Clariel reluctantly lowered her head and let Valannie retie the scarf. It was clear to her there was a lot going on in the city that she didn’t know about, and probably needed to know, but neither Valannie nor Roban were going to tell her about it.

Not that she intended staying in Belisaere for a moment longer than was necessary. Not once she had worked out how to get back to Estwael, and how she might be able to live with only limited support from her parents. Or perhaps no support at all, for she was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that they would never countenance her ambitions. She would have to devise her own plans for the future.

‘Very good,’ proclaimed Valannie, interrupting Clariel’s thoughts of independence with a last tiny tug on the corner of her scarf. ‘By tomorrow, milady, with the right clothes, I believe you will be a credit to your family and the High Guild of Goldsmiths.’

‘Good,’ mumbled Clariel, just for something to say, since she didn’t care about clothes or being a credit to anyone. ‘I suppose we had better go and buy these clothes, then. But first, a bright fish for the King.’

chapter two

colourful fish and colourful clothes

The fish-buying mission was not a success. Clariel almost couldn’t bear the crush of people in the fish market, the noise, the swift traffic of carts laden with fresh-caught fish, and the overpowering smell. Even with Roban leading the way, his presence somehow making people move aside despite his small stature, it was hard to proceed along the narrow alleyways that were lined with booths selling all manner of fish, crustaceans, seaweed and who knew what else. Everywhere there was constant shouting from the sellers, and shouting back from the buyers, and yelling from the cart-pushers – a cacophony of sound such that Clariel had never experienced before.

To cap it all off, there were no bright fish. Such things were sold from time to time by the fish merchants at the northern end of the market who specialised in live eels, fish and exotic fare like rays. But none of them currently had the bright yellow or orange fish that Roban said were the ones the King favoured. Indeed, it was unclear where such fish came from, save that every now and then a sailor or a fisherman would come in with one or two, and more often dead than alive.

‘You could try over at the Islet,’ said one of the sellers, who wore a bronze badge above his ring mail apron that identified him as an Undermaster of the Guild of Fishmongers. ‘They pick up oddities from time to time. In any case, I’ll spread the word.’

‘I need one soon,’ said Clariel. ‘It’s to be a gift for the –’