Clariel: The Lost Abhorsen (The Abhorsen Trilogy Book 4) by Garth Nix Read Free Book Online

lived on for a year or more in the forest and so in her opinion was a ghastly waste of money.
    “Milady.”
    The whisper came from the top of the stairs. Clariel turned quickly, ready to draw her knife. But it was Roban. He was obviously ill at ease and would not climb the last few steps to the roof garden. He remained in shadow, only his face illuminated by the light from the ancient Charter-spelled lantern of filigreed silver that hung on a tall pole at the stairhead.
    “Only got a minute,” he said. “Watch change in a moment, I’ll be off home. And I can’t tell you much, milady. It’s all politics and plots, beyond my ken. All I know is I was ordered to take part in the mummery with Aronzo—”
    “Aronzo? Is that the name of the young man who attacked me?”
    “Yes, and on no account to hurt him, not that I needed to be told twice, him being Guildmaster Kilp’s son—”
    “His son!”
    “The older one. The younger brother’s an ox, good-natured and not like his father, whereas Aronzo is too much like—fair-looking he is, but as cold and vicious as an eel, and as quick to strike.”
    “I don’t understand this at all,” protested Clariel. She frowned. As far as she could tell, Roban was speaking truthfully. There was a Charter spell to compel plain-speaking, but she didn’t know it. In fact, she knew very few Charter Magic spells and hadn’t cast even the ones she did know for months. Besides, Roban doubtless would be offended to have his veracity questioned.
    “Kilp has staged similar ‘attacks’ before, making excuses to intervene in the business and territories of other guilds. I think that’s what it was about . . . but there might be more . . .”
    He hesitated, and shifted on the step, clearing his throat as if it had suddenly gone dry.
    “What?”
    “I’m only guessing,” muttered Roban, “and smarter folk than I might guess otherwise. But Kilp is Governor because he is Guildmaster of the goldsmiths, and it is the middle of the goldsmiths’ turn, with three years to go. But the goldsmiths have an election coming up this year, and Kilp could be unseated, say by the most famous goldsmith in the Kingdom. No longer Guildmaster, no longer Governor.”
    “You mean Mother?” asked Clariel. “But she doesn’t give a . . . a grain of copper . . . for politics!”
    “Your mother is also the King’s cousin,” said Roban. “In a Kingdom where the King does not care to rule, and none know where his heir has got to, maybe not even the King himself—”
    “Princess Tathiel? I thought she was dead. Years ago.”
    “She may be. Who knows? The King cannot or will not say.”
    “You think Mother wants to be Guildmaster, and Governor, and . . . and Queen?”
    “I don’t know, milady. But perhaps Kilp thinks she does, and that attack on you was a warning—unless she limits her ambitions, harm will come to those she holds dear.”
    “Holds dear? Me?” asked Clariel. “Mother wouldn’t even notice!”
    “I think you’ll find she would,” said Roban. “Any mother would.”
    Not my mother, thought Clariel. She has been lost in her craft my entire life.
    “There is one . . . other matter . . . milady,” said Roban hesitantly. He was watching her carefully now, no longer looking down.
    “Yes?”
    “Begging your pardon, but I’ve seen berserks before, and . . .”
    “What?”
    “I think you might have the fury, milady. It is oft found in the royal blood, and you’re a cousin . . .”
    “The fury? Me, a berserk? I’m not old enough to be anything!”
    “Age is of no import,” said Roban carefully. “May I suggest you talk to Gullaine, the Captain of the Guard. The rage can be shepherded, kept in check, and she knows about such things.”
    Clariel wrinkled her forehead. “I do get angry sometimes, but I’ve never . . . almost never . . . completely lost my temper. I’m sure I’m not a berserk.”
    “As you say, milady,” said Roban. “By your leave,