Off in the distance, for the gardens stretched around the Palace Hill and continued out of sight, a stag raised his antlered head to watch the procession. The rest of his herd, a half-dozen hinds and half-grown fawns, followed his motion a moment later. They were cautious, but not overly so, and Clariel knew they were not hunted, but mere ornaments of the royal garden, or perhaps an aid to keep the grass down.

‘Do close the curtain, milady!’ protested Valannie again. ‘It is not seemly.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Clariel, breathing in the clean, soft air with its scent of earth and wood and natural decay, the work of wind and rain, not of mortal action.

Valannie muttered something else, but Clariel paid her no attention. She was drinking in the vista, the air, the whole park, reinforcing her spirit for whatever lay ahead.

One of the guards, a man Clariel hadn’t seen before who was walking close by, looked over at her curiously. She knew she must seem an odd sight with her head thrust out of the curtains, staring into the distance. But he said nothing, falling back a step or two, so as not to intrude upon her view.

The road they were on – the King’s Road, Valannie had said – took a sharp turn to the right and began to climb up Palace Hill, which Clariel saw had been terraced into six levels, the road switch-backing up, first right then left and back again. The gardens continued on each terrace, the closest one with wildflowers growing in the retaining wall, a profusion of starflowers, a mixture of the white and yellow varieties. Starflowers did not grow in Estwael, the climate did not suit them. They were late even here, Clariel considered, so close to autumn.

The bearers swapped positions seamlessly as they climbed up the road, a pair from the front moving to the back, to help hold the palanquin level despite the inclination of the road. It wasn’t that steep, but enough to cause problems for palanquin bearers. For a moment Clariel thought about hopping out and walking once again, but she gave up that idea after considering the likely lecture from Valannie and possibly from her mother, who never seemed to care about etiquette and the like except when it concerned her own interest. If they weren’t allowed in the Palace because Clariel had walked up, and Jaciel thus didn’t get to examine the Dropstone work, then there would be a storm indeed. It wasn’t worth the risk.

At the top of the final terrace, the King’s Road ended in front of a massive gatehouse that projected out from the high, white walls of the Palace. Clariel didn’t wait to be invited, climbing out of the palanquin even before one of the bearers could put down a step.