‘Lady Clariel, I am so sorry to keep you waiting,’ she declared, pausing only to insert her arm through the crook of Clariel’s elbow. ‘Everything is arranged. We will go to Parillin’s first, for cloth, then to Mistress Emenor; she has by far the best dress-cutters. Then Master Blydnen for shoes, or perhaps Kailin’s, and I think Ilvercote for some scarves and suchlike. Oh, that reminds me. Take this for the time being. Don’t worry, you’ll soon have something more fetching.’

She held out a blue shawl of some shimmering cloth. Clariel looked at it, but didn’t take it.

‘What’s this?’

‘A silk scarf, milady!’ exclaimed Valannie. ‘To cover your head.’

‘I have hair for that,’ replied Clariel. ‘And a perfectly good hat inside I can get if you think it’s going to rain. It doesn’t look like it to me.’

‘No, no, no! Hats are for ordinary folk! You must wear a scarf, Lady Clariel!’

Clariel opened her mouth to say something about no one wearing scarfs on their heads in Estwael, but stopped as she saw her mother come out of the workshop door, trailed as always by apprentices and forge hands. She was not wearing her simple linen working clothes and leather apron, with its pockets full of files, hammers, pincers, rules and the like, but a kind of layered robe of blue and pale gold silks. She also wore a blue headscarf, though Jaciel’s was embroidered with small golden coins that caught the sunshine and flashed it back, proof of real gold.

The lack of an apron was a bad sign, thought Clariel, because if Jaciel was not working, then she might take an interest in her daughter.

This proved to be the case. Jaciel stopped in mid-progress towards the men who were unloading the charcoal and changed direction, coming straight at Clariel. As she approached, Roban stood even more stiffly to attention, and Valannie quickly put the scarf over Clariel’s hair, pulled it down to cover the Charter mark on her forehead, and knotted the ends under her chin.

‘Clariel. You have come down.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘No more tantrums then?’

‘I wasn’t having …’ Clariel started hotly, before biting her lip. She never could seem to have a normal conversation with her mother. ‘That is, I am quite reconciled to my fate, thank you.’

‘Your fate?’ asked Jaciel. ‘Rather portentous, don’t you think? In any case, I am pleased. I see you are about to go and purchase your new clothes. Make sure you pay attention to Valannie.’

She turned her imperious gaze to the maid and continued. ‘Please see that Clariel has everything appropriate that she will need for the Academy and the house, Valannie. Do not let her pursue any … sartorial whimsy.’

‘Yes, milady,’ said Valannie, with a curtsy.

‘And you are Roban?’ Jaciel asked the guard. ‘The senior of the detail assigned by the Guild?’

‘Yes, milady!’ snapped Roban.