‘Perfect,’ sighed Harven. ‘As the others will be, and all together in a necklace. It will be a wonder of the age.’
‘Father!’ snapped Clariel. ‘I said I need to talk to you about something important! Very important!’
Harven reluctantly put the teardrop down. But even as he half turned in his chair to face his daughter, his eyes were dragged back to the golden object.
‘Father, I was attacked today. In the street.’
‘Attacked?’ asked Harven. ‘I heard there was some kind of horseplay, a … a jape or jest, on the part of Aronzo, the Governor’s boy.’
‘It wasn’t a jest,’ protested Clariel. ‘There was a point to it. Tell me, is Mother planning to wrest the Goldsmiths’ Guild from Kilp? To become Guildmaster, and thus Governor of the city?’
She had all Harven’s attention now. He sat back and blinked, then gave a brief chuckle.
‘What?’ asked Clariel. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I was imagining your mother dealing with all the dull business that comes before Kilp every day, as Guildmaster and Governor!’
He laughed again, and wiped his right eye with the back of his hand.
‘Jaciel has barely looked beyond her workbench since we arrived! She cares naught for politics, or business, or any of these things, only her work …’
He stopped laughing as he said this, perhaps realising its powerful truth, that it applied not just to politics and business, but also to Clariel and to some degree, himself.
‘She wanted me to get clothes, and buy a present for the King,’ said Clariel. ‘Why? I can’t believe she really cares whether I visit him or not, or about some old tradition about cousins handing over gifts.’
Harven’s smile came creeping across his face, till Clariel stamped her foot suddenly and shouted, ‘Don’t lie, Father! Tell me the truth!’
The smile vanished in an instant. Harven looked at the golden teardrop, and bit his lip fussily.
‘The truth, Father,’ said Clariel, more calmly.
Harven still couldn’t look her in the eye, but his smile did not come back.
‘There is a salt cellar in the Palace, in the shape of a great shell, made from gold, silver and electrum, set with emeralds and malachite. Each fluted rib is a container for more than a stone weight of salt, pepper, saffron, ginger and more, sufficient for the grandest table that could ever be set! It was made many centuries ago by one of the greatest goldsmiths who ever lived, though we do not know his … or her … name, only the spell they signed their work with, which when the visible mark is touched shows a stone dropping in a pool, and the ripples coming from it. We call the few things that survive Dropstone work. Jaciel saw the salt cellar as a young girl, and wishes to see it again. She believes she is ready to re-create such an object, to equal or surpass the work of the ancients, of Dropstone. I believe so, too, and she will prove herself not merely the greatest goldsmith of the Kingdom, but of all time!’
‘What’s that got to do with me giving the King a present?’
‘It is not easy to enter the Palace now, even for a cousin, with the King holding himself aloof from the city and the people. Yet he does still observe some of the most important of the age-old customs, and Jaciel thought that the kin-gift would gain us admittance and so it has proved –’
‘So I am nothing but a ticket of entry,’ interrupted Clariel bitterly. ‘Another useful tool for Mother.’
‘No!’ blustered Harven. He seemed at a loss for a moment, once again glancing towards his feet. ‘It is simply combining two things. It will give you … um … honour and prestige to have been presented to the King, which will be helpful to you, in any … any –’
‘Marriage?’ asked Clariel quietly. ‘Do you and Mother have someone in mind? Have you had someone in mind all along?’
‘Well, it is only natural we should think on it,’ continued Harven. ‘We want you to be well-established, Clarrie. If you chose to be a goldsmith, then of course you would be apprenticed, or any of the other high crafts, but if you aren’t interested … and failing a craft of your own, a marriage seems the best course.’
‘I don’t want to be married. I’m like Aunt Lemmin. I am happiest by myself. I would like to live by myself.’
‘Lemmin is a very good woman, and has been a good sister to me, but she is not a usual person, Clariel. Even when we were children she was not at all –’
‘Father, I am not a usual person either! Can’t you see that?’
