‘I would have liked to have seen this combat,’ said Belatiel. ‘My money would be on my cousin if it happens again.’
‘Oh, I’m sure we could find better things to do together than fight,’ said Aronzo, looking at Clariel and smiling. He was very handsome, and his teeth were very white, so white that Clariel found herself wanting to smack him in the mouth with her teacup, for his assumption that she would swoon and lie back when he paid attention to her.
‘I doubt it,’ she replied, through gritted teeth. ‘I doubt I shall see you at all outside of this ridiculous Academy.’
‘Of course you will,’ soothed Aronzo. ‘We are both goldsmiths, and your mother and my father are working so closely together, we’re practically family already.’
‘What do you mean “practically family already”?’ asked Clariel. Her fingers were tightening on the teacup, knuckles almost white. She could feel the anger growing as she thought about what he was implying. Her mother and his father … it was an insult that could not be borne. She half rose out of her chair, the teacup shattering in her hand. She held a jagged segment of china, and then Denima was calling out.
‘Clariel! Don’t react! Aronzo likes to tease and cause trouble. He likes people … women in particular … to get upset.’
Aronzo chuckled and deliberately leaned past to say something to Yaneem, who laughed in turn. Clariel, standing above, for a brief, white-hot moment of anger considered punching down with the sharp ceramic shard, straight into his neck, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Frightened by the intensity of that sudden emotion, Clariel slowly subsided into her chair and let the fragment drop onto the table.
‘It’s true. Aronzo is like a troublesome thorn in the foot,’ said Belatiel. ‘A little prick –’
‘Shut up, rat-catcher,’ said Aronzo. He leaned back in his chair and smiled again at Clariel, this time more easily, showing less of his ever-so-white teeth. ‘I apologise, Lady Clariel. It is true that I like a jest or jape, sometimes too much. I most humbly beg your pardon.’
‘I accept your apology,’ said Clariel shortly. Inwardly she decided to keep away from Aronzo. She just didn’t understand this stop-start behaviour, or what his true intentions were.
‘Where is it you have come from?’ asked Yaneem, apparently politely returning to the proscribed small talk for a tea party.
‘Estwael,’ said Clariel, with a pang. What she would give to be there now, and be able to walk out through the town gate, and leave the high road a hundred yards south and take the track that wound up into the hills, into the Great Forest –
‘I’m not even sure where that is,’ tittered Yaneem. ‘Do you know, Aronzo?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Aronzo. ‘Haven’t you ever looked at a map?’
Yaneem flushed again, and was silent.
‘Another delightful lesson,’ murmured Belatiel.
‘Don’t you be mean, Bel,’ said Denima. ‘We might as well try to be nice to each other, since we’ll be doing this till the Autumn Festival.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Clariel. ‘This same tea business every week?’
‘Or more,’ said Denima. ‘If Mistress Ader thinks we need it.’
‘So we will be seeing each other,’ said Aronzo. ‘Won’t that be amusing?’
Clariel didn’t answer him.
‘In fact, why don’t you come and take supper with me this evening?’ continued Aronzo. Yaneem turned her face away as he spoke, and Clariel heard her bite down on a sob. ‘So I can make amends for my bad behaviour?’
‘No thank you,’ replied Clariel. ‘I’m afraid I will be busy.’
‘Tomorrow then.’
‘I shall be busy tomorrow evening as well.’
‘Come to luncheon. Starday tomorrow, no Academy.’
‘I will be busy,’ reiterated Clariel.
‘Doing what?’ asked Aronzo.
‘Being busy,’ said Clariel. ‘As I shall be busy on any other day you might ask me to luncheon or supper or any such thing.’
‘I’ll just have Father ask your parents to have you visit,’ said Aronzo. ‘They’re very keen we should … acquaint ourselves.’
