ã€ŠThe Serpent Kingã€‹


 Chapter 1

    I''ve been on the road for as long as I can remember, and I''ve loved every second of it.

    Our troupe, the Restless Warblers, consists of around 40 musicians, actors, and poets, plus their children, lovers, friends, and some people who just want to follow along for a good time. My mother was one of the founding members. I''m told she gave birth to me in a moving caravan and got back up and played for a crowd of hundreds the next day. I was raised by a rotating cast of artists and dreamers while traversing the whole continent, never staying in the same place for more than a few weeks.

    It''s the only life I''ve ever known. The only life I care to know. Home is where you are surrounded by the people you love most, and for me it just doesn''t have a fixed location.

    Last month we hit a string of towns along the southeast border of Chavalia. They weren''t big towns, but visiting so many in quick succession had set us up quite nicely. We were able to get stocked up on enough supplies to make the long trek across the border, through the Revanni mountain range and into the isolated country of Veilsung.

    Now, Veilsung isn''t completely cut off from the rest of the world. There is some trade across their borders, and they don''t turn away travelers at the gates. It even has a few port cities along its southern shore. I''ve been to several of them before, and they''re just as bustling and diverse as any I''ve visited. Even so, the inner country is rarely traversed by outsiders, and immigration is almost unheard of.

    Part of it is the land itself. It''s all steep mountains and dry deserts, nigh inhospitable and so, so hot. Even the natives don''t travel overly much outside of their irrigated communities. Nearly all the water to be found here bubbles up from deep within the earth, and around those springs is where the towns and cities have sprung up. Between these oases stretches miles and miles of barren earth.

    The second thing that keeps outsiders out is the natives themselves. The serpent folk who call Veilsung their home are a cool, detached people, quick to welcome strangers into their communities and just as quick to let them know when they have overstayed their welcome. They are nothing if not polite, yet to truly be accepted as one of them is exceedingly rare.

    They do love music, though. And they certainly know how to have a good time. Traveling minstrels can make a pretty penny if they have the numbers and resources to stick it out through the extreme temperatures of the desert.

    We''ve hopped from town to town, making our way towards the country center, and after several weeks of fanning ourselves with sheet music and sweating bullets in the caravans while the sun was up, then laying under the stars in the blessedly cool nights, we''ve come to set up camp in Veilsung''s capital city of Dimos. Finally.

    I''ve been waiting ages to come back here.

    In smaller towns, we typically set up camp on the outskirts, where there''s more room, but in a city as big as Dimos, we arranged to set up within city limits, in a large open field used for various outdoor events. It''s well into the afternoon before we''re done making camp, and then we get to start having fun.

    "Come see the Restless Warblers, the greatest traveling show in all Welkun," Suzanne proclaims from our street corner, waving her hands in grandiose sweeps. She''s human, but she''s tall and easily spotted even among the many serpent folk who surround her. "Theater, music, art and dance the likes of which you''ve never before seen!"

    Portia stands beside her, accompanying her words with great flourishes on her violin. Together, they always draw a crowd, and today is no different.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    I hand out fliers from the stack of paper in my hands. A good amount of time was spent this morning writing the location of our current venue on each page. Not by me though, since my handwriting is god-awful. I''m guessing Portia was on that team, based on the circles over the i''s.

    "We''re here all week!" Suzanne says, all eyes on her and Portia as I work my way through the crowd smiling and passing out papers. "Join us tomorrow night for our opening performance! Dance the night away to music played by masters of their craft!"

    This is the drill. First night, after setting up camp, we separate into small groups and wander the town, spreading the word of our presence. Suzanne, Portia, and I have this down to a science. Portia has a sixth sense for knowing exactly when to move on to a new corner, Suzanne makes the exact same speech sound new and captivating every time she says it, and I''m the master navigator who keeps us from getting lost even in the biggest cities.

    Dimos is quite a big city, but it really doesn''t need as much of my expertise, since it''s built along the side of one mountain, and you can see where our camp is set up just by looking downhill.

    "My feet are killing me," Portia complains after the crowd has thinned out. "How much further up do we have to go? Can''t we move like, across the incline?" She''s a halfling, so she''s usually complaining about her shorter legs hurting by this time in the process.

    "Move laterally if you want, but I''m going all the way to the top," I say.

    Portia groans. "I forgot that was your plan. No way in hell am I following you all that way though, Cat."

