats!
Sophie reached for the door, but Claire grabbed her sister’s other hand. A wave of dizziness washed over her as the world warped, but she wasn’t about to let her sister get lost between worlds. Behind her, she felt Nett grab her other hand, and knew that Sena must be holding on as well.
“We got you, Sophie!” Claire yelled above the noise. Sophie’s hands clasped around the ribbon handle—and opened the seams of the world.
Time seemed to slow and bend on itself. Claire caught a glimpse of her sister’s face as she stepped back to make room. Sophie looked like an extended breath, poised on the edge of leaping, staring at something in the distance. Then—
The unicorn returned to Arden.
She was aware of chaos, of shouts, and cracking as the doorway disintegrated into nothing, but when Claire looked at the unicorn, all of it fell away.
He was serene power. Calming strength. Known purpose.
And as he turned his great head toward them, she saw entire galaxies in his eyes, and the tip of his glorious horn spiraled into a sharp point. It radiated with the strength of the sun that was now rising.
“They need you outside,” Sophie croaked, tears of joy streaming down her face.
Faster than Claire could blink, the unicorn was gone.
But the tent’s flap remained gusted open, revealing the sunrise breaking over Greenwood Village. In the pink light, Claire could see Spinners and Forgers trudging toward the boundary of the Camouflora that was just beginning to open to let them out of the village, but suddenly, the guild members stopped and turned toward something bright and wondrous galloping toward them—toward Nadia.
“Mama! Papa!”
Claire turned to look back. Where the door had once been, three figures had sunk to their knees, hugging each other tight. Sena’s shoulders shook with sobs as Sylvia, a woman with hair even brighter than Sena’s, and Mathieu, his smile too big for even his russet beard to hide, hugged their daughter tight to them, looking as though they would never let go.
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