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Gullaine unbuckled her helmet and held it out to Clariel.
‘It’s to see if you look like someone,’ the Captain said. ‘In the drawing.’
‘No it isn’t,’ said the King, who despite his great age obviously wasn’t deaf, for Gullaine had spoken quietly. ‘It’s to see if you are the woman in the drawing.’
‘Oh,’ said Clariel, finally understanding, or at least thinking she understood. She took the helmet and put it on. Despite her lack of hair, Gully clearly had a bigger head, for the helm was a little loose.
‘Turn a bit, that way!’
Clariel copied the pose in the drawing, and looked out across the sea. There was a large trading ship some distance off. It was much fatter and higher and carried far more sail than the fishing boats she usually saw to the east, from her roof garden.
A loud wheezing noise made her glance back again. The King, supported by his servant, had risen from his chair to look at her more closely. Now he was holding the drawing out to Gullaine.
‘Doesn’t look like her to me,’ he said. ‘But my eyes are old, and perhaps I wish not to see. You look, Gully.’
Gullaine held the drawing up with both hands, so it couldn’t flap around in the breeze, and looked over it at Clariel for some time. Then she rolled it up and handed it to the servant.
‘No, sire. She is not the same. Clariel could not be mistaken for Princess Tathiel.’
‘Good, good, there is hope left then,’ said the King. ‘Though your family do see things wrong from time to time, don’t they, Gully?’
‘Not wrong exactly,’ said Gullaine. ‘The Clayr See many possible futures. Some are clearer than others, and more likely to come to pass. Others depend upon long chains of chance … or mischance.’
‘Can I get down now, Highness?’ asked Clariel. She had already taken off the helmet and passed it now to Gullaine.
‘You may, girl, you may,’ said the King, settling back in his chair. ‘I mean you no ill when I say I am relieved that you do not look much like my granddaughter.’
‘Did the Clayr do a drawing of their vision for you?’ asked Clariel. Like most people in the Kingdom she was interested in the ice-dwelling farseers, but had no experience of them and did not really know what they could do. ‘Of Princess Tathiel standing on this wall?’
‘They did,’ said the King. ‘As they Saw her in the ice. One day she will stand where you stood. One day she will be Queen, and the sooner she realises it and comes home the better!’
‘Where is she now?’ asked Clariel.
‘Who knows?’ said the King grumpily. ‘Bah! I am tired of it all. Where is my tea?’
‘A fresh cup is coming, sire,’ said the servant soothingly. He looked back to the West Tower. The door there sprang open and a servant came out quickly, carrying a tray with a teapot and, Clariel was glad to note, a single cup.
‘You’ve seen me now, and I’ve seen you,’ said the King. ‘I hear you’ve given me some fish for a kin-gift, so I suppose I should give you something too. What do you want? That ghastly salt cellar those goldsmiths are always so eager to look at, Charter knows why?’
Clariel shook her head, thinking furiously. She hadn’t realised that the kin-gift worked both ways. She was surprised her mother hadn’t told her to ask for the salt cellar, but perhaps Jaciel had not expected the King to offer a gift.
‘I … I would like you to … give the Borderers the money they need to continue their work,’ she said. ‘To keep on looking after the Great Forest, and all the woods –’
‘No, no,’ said the King, shaking his head so much his beard whipped around to his other shoulder and his lower lip stuck out. ‘I don’t want to be bothered with anything like that. Fifty years I’ve had of it, and that’s enough! Tathiel should be taking care of all that stuff. She’s a good girl. As soon as she hears of my troubles, she’ll come back. I’m sure of it. Another week, perhaps, and then she’ll be here …’
‘There, there, Your Highness,’ soothed the servant, with a poisonous glance at Clariel. ‘Drink up your tea, you’ll feel better in a moment.’
‘No I won’t,’ cried the King. ‘I’m all upset. Ask for something sensible, girl.’
‘I did ask for something sensible,’ replied Clariel.
‘Don’t argue with me!’ snapped the King. ‘Do you want to upset me?’
‘Maybe you need some upsetting,’ said Clariel, feeling her anger mount. ‘Are you just going to let Kilp and people like him do whatever they want?’
‘It’s Tathiel’s problem, not mine,’ muttered the King. His head had sunk into his chest and he looked more and more like a sulky child. ‘She should have come for the crown long ago. Let Tathiel tussle with Kilp and the Guilds and all the petitioners and difficulties. I want some peace! I’ve earned some peace!’
‘Do you know what’s happening to Belisaere and the Kingdom while you stare out at the sea up here and drink tea?’ asked Clariel.
‘I don’t care!’ shouted the King. He was almost sobbing. ‘I’ve had to care for too long and I’m past caring! Why does everything depend on me? Gully, give her that salt cellar. Anything! Just get her out of my sight!’
‘I’m ashamed to be your cousin!’ said Clariel, her voice growing louder with each word till she was nearly shouting too. ‘If you won’t act like a king you shouldn’t be one!’
‘Come away, Lady Clariel,’ said Gullaine very softly, near her ear, with her hand firmly on Clariel’s elbow. ‘He is very old, remember. Come away.’
chapter fifteen
earning a mother’s favour
‘I didn’t mean to get cross with him,’ said Clariel to Gullaine as they made their way back down the stair, this time without the cat-beast following along. The Charter sending had remained behind, curled up on the King’s feet.
‘You are a royal cousin,’ said Gullaine. ‘So I suppose I can consider it in the light of a minor family dispute, rather than treason.’
‘Treason?’ asked Clariel, suddenly worried that she’d done something that would get her stuck in the city. This time in a prison cell.
‘No, not really,’ sighed Gullaine. ‘I understand your frustration, and I know that you do not plot against the King, nor wish to become the tool of those who do.’
‘Like Governor Kilp.’
‘Yes. I even understand Kilp, to some degree. We are in an odd situation, the King withdrawing from power but not actually abdicating.’
‘He should abdicate,’ said Clariel. She had firm ideas about people not doing their jobs, learned at the shoulder of Sergeant Penreth in the Great Forest.
‘No,’ said Gullaine. ‘It’s both too late and too soon for that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He should have abdicated ten years ago, when Tathiel was sixteen, and still here,’ said Gullaine. ‘But he didn’t want to then. Now, he’s let the royal power ebb away, and there is no clear line of succession. Very few people believe Tathiel is still alive. We just have to hope that the King can hang on until she does come back, and try not to let matters get any worse.’
‘Things seem pretty bad already,’ said Clariel. ‘If the day labourers are attacking Guildmembers, and Kilp really is planning to make me or my mother Queen when the King dies …’
‘It won’t be up to Kilp,’ said Gullaine, her face set. ‘Nor will it be soon. The King may be old, and his mind in a dark place, but he is surprisingly strong in body. And he is well protected here.’
‘Good,’ said Clariel. ‘The sooner I’m out of all this, the better.’
Gullaine stopped on the step below and looked back up at Clariel.
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Why?’ asked Clariel.
Gullaine hesitated, and looked up and down the stairs.
‘It is true that you are one of the closest potential heirs to the throne,’ she said carefully. ‘One way out of our current problem might be if we could convince the King to appoint a regent …’
&nbs
p; ‘A regent?’ asked Clariel. ‘Like a caretaker?’
‘Yes. A member of the family to hold the throne, until Princess Tathiel returns. Or if not, assume the crown themselves. Someone young and promising to give the people hope.’
She looked meaningfully at Clariel.
‘Me?’ asked Clariel.
