‘Oh, with Lady Jaciel and your father, of course,’ prattled Valannie. ‘It is a signal honour, you know, to be invited to dine with just the Governor’s family. But no surprise. Of course, it would have been easier tomorrow night, what with you going to …’

Her voice dropped and she looked around nervously before adding in a much quieter tone, ‘Going to see the King. I do hope he doesn’t keep you long, but with him as mad as he is, who can say?’

‘That’s enough!’ snapped Clariel.

Valannie gave her a mulish look, but didn’t speak for the rest of the hasty walk home, via the stone garden on the ridge. Clariel noticed that the steps had indeed been freshly repaired, a wooden framework still around the broken piece of stone to keep the new work in place.

There was a great bustle back at the house, with many extra guards in the livery of the Goldsmiths formed up loosely outside the gate, and several palanquins and bearers inside the courtyard. Apparently Clariel and her parents could not risk getting dusty and hot by walking to the Palace. Or perhaps couldn’t get dusty and hot for the visit after their royal audience. The Governor’s dinner continued to occupy Valannie’s thoughts and speech as she rushed Clariel upstairs to dress in the new, made-to-measure clothes that had been delivered just in time from Mistress Emenor. She also repainted Clariel’s face, once again burying her Charter mark under the thickest paste, smoothed with a brush and a curious light stone. Clariel had to admit Valannie was an extremely skilful lady’s maid. Even if she was also a spy for Governor Kilp and couldn’t be trusted at all.

When Clariel came back downstairs an hour later, she felt more like a painting of herself than herself, a thought that caused her to begin to smile until she remembered that this would crack the plasterwork on her face or some such thing. She had on no less than five silken tunics, but they were so light she hardly noticed any weight or constriction and had to admit that in the warm and humid air of Belisaere they made much more sense than her normal clothes. She still had her small dagger in her sleeve.

‘There you are,’ said Jaciel as Clariel entered the courtyard. Her mother was attired similarly to herself, but was also wearing the new golden necklace of teardrops that she had made, and her gold-dotted scarf was fastened with a large golden brooch set with sapphires and diamonds in the shape of a swooping hawk, also her own work. ‘You will go in the first palanquin with Valannie.’