    "It''s getting late, and we''re only about two thirds of the way up right now," Suzanne chimes in. "If you really want to go all the way to the top by sunset, we probably have to split off. I can handle fliers and the speech."

    I grasp her hand tight and look up deeply into her eyes. "Suzanne. You are my rock. My foundation. Without you I would be forever adrift on an endless sea. I am eternally in your debt."

    Suzanne titters gleefully at my exaggerated praise as I press my stack of paper into her arms, then take off on a run to continue my trek to the top of this city''s long slope. She''s right, it is getting late, and though we will be here for a full week, there won''t be a better opportunity for me to take off on my own in the evening than this first night.

    One of my strongest childhood memories is of when we last stopped in this city. I was around ten years old, and our troupe had been invited to play in the king''s castle, all the way at the top. On the other side of the mountain, the ground falls away sharply as an impossibly tall cliff. I remember looking out on the scene that stretched out beyond the ledge, impossibly vast and bathed in the pink light of the sunset, listening to the music swell behind me, and wishing I could stay in that place, in that moment, for all eternity.

    Now I''ve finally come back to the same place that so transfixed me as a child, and I feel compelled to relive that moment. But quiet, and alone. No crowds of people dancing and talking around me. No adults to impose a bedtime. Just me and the endless expanse of earth beyond the peak of Dimos.

    I try to remind myself of the serenity that awaits at the top as I trudge up the seemingly endless slope, breathing getting more and more ragged with each step.

    I thought singing was supposed to give you greater lung capacity? Sure doesn''t feel like it¡­

    The castle dominates much of the mountain''s peak, but there is some space to either side that civilians can access to see over the other side. I struggle up the last few steps to the public garden on the west side of the castle and am rewarded with a mostly flat expanse of grass and flowers, beautiful in the light of the rapidly lowering sun. Utterly out of breath, the back of my thighs burning like crazy, I traverse the last gentle slope -- downwards, thank god -- to lean against a short stone wall at the edge of the world.

    It''s exactly as I remember it. Endless. Vast. Picturesque. Only this time I am alone, steeped in a profound silence against which I can only hear my ragged breaths and the pounding of my ceaseless heart.  I close my eyes for a moment and breathe in as deeply as I can manage, centering myself, feeling the gentle wind caress my face and cool my overheated skin.  I get as close as I can, pressing myself against the safety wall, trying to make it look like there''s no ground beneath me at all, that I''m a single fixed point high above the earth.  I sink into a headspace of deep serenity and lose myself in the silent beauty of the earth.

    Then, from behind me, I hear the noise of someone clearing their throat, and I jump so hard I feel the world spin.

 Chapter 2

    Before I have the opportunity to fall forward over top of the wall that now seemed inadequately short for something that was supposed to stop people from tumbling down a thousand-foot cliff, I feel a cool, dry hand wrap around my forearm, and hear a low, even voice speak to me.

    ¡°Sorry, I didn''t mean to startle you."

    Once the ground feels steady under my feet again, I turn to look at the person who was both the cause of my near death experience and my savior from it.

    He''s tall, enough so that I have to look up a ways to meet his eyes, but for a male member of the serpent folk I''d say he''s about average.  Medium build.  Well-dressed but in an understated way.  Dignified, but not that old -- maybe in his thirties.  His scales are a dark gray with yellow markings, his snout is short, and the scales on the back of his head spike up a bit.  His eyes are a violent blood red.  They stare back at me, level and even, and I can immediately sense an aura of calm authority radiating from him.

    "Um.  No, it''s my fault. I should have noticed there was someone else here," I concede a bit sheepishly.  "I was in such a hurry and so out of breath, I just got a bit of tunnel vision, I guess."

    He lets go of my arm, an action that makes me realize he was still holding it.  I rub it absentmindedly.

    "What were you in such a rush for?" he asks, glancing in the direction in which I had been staring so raptly moments before.  "The mountains aren''t going anywhere.  Not anytime soon anyway."

    He doesn''t smile, but it''s abundantly clear he finds my actions amusing.  I don''t much care for being made fun of, not by strangers anyway.  My lips purse.

    "Well, the mountains might not be going anywhere, but I am," I inform him, trying to be polite but unable to keep a degree of defiance out of my tone.  "I''m only in town for a week, and I''ll be busy for most of it."

