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 apologize, 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 behavior, 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 Fair.”
“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 after all,” 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 behavior?”
“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.
“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 apologize, 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 behavior, 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 Fair.”
“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 after all,” 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 behavior?”
“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.
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