‘Does your father do everything for you?’ asked Clariel. ‘I trust you can at least wipe your –’
Her words were lost in the sudden tolling of a bell, ringing in the corner tower far above, its echoes reverberating through the floor. But Aronzo caught the gist of what she was saying, and his handsome face flushed red with anger, and he spat some insult back that Clariel did not hear, and could not guess from watching his mouth. He made to lunge at her, but suddenly stopped as she drew her smallest dagger, a leaf-shaped blade the length of her little finger, from its sheath inside her left sleeve.
Clariel smiled, stood up and pushed her chair with the back of her knees, to give herself space. She backed away another two paces as the bell continued to toll through its eleven strikes, marking the hour. The others also stood, but none drew weapons or reached for hidden arms, though Clariel noted that Belatiel’s right hand was clawed back in a gesture typical for preparatory spellcasting, though whether any spell would be directed against her or Aronzo she couldn’t tell. Perhaps it would be purely defensive.
As the last note of the bell faded away, Denima clapped her hands suddenly and called out, ‘Dyrell will be back in a moment. Please sheathe your blade, Lady Clariel, and sit. You too, Aronzo. None of us want to be dragged up before Mistress Ader.’
‘I do not take orders from cushion-sewers,’ said Aronzo. ‘But to show I bear no grudge, Lady Clariel, I will sit down.’
He sat down and turned away from Clariel, pointedly looking at the empty chair next to Belatiel.
Clariel slid her small dagger home into the sheath along her left wrist, under her sleeve, and also sat. Yaneem, Denima and Belatiel sat down as well. There was complete silence for a moment, then Denima suddenly laughed.
‘That was more interesting than most tea service lessons!’
‘It’s not supposed to be like this,’ muttered Yaneem. Whether she was talking about the lesson or her relationship with Aronzo was unclear, thought Clariel, though the spiteful glance she then received suggested it was the latter. An enemy found without wanting one, with little chance of repairing the situation. Yet another reason to be away from the city as soon as possible.
They sat in silence for a minute, until Dyrell came in, holding a great sheaf of papers and appearing quite flustered. He looked at the table, saw the broken cup in front of Clariel, dropped
the papers and flapped his hands around in what in other circumstances might have been the beginning of some kind of dance but here was an expression of great upset.
‘You broke a cup!’
‘It was an accident,’ said Denima as Clariel said, ‘I didn’t mean to break it!’
‘It’s only a cup,’ said Aronzo. He carelessly reached into the purse at his belt and withdrew two gold bezants, throwing them on the table. They rang true as they hit and one rolled on its edge over to Belatiel’s saucer, clanging again as it struck.
‘It is not the cost of the cup, Lord Aronzo,’ said Dyrell. He took a deep breath and bent down to pick up his papers, continuing to speak as he crouched on the floor. ‘It is the principle. The opportunity for such a breakage should not have occurred. You must aim for greater delicacy when handling a teacup, Lady Clariel. Really you must try harder.’
Clariel bit back an extremely rude response as she saw Denima smile and shake her head, just a little bit. It was a warning and a friendly gesture and as soon as she saw it Clariel realised that entering into any kind of discussion with Dyrell would only prolong the awfulness of this tea service lesson.
‘I will try my best,’ she said primly.
‘Thank you,’ said Dyrell. He put half his papers on the table and bent down to pick up more, but continued to speak, so that his voice appeared to be emanating from the floor. ‘Now, you may go to your next lesson. Please do not dawdle or delay.’
Everyone pushed back their chairs. Clariel waited a moment, letting Aronzo stalk out first as he clearly expected to do. Yaneem was close in his wake, trying to catch up with him, one hand almost plucking at his elbow, but not quite landing there, as if she didn’t dare to make that touch. Both Belatiel and Denima stayed back, and followed Clariel close as she went out into the corridor.
‘What is your next –’ began Belatiel, as Denima said, ‘What have you got next –’
They stopped talking at the same time and both gestured to the other to continue.
‘Please, go on,’ said Belatiel, but Denima was saying, ‘After you, sir.’