    The man blinks, and his forked tongue flicks out from between his lips.  If he''s bothered by my rude tone, it doesn''t show on his face.  "I see.  What brings you to Dimos, then?"

    This question causes the deeply ingrained urge to give our spiel to bubble out of me unbidden.  I rattle off the words I''ve spoken a thousand times in my life with a practiced smile.

    "I''m a member of a troupe of traveling musicians and actors, the Restless Warblers.  We''re in town for the next week, putting on a different show every night.  Tomorrow night is a concert with food and drink provided by local street vendors.  The music and dancing goes late into the night, and all are welcome."

    He cocks his head and stares at me long enough for my addressing-the-public smile to falter.  Then he finally breaks eye contact to gaze out over the painted vista.  "Yes, I''d heard there was a group that just arrived today.  I hope your time here is lucrative."

    The obvious lack of interest in his tone and manner really rubs me the wrong way.

    "Of course our time here will be lucrative," I say, unable to keep the testiness out of my voice.  "We''re amazing, and if you''re not interested, you should at least spread the word to anyone you know who does appreciate art and fun."

    He gives me a strange look that I can''t read, and smirks almost imperceptibly.

    "I suppose I shall," he says, then looks away again.

    I feel summarily dismissed, not to mention a little mocked, and it lights a small fire in me.  He doesn''t want to keep talking to me?  Good.  I''d be happy to take the opportunity to pretend he doesn''t exist.  I''m not here to talk to anyone anyway, I''m here to enjoy the majesty of nature and light.  I suck in a deep breath and turn away from him and towards the sunset, determined not to let his grating presence ruin this experience for me.

    The view is perfect.  The shadows are blue and purple and everything touched by the light is in pinks and oranges.  The landscape is all jagged peaks and deep canyons, stretching out over an impossible distance.  The earth seems barren, yet I know that even in the most improbable corners of this wasteland, there is life just beneath the surface.  It''s everything I remember and more.

    And I can''t enjoy it at all with this guy standing next to me.

    I keep sneaking glances at him, but he''s never looking back at me.  I might be unable to ignore him despite my best efforts, but he doesn''t seem to face the same problem.  He seems so at ease, which I envy greatly.

    The silence between us is making me so antsy.  I shuffle my feet as I try to reign in the urge to tell him to piss off and find his own lookout spot.  Because I can''t say that, can I?  I can''t tell someone who has technically done me no wrong to get out of my airspace.  If I don''t say something, though, the urge is just going to build until it bursts out of me like trapped steam.  So, I blurt out the first innocuous subject that comes to mind.

    "I came here once before, a long time ago," I say.  "We got to play in the castle that time.  I really fell in love with the scenery."

    I glance over.  He''s looking at me now, expression inscrutable, waiting for me to continue.

    "I''ve wanted to come back ever since," I go on,  "I''ve been all over the continent and seen a lot of beautiful places, but nothing has really called to me in the same way."

    He looks out into the distance, a faint smile playing across his lips and a far off look in his eye.

    "Yes," he says reverently, "I feel the same way.  In all the years I''ve lived here, I never tire of it.  I come here all the time when I need to think.  It never fails to clear my mind."Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Good, he said something that didn''t piss me off.  I can work with this.

    "Have you traveled much?" I ask.

    He chuckles lightly.  "You could say that."

    What, is he trying to be mysterious?  That''s back into the realm of annoying again.

    "I''ve never not been on the road," I say.  "I wouldn''t have it any other way, and my troupe is my family, but some places make me wish we could at least linger for a little while.  Tell me, as a Dimos native, what should I make sure to prioritize seeing before we leave?"

    He takes a long time before answering, taking deep breaths as he mulls it over.  "Honestly?  It doesn''t get much better than this.  Prioritize coming up here as often as possible."

    "Yeah¡­"  Maybe next time I would even be alone.  "I just wish that our campsite were closer to the summit.  We''re all the way back next to the east entrance of town. It was a long way up here and it''ll be a long way back, though thankfully I won''t have to go uphill the other way too."

    "You have to go all the way back across town?" he demands with some urgency.  "Are you serious?"

    "Well yeah, but it''s no big deal," I say dismissively.  "My whole life is walking long distances, and I have a great sense of direction."

    My answer doesn''t seem to please this guy.  His brow furrows deeply.

