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

am Master Dyrell, and this class is The Serving of Tea. Before we begin, we shall practice polite introductions. You have entered the room, therefore it is to you that we look to begin.”
    “My name is Clariel,” replied Clariel, speaking to the room at large, without really looking at anyone other than Dyrell. “Daughter of Jaciel High Goldsmith and her consort Harven.”
    “No, no, Lady Clariel,” said Dyrell. “One at a time, one a time, beginning with the person of the highest order in the room.”
    “Who would that be, then?” asked Clariel. “And how am I supposed to know?”
    “It will be a trifle difficult before you have met many people,” admitted Dyrell. “But you can begin by looking at the indication of guild, which will narrow the possibilities. Here, you see, there is but one High Goldsmith other than yourself, so naturally that person will be of the highest—”
    Clariel interrupted him with a kind of snort that would not have been out of place coming from a disturbed boar, as she properly looked at the person in the white and yellow of the Goldsmiths. A young, handsome man with fair hair and strikingly blue eyes. Familiar eyes, that had winked at her the day before, just before the young man had made his escape after the mummery of his supposed attack upon her.
    “You!” she said, following the snort.
    “I don’t believe we’ve met,” said the man, with a smile that was nearly a smirk, and very annoyingly, the shadow of a wink. “I am Aronzo, son of Kilp, Guildmaster of the High Goldsmiths and Governor of Belisaere, and his consort Marget.”
    “You see, that is how it is done,” said Dyrell, with a curious glance at Clariel and then back at Aronzo. “Then we have . . .”
    “Actually I believe I should have precedence, even over High Goldsmiths,” said a slighter, shorter young man with badly cut dark hair that made his fringe slant from left to right, above regular but not particularly handsome features, and skin rather too white to look healthy. He wore simpler clothes than Aronzo, dark blue on top with dull silver stripes showing through the cuts in his sleeves, with no other indicator, save a small silver badge of a single key high on his left arm, so unobtrusive Clariel almost missed it. “Being the Abhorsen’s great-nephew—”
    “Rat-catcher!” said Aronzo, making it sound enough like a sneeze for Dyrell to be able to ignore him, though like everyone else present he must have heard it.
    “—and a cousin of the King,” continued the pale young man, ignoring the interruption.
    “Yes, yes, we have been over this,” said Dyrell testily. “This is not the old times, and in the modern age, certainly for the last very many years, it has been the custom in the city for guild rank to take precedence, save in some of the old ceremonies—”
    “It’s all right, Dyrell,” said the black-haired man. “I’m just showing my cousin how things are.”
    He made a bow to Clariel and she saw a glint of mischief in his eye. Aronzo pointedly yawned and made a faint show of covering it up by turning his head a fraction, as the pale young man continued.
    “Greetings, milady. I am Belatiel, and as we are kinfolk, please call me Bel,” he said. “Unfortunately, since I cannot claim a guildmember for a parent, I am something of a nuisance here. They never quite know what to do with me. I welcome a relative and—”
    “Now, Lord Belatiel, please, there are introductions remaining to be done, and there is a correct order to matters, tea to be poured, and so forth, before we can make conversation. Lady Clariel, the ladies present are of the Spicers Guild, red and yellow alternated in double bands; and the Vintners, purple, green, and silver. In the order of precedence as I have given them. Please introduce yourself.”
    “But they’ve already heard who I am,” said Clariel.
    “Please, Lady Clariel,” said Dyrell. “Once learned correctly here, you will never be embarrassed