There were childhood friends as well, of course, people she had played with when small, or had shared the experiences of the dame school. But she hadn’t really kept in touch with them, save to say hello, or perhaps share a glass of wine if they happened to run across each other in the town.

Clariel had never felt much need for friends, but then she had also never felt alone, even when she was at her most solitary. The Forest filled her up, she needed no more. Here, things were different. Perhaps she should seek to make some friends … At the least, they might be able to help her work out how to escape the city …

‘So I should talk to the others,’ she said abruptly. ‘What about?’

‘Oh, that is easy!’ exclaimed Valannie. ‘About clothes, of course, and at the moment, comical songs are very fashionable, the minstrels who excel at this are in great demand, as is Yarlow the balladeer, who writes such sly verses. Oh, and always, betrothals and weddings, and the alliances of the Guilds, and in some quarters, among the more sober, the course of business, the price of grain and suchlike, though I expect that this is more for the older students –’

‘I cannot talk about clothes and comical songs,’ said Clariel. ‘I suppose I could support a conversation about business, at least as it is done in Estwael.’

‘Oh, best not talk about Estwael!’ cried Valannie, throwing up her hands in horror.

‘Why not?’

‘It is in the country,’ whispered Valannie, bringing her painted face close to Clariel’s, so that for the first time she noticed her maid had no eyebrows of her own, just cleverly painted streaks of black. ‘No one speaks of the country in Belisaere!’

‘I will,’ said Clariel. ‘Estwael is a fine town, and the Great Forest beyond an even finer place. Better than any part of this noisome city!’

‘Oh, milady, I beg you not to speak such! Not at the Academy! Not anywhere! It will serve you ill.’

Clariel sniffed. Valannie’s pleading seemed very sincere, and though she burned to hear criticism of Estwael, perhaps it would be sensible to follow the maid’s advice. She had learned long ago not to rush ahead into who knew what, but to go silently and hidden, to spy out the lay of the land.

‘I will try not to speak of … of the country,’ she said.

‘Good, good, milady!’ said Valannie, with a heartfelt sigh. She bent down to do up Clariel’s sandals, ignoring Clariel’s own motion to bend and do them up herself. ‘No, no, milady. I will fix these on properly. You will see, it is not too difficult to make conversation. The young gentlemen and ladies will be keen to meet you, being the daughter of so famous a goldsmith.’