    "It''ll be dark the whole way back," he says as though I don''t know this already. "Dimos''s crime rate isn''t high, but it''s far from non-existent.  A woman walking alone at night¡­ You could get mugged, or worse."

    I scoff and try to cover it up by coughing, but it''s not really convincing.

    "Look, I''ve been out alone at night in way sketchier places than this and still have yet to be effectively mugged," I reassure him smugly.  "Don''t worry, I''m more than capable of taking care of myself."

    My reassurances aren''t convincing.  His brow furrows deeper still, and I can see his tail lashing sinuously behind him.

    "I''ll go fetch a carriage for you," he says in a definitive tone.

    "That''s really not--¡°

    "I insist," he interrupts with some force.  "Please wait here.  I will return shortly."

    And he turns and walks away without another word.

    I splutter uselessly at his receding back.  The reasonable part of me knows that this is a kind and gentlemanly gesture.  My wounded pride, however, is overpowering all reason, and I''m becoming more irate by the second.  He doesn''t think I can handle myself?  Well, he has no idea who I am and what I''m capable of, and I''m not fond of being underestimated.

    Rather than watching my beautiful sunset as planned, I am now pacing vigorously back and forth and mentally playing out arguments I would like to have with this stranger when he returns.  I''m also arguing with myself, because my reason has found its voice a little, and I''m recognizing that I can''t just tell him to fuck off and leave me alone, when, again, he hasn''t technically done anything to me.  I have to be nice.  I have to express gratitude, even, for this objectively generous offer.

    No matter how painful it is to do so.

    When he returns, the sun is gone and I have worn a path in the grass.  I try not to meet his eyes, because if I did, I''d be giving him a death glare.  It''s not suppressible.  He walks across the small park and holds out his arm for me to link it with mine.  I oblige, biting my tongue so hard I must be leaving teeth marks.  We walk to the carriage in silence before I take a deep breath and turn to face him and issue the remarks I have prepared in my head for this occasion.

    "Thank you," I say from between gritted teeth, "this is very kind of you.  I appreciate your concern for my well-being."

    I manage to get it out, but I was aiming for cordial and missed the mark by a long shot.  I don''t succeed in wrangling my expression into anything even remotely polite, either.  Since I look directly at him to address him, he''s getting the full brunt of the death glare.

    At my words, he makes a pained expression that it takes me a minute to realize is a rapidly failing attempt not to smile.  I feel my face heat up to unprecedented levels.  He has to break eye contact in order to get himself under control.

    "You''re quite welcome," he says.  "I couldn''t very well let you wander the dark streets alone."

    He holds a hand out to help me up into the open carriage seat, and I glare at it for a few seconds, then ultimately take it.  When I''m seated, he''s finally wrestled his smile into something that''s more polite rather than openly mocking.

    "You know, I think I will come to your concert tomorrow," he says, to my complete and utter shock.  "I''m finding it hard to imagine you expressing anything other than poorly-concealed hostility, and that''s something I''d like to witness for myself."

    My mouth opens and closes but no words come out.  The audacity¡­ I can''t believe that¡­ How dare he¡­!

    "By the way, I don''t believe I ever caught your name, Miss¡­?

    "Catarina," I say, voice dripping with venom.  "And yourself?"

    "Khysmet," he replies.  "Please to make your acquaintance, Miss Catarina.  I look forward to seeing you again soon."  He signals to the carriage driver, and suddenly he''s receding into the distance.

    Khysmet, Khysmet¡­ I mull the name over in my mind.  I''ve heard it before, I know it, but I can''t place it.  Someone politically important, a Veilsung lord or count, or maybe a general.  The name rattles around in my head the whole way back to the campsite.  It''s a long ride, actually.  Maybe I should be grateful I didn''t have to walk all this way.  That doesn''t stop me from stewing the whole way back, though.

    I stomp back into camp with a black cloud over my head.  Folks are gathered around scattered campfires, talking and laughing and singing.  I see Portia and Suzanne sitting outside our tent playing cards.  Portia waves as I approach, swaying a bit, clearly having gotten into the alcohol.

    "Cat, you- you have to come play and help me keep an eye on Suzie, ssshe keeps cheating," she slurs.

    "You''re back sooner than I thought you''d be," Suzanne says, ignoring Portia''s drunken accusation.  "I figure the stars would be out well before you could walk your way across the whole city, but there''s still light in the sky."