‘You are just young,’ said Harven. His smile flickered across his face for a moment. ‘I daresay you haven’t met the right young man. There are far more eligible young men here –’
‘I don’t want a young man, eligible or otherwise!’
‘You don’t know what you want!’ snapped Harven.
‘I want to be a Borderer,’ said Clariel forcefully. ‘I want to live in the Great Forest. The best course for me would be if you supported this ambition!’
‘Clarrie, don’t be silly. You are our daughter, a familial member of the High Guild of Goldsmiths in Belisaere! You cannot just go and live in the woods!’
‘It is what I want,’ said Clariel. She could feel anger rising inside her, a heat kindling that she knew she must not feed. She took a deep breath, held it for a second, then calmly said, ‘It is all I ever wanted.’
‘You are too young to know what you want,’ repeated Harven, as if repetition might make it true. ‘In any case, you owe us, you owe your family, to do the right thing and forget about this child’s dream! You would not last more than three days in the Great Forest, and you know it!’
‘How little you know me, Father,’ said Clariel. The anger was not rising, but rather ebbing, being replaced by a deep sadness. ‘I have spent many days and nights in the greenwood, since before I was even thirteen. All those times you thought me at Aunt Lemmin’s house, I was where I wanted to be. In the Forest.’
‘What?’ asked Harven. ‘Don’t be ridiculous and don’t try to present your aunt as some ally of your fancies, just because you slipped away from her for an afternoon or two. This is an ill-considered dream, too long prolonged. And we have spoken enough of it. You go to bed. Tomorrow you begin your lessons at the Academy, and I trust that you will soon learn to become a proper young lady who respects her parents as she should!’
‘As I should?’ asked Clariel. ‘Perhaps I have respected you too highly!’
This was too much, even for Harven, who usually shied away from any confrontation. Pushing his chair back violently, he stood up and raised his hand.
‘To bed!’ he shouted.
Clariel gave no ground, and met his gaze, discovering for the first time with some shock that she was now slightly taller than her father, and that neither shout nor raised hand made her quail and want to flee to her room.
‘I will go, Father,’ she said quietly. ‘But I tell you now, one day I will go to the Great Forest, and make my home there, and then …’
Only at this last did her nerve fail her, the sadness welling up so high that tears filled her eyes, and one, never so perfect as the golden teardrop on the desk, splashed upon the floor. She ran out through the door, crying out words she hadn’t used for many years, because they never came true.
‘And then you and Mother will be sorry!’
chapter four
getting ready for school
The next morning dawned bright and clear, and even more detestable to Clariel than ever. The sunlight seemed to penetrate everywhere, accompanied by the dull, ever-present noise of the city, and there was no quiet, cool place to hide, no forest glade to shelter in. After a simple breakfast, taken alone in her room, Valannie appeared, chivvying her to the bath chamber in the lower part of the house, where other servants had laboured in the dark to light the fire that heated the hot water reservoir, and work the pump to fill the cold pool. Clariel offered no resistance to the routine of steam and oiling, and plunged into the cool pool as instructed, and stood to be towelled dry
without complaint. But inside she was once again wondering how she might escape the city, and get back to Estwael … or not Estwael exactly, but some part of the Great Forest near it where she would not be so easily found. But finding a practical means of carrying out what was essentially a daydream was no easy task.
‘You seem tired, milady,’ said Valannie, as she helped Clariel dress in linen underwear and the multiple layers dictated by her Guild status and affiliation: alternating tunics of silk, white and gold. ‘Are you well? You were not too alarmed by yesterday’s –’
‘No,’ said Clariel. ‘I am just thinking about … things.’
‘May I suggest, milady, that at the Academy, it would be well to smile, and to talk with the other young folk,’ said Valannie.
‘Why?’ asked Clariel. ‘I have no interest in them. I consider this Academy a mere duty, and a dull one.’
Valannie tied a blue scarf over Clariel’s head.
‘It will be easier for you, milady, to … um … make a pretence of interest. A smile, a simple question – these ease the way with people.’