‘Oh,’ said Clariel, finally understanding, or at least thinking she understood. She took the helmet and put it on. Despite her lack of hair, Gully clearly had a bigger head, for the helm was a little loose.

‘Turn a bit, that way!’

Clariel copied the pose in the drawing, and looked out across the sea. There was a large trading ship some distance off. It was much fatter and higher and carried far more sail than the fishing boats she usually saw to the east, from her roof garden.

A loud wheezing noise made her glance back again. The King, supported by his servant, had risen from his chair to look at her more closely. Now he was holding the drawing out to Gullaine.

‘Doesn’t look like her to me,’ he said. ‘But my eyes are old, and perhaps I wish not to see. You look, Gully.’

Gullaine held the drawing up with both hands, so it couldn’t flap around in the breeze, and looked over it at Clariel for some time. Then she rolled it up and handed it to the servant.

‘No, sire. She is not the same. Clariel could not be mistaken for Princess Tathiel.’

‘Good, good, there is hope left then,’ said the King. ‘Though your family do see things wrong from time to time, don’t they, Gully?’

‘Not wrong exactly,’ said Gullaine. ‘The Clayr See many possible futures. Some are clearer than others, and more likely to come to pass. Others depend upon long chains of chance … or mischance.’

‘Can I get down now, Highness?’ asked Clariel. She had already taken off the helmet and passed it now to Gullaine.

‘You may, girl, you may,’ said the King, settling back in his chair. ‘I mean you no ill when I say I am relieved that you do not look much like my granddaughter.’

‘Did the Clayr do a drawing of their vision for you?’ asked Clariel. Like most people in the Kingdom she was interested in the ice-dwelling farseers, but had no experience of them and did not really know what they could do. ‘Of Princess Tathiel standing on this wall?’

‘They did,’ said the King. ‘As they Saw her in the ice. One day she will stand where you stood. One day she will be Queen, and the sooner she realises it and comes home the better!’

‘Where is she now?’ asked Clariel.

‘Who knows?’ said the King grumpily. ‘Bah! I am tired of it all. Where is my tea?’

‘A fresh cup is coming, sire,’ said the servant soothingly. He looked back to the West Tower. The door there sprang open and a servant came out quickly, carrying a tray with a teapot and, Clariel was glad to note, a single cup.