Clariel shrugged and transferred three spoons of tea from the tin to the pot, noticing that Dyrell winced at her inelegant motions and not very well-regulated measures, the first spoon heaped and the other two not even full.

Everyone then sat in silence, waiting for the kettle to boil. Clariel stared straight ahead, not wanting to look at any of the others, or at the nervously hovering Dyrell. She couldn’t believe that she was stuck here in an absolutely ridiculous class, with people she had no interest in whatsoever. It made escaping to the Forest even more imperative, and then and there she determined that she would talk to her mother that night, even going into the workshop if that proved necessary, though this would be akin to entering the lair of a monster.

As soon as the kettle began to whistle, Aronzo took it off and poured the water into the pot, put the kettle back, turned the wick of the burner down till it went out and put the lid on the teapot.

‘Now what?’ whispered Clariel. ‘Who pours the tea?’

‘We pour for each other, for whoever we choose to show favour today,’ said Aronzo. ‘Isn’t that right, Master Dyrell?’

‘Yes, milord,’ said Dyrell, more respectfully than he had spoken to anyone else. ‘Whenever you wish to proceed.’

‘I thought the form was to let it steep for a measured five minutes,’ said Belatiel, ostentatiously consulting a blue crystal timepiece that glowed with Charter marks. ‘And I can tell you, it has only been three since the water was poured.’

Aronzo ignored him. Taking a gold-cased and jewel-encrusted clockwork watch of the newer egg type out of a pocket in his sleeve, he flipped it open and watched it with an air of civilised boredom till the appointed five minutes had passed. Snapping the watch shut, he replaced it in his pocket, picked up the teapot and leaned past Clariel to pour Yaneem a cup. She simpered, and when the pot was set before her, poured Aronzo’s cup in return, before passing it to Clariel.

‘I don’t even drink tea,’ said Clariel.

‘You don’t have to drink it, milady,’ said Dyrell. ‘Simply pour for someone who has not yet received a cup and when you are poured for, do not drink.’

Clariel looked at Denima and then at Belatiel.

‘I suppose since you’re some sort of cousin I should pour for you,’ said Clariel. ‘Since I cannot choose from any other knowledge who is most deserving of the honour, such as it is.’

‘How very sensible of you, cousin,’ said Bel, as Clariel poured his cup and passed the pot to him, whereupon he poured for Denima, who smiled as she poured Clariel’s cup in turn, finishing the process. Clariel noticed that the smile was particularly for Bel, whose eyes sparkled in return.