‘I do, I do,’ confirmed Clariel, but there was the slightest tinge of doubt in her voice.

‘Presuming you still wish to leave, we will help you,’ said Gullaine. ‘After you have seen the King. Speaking of that, let me tell you of the manner of your presentation tomorrow. It is quite straightforward …’

The Captain spoke on, and Clariel listened, taking in what she needed. But part of her mind was thinking back to Aziminil, remembering the moment when she felt the raw power within the creature.

Power waiting to be called upon, waiting to be directed, waiting to be used.

Power waiting for her …

chapter thirteen

off to the palace

The Academy was not so daunting the second time, now Clariel knew she would be free of it within days. In fact the most difficult part of the morning had been the walk over, with Valannie going on and on about the perfidious day labourers and their attack upon Clariel, and her poor wounded hands despite the fact they had already scabbed over and the unsightly scars were hidden under the thinnest doeskin gloves, bleached whiter than Belisaere stone.

Clariel had even enjoyed the first lesson, ‘The Exercise of the Body, Martial and Merely Aesthetic’, which on this occasion had been mostly aesthetic, practising some of the dances the students would perform as their part of the Autumn Festival. Denima was in that lesson. She came over to Clariel at once to ask her what had happened to her the day before, since rumours were flying all over the city. Clariel stuck with the official story of being attacked by a gang of disaffected workers, which Denima also appeared to accept without demur, indicating that such attacks were a lot more common than anyone had wanted to tell Clariel, and the guards a necessity.

The second lesson, ‘On the Writing of Letters, Reports, Epistles, Writs, Bills and Such’, was considerably less enjoyable, mainly because Aronzo was in it. As soon as Clariel came into the Second Hall, where the lesson was held, he approached her with a smirk on his face.

‘Lady Clariel,’ he said, with an exaggerated bow. ‘I trust you are well?’

‘Well enough,’ replied Clariel, moving to step past him and go to the closest empty desk. Aronzo blocked her path, so she stopped and looked at him with a withering gaze.

‘You hurt your hands, I believe,’ said Aronzo. ‘Those annoying rebels from the Flat are becoming too troublesome.’

Clariel nodded and stepped sideways. Aronzo stepped sideways too, the smirk changing to a full-blown smile, showing off all his white teeth.

‘And poor little Belatiel,’ continued Aronzo. ‘Got stuck in the shoulder. More than a little prick, I hear.’