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

Old—”
    “She is truly gifted,” interrupted Clariel. “Now, Father, I need to talk to you about something important.”
    “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 Goldsmith’s 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 realizing 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 toward his feet. “It is simply combining two things. It will give you . . . um . . . honor 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