‘What was that all …’ Clariel started to ask, but Roban shook his head again, and looked meaningfully at Valannie, who was staring after the departing Governor. Perhaps sensing Clariel’s attention, she turned, and cocked her head in the attitude of a faithful servant agog to hear the next command.

‘Such a wonderful man,’ she said, following it up with an annoying laugh. ‘He’s quite revitalised the city government, the Guild … everything! Now, where shall we … yes, Parillin’s first. There is much to do!’

She bustled away. Clariel, flanked by her three guards, followed thoughtfully. Only a few houses along, Valannie turned into an open doorway hung with curtains of a rich velvet, tied back with broad bands of a saffron-coloured cloth. Evidently this was the house and shop of Parillin the cloth merchant.

As Valannie entered, Clariel pretended to slip on the paved street. Catching Roban’s arm for support, she whispered close to his ear.

‘I want to know what is going on.’

‘Soon as I can, milady,’ replied Roban, out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Can’t talk just anywhere.’

chapter three

plots and machinations

When Clariel joined her father at the head table for dinner, above the mass of apprentices and servants on the longer table below, he didn’t mention the attack on her. She chose not to bring it up for the time being, because she didn’t know what was behind it, or the complications it might lead to, when she wanted to keep everything as simple as possible before she could escape the city. Jaciel, as was not unusual, was absent from dinner, no doubt working on something she did not want to leave.

In any case, there wasn’t much opportunity to talk, with the apprentices becoming rowdy and needing quelling, and Harven’s very vocal dissatisfaction with some of the courses, most notably the grilled eels that were served poking out of a giant pastry shaped as sea coral. Everyone else ate them with relish, while Harven summoned the cook to complain about the spices used, or not used. Clariel didn’t bother to listen, and ate steadily, her thoughts far away as usual, imagining a life in the Forest.

After dinner, Clariel went to the roof garden, to watch the sun set and get away from the organisation of her new wardrobe, which Valannie had entered into with considerable fervour. It had taken all afternoon to buy a vast array of cloth, get tediously measured numerous times, and order what seemed like dozens of items of clothing, in addition to picking up ready-made clothes that Valannie thought would just serve until the new clothes could be made. It all cost a huge amount, more than forty gold bezants, a sum Clariel thought she could have lived on for a year or more in the Forest and so in her opinion was a ghastly waste of money.

‘Milady.’