‘I see,’ said Clariel. She moved forward, gently pulled the bottom of the curtain up and leaned over to look out. The palanquin rocked more than usual, and there were a few grunts as the bearers adjusted to the shift of weight. Clariel peered down at the road, and indeed saw many tiny stars in the stone, reflecting the afternoon sun like bright sparks fallen from a fire, though these would never fade to cinders.

The metal clicks continued for quite a long time. Clariel looked out, but again couldn’t see much, apart from the fact that the Avenue of Stars was at least twice as wide as most of the regular city streets, and that the guards were still keeping people well back, forcing them to stand aside. Most of them looked at the passing palanquin with unhappy or angry faces, making Clariel think again about the ‘minor trouble’ with ‘unsettled workers’. She’d not really noticed before, the mass of people in the city being simply too large for her to focus on as anything other than ‘huge and frightening crowd’, but seeing individuals from within the palanquin, it became clear to her a great many people were not happy to see rich Goldsmiths and their guards arrogantly force their way past.

There were some shouts ahead, but not in alarm or trouble, just the same sort of ceremonial call as Roban had given when they’d arrived at the Academy, calling out, ‘Goldsmiths!’

‘Are we there already?’ asked Clariel, puzzled. ‘I thought there was some sort of park, a band of trees below the Palace …’

‘Not yet, milady,’ answered Valannie, who was trying to speak without opening her mouth too wide. ‘We’re turning onto the King’s Road. There are guards, to keep the commoners out of the gardens.’

Clariel frowned at this, and wondered why the commoners were being kept from the gardens. In Estwael, there was a town park much frequented by the more timid folk who didn’t like the Forest beyond the walls. She’d loved it as a small child, before transferring that love to the wilder woods.

Through the spyhole, she saw a large crowd gathered as close as they could get to the great iron gates that had been opened to allow the palanquin’s passage, gates in a high fence of iron topped by spikes that had once been gilded, remnants of gold still showing here and there.

As Clariel looked out, she saw one of the people, obviously poor from her sackcloth dress, lift her arm back to throw something. As she did so half a dozen others followed suit.

‘They’re throwing things!’ cried Clariel, instinctively crouching and once again reaching for her dagger.

chapter fourteen

king orrikan regrets