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.”
“Will they?” asked Clariel. It was interesting that Valannie did not say that her connection to the King, or the Abhorsens, would make her popular. Her father had been strange about this as well, with his talk of the “best people.”
“Tell me, Valannie, should I mention that my grandfather is the Abhorsen? Or the King my mother’s cousin?”
Valannie stopped doing up the left sandal for a second. Clariel looked down at the top of her maid’s head. The foremost part of hair, that part not covered by her scarf, was so shiny and stiff that she realized it must be coated with lacquer, or a varnish.
“Perhaps not unless it is brought up first, milady,” Valannie said cautiously. “There, the buckle should rest just above the ankle, no higher, and turned out so.”
“Why?” asked Clariel.
“The buckle is very fine work, and gold, so should be shown. If it were pinchbeck or mere gilt, then you would hide it—”
“No. Why should I not mention my connection with the King or the Abhorsen?”
Valannie looked up and gave the tinkling laugh that had already annoyed Clariel on several occasions.
“Oh, politics, milady! That is for your elders, I think—”
“I wish to know,” said Clariel sternly. “If you will not tell me, I shall ask at the Academy. I shall ask everyone I meet.”
Valannie snapped back like a bowstring freed of its arrow, and took Clariel’s hands anxiously in her own.
“No, no, my dear. You mustn’t do that!”
“Then explain to me. What are the politics? What is going on in the city?”
Valannie scowled and dropped Clariel’s hands.
“Oh, milady, you are a hard mistress. I will tell you, but you must not let on that it was I. Your parents do not want you worried, and there are . . . well it is not right for a young girl to be drawn into troubles that are of no concern—”
“They are of concern!” snapped Clariel. “I wish to know.”
Valannie pursed her lips, and looked to the door, before lowering her voice.
“Some years ago, the King went mad, or so they say. He is very old . . .”
“And?” asked Clariel, as Valannie faltered.
“He stopped . . . he stopped ruling, I suppose. He lets no one enter the Palace for any serious matter, only if it be for one of the old rituals, and then only upon rare occasions. He will not hear his officers, he will not read letters or petitions, he will not sit in the Petty or the Greater Court, or sign or seal any document of state. He dismissed most of the Guard, keeping only two score, so that the city was left bereft of soldiery and order, till the Governor and the guilds stepped in. There was trouble with lawless folk, and the commoners who have ever caused trouble
“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.”
“Will they?” asked Clariel. It was interesting that Valannie did not say that her connection to the King, or the Abhorsens, would make her popular. Her father had been strange about this as well, with his talk of the “best people.”
“Tell me, Valannie, should I mention that my grandfather is the Abhorsen? Or the King my mother’s cousin?”
Valannie stopped doing up the left sandal for a second. Clariel looked down at the top of her maid’s head. The foremost part of hair, that part not covered by her scarf, was so shiny and stiff that she realized it must be coated with lacquer, or a varnish.
“Perhaps not unless it is brought up first, milady,” Valannie said cautiously. “There, the buckle should rest just above the ankle, no higher, and turned out so.”
“Why?” asked Clariel.
“The buckle is very fine work, and gold, so should be shown. If it were pinchbeck or mere gilt, then you would hide it—”
“No. Why should I not mention my connection with the King or the Abhorsen?”
Valannie looked up and gave the tinkling laugh that had already annoyed Clariel on several occasions.
“Oh, politics, milady! That is for your elders, I think—”
“I wish to know,” said Clariel sternly. “If you will not tell me, I shall ask at the Academy. I shall ask everyone I meet.”
Valannie snapped back like a bowstring freed of its arrow, and took Clariel’s hands anxiously in her own.
“No, no, my dear. You mustn’t do that!”
“Then explain to me. What are the politics? What is going on in the city?”
Valannie scowled and dropped Clariel’s hands.
“Oh, milady, you are a hard mistress. I will tell you, but you must not let on that it was I. Your parents do not want you worried, and there are . . . well it is not right for a young girl to be drawn into troubles that are of no concern—”
“They are of concern!” snapped Clariel. “I wish to know.”
Valannie pursed her lips, and looked to the door, before lowering her voice.
“Some years ago, the King went mad, or so they say. He is very old . . .”
“And?” asked Clariel, as Valannie faltered.
“He stopped . . . he stopped ruling, I suppose. He lets no one enter the Palace for any serious matter, only if it be for one of the old rituals, and then only upon rare occasions. He will not hear his officers, he will not read letters or petitions, he will not sit in the Petty or the Greater Court, or sign or seal any document of state. He dismissed most of the Guard, keeping only two score, so that the city was left bereft of soldiery and order, till the Governor and the guilds stepped in. There was trouble with lawless folk, and the commoners who have ever caused trouble
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