    "I met this asshole while I was out," I explain irritably "and he got me a ride back."

    Suzanne raises a quizzical eyebrow.  "Ah yes, nothing more asshole-ish than making sure you get across town safely after dark," she says dryly.

    "He was an asshole," I insist.  I don''t, however, have anything of substance to back up this claim, so I just scowl.  "I''m going to bed," I say tersely, and storm off toward our tent.

    It takes hours to get to sleep, partly because I would normally stay up late talking and laughing with everyone else.  But my mood is sour in a way that I don''t want to talk about it or even really think about it, so I just lay there with my jumbled up thoughts until finally slipping into a restless slumber.

 Chapter 3

    A halfway-decent night''s sleep seems to have cleared up my foul mood, and I rise eager to greet the day.

    The first night is always a concert and dance, and it''s my favorite show to put on.  In the plays we put on, I never have any speaking roles, having been deemed a piss poor actor by just about anyone who has ever borne witness to my awkward attempts.  Usually I help with props and effects, which is fun in its own way I suppose.

    But music is my heart and soul, my raison d''¨ºtre.  I can play every single instrument we have between us (admittedly with varying degrees of competency, but I can hold my own even on my worst ones).  I''ve had so many good teachers through the years and twenty-six years to do nothing but practice.

    My absolute favorite is our beautiful standing pedal harp.  It has a larger-than-average resonator box that gives its bass end a stunning richness.  It''s older than I am by more than forty years, and I keep it spotlessly clean.

    It''s not my harp per se, but it was donated to the Warblers by its previous owner Luca, a gruff and cantankerous old man who spent the better part of two decades begrudgingly teaching me how to play it and also how to restore any conceivable damage that may befall it.  He was a master of his craft -- still is, I assume, just not traveling with us anymore -- and I can only dream of one day attaining his level of skill.

    Luca went off to live in the hills of west Chavalia with the long-lost love of his young life last summer.  He seemed so happy when he met him again by chance in a tiny random town well off the beaten path.  He may have smiled more times that week than I''d ever seen in my whole life.

    I still can''t believe he left the harp, but I guess it''s hard to move without some extra hands and it needs a lot of space so that nothing would bump into it and damage it.

    This morning, I''m on setup duty, which I vastly prefer to going back out and working the streets to drum up interest.  It''s harder work to put up our stage pieces and larger instruments than to wander around playing my lute and singing, but I don''t care much for being the center of attention.  I mostly sing harmony and rarely have solos.  It''s more fun for me to weave myself into a grand tapestry of sound.  There''s something so profound about being both lost in the larger picture yet also forming the foundation without which the solos would sound empty and hollow.

    I''ve just finished helping three other Warblers move the piano into place and am considering going to help the street vendors set up when I see Portia and Jean approaching, waving toward where I''m sitting down to catch my breath.  I wave back.

    "We''re just coming back for some food and water before we head back out there," Jean says as he comes up to stand in front of me.

    "How''s it looking out on the street?" I ask.

    "Pretty damn good.  It seems like there''s a lot of interest."

    "According to Yuxuan, there''s even supposed to be a few high-profile guests that are coming," Portia adds excitedly.  "He said he canvassed up in the really nice part of town and got some seriously fancy-looking people to say they would drop by."

    "I hope they don''t expect there to be a separate area away from all the ''common folk'' so they won''t get their clothes dirty," I say, shooting her a dubious glance.  "I doubt anyone of status will stay for long in an outdoor lot that''s standing room only."

    Jean leans in conspiratorially.  "I heard a rumor that the king himself is going to make an appearance."

    That actually makes me laugh out loud.  "There''s no way that''s true.  Even if it is, I doubt he''d come without a bunch of guards, and that would really put a damper on a party."

    "Hey."  Jean holds up his hands and shrugs.  "It''s just a rumor I heard in town.  I can''t vouch for the credibility of the source."

    "Oh man, if there''s even half a chance the king might be in the audience, I need to make sure my nicest dress is clean," Portia says.  She walks off in the direction of our tent, presumably to ascertain the condition of her dress, and probably to wash it even if it isn''t dirty.

    I don''t believe the rumor for a second, but that doesn''t mean I won''t be double checking my skirts for stains before I change tonight.  Maybe I''ll put my hair up, too¡­  It couldn''t hurt.

    ******

    Jean was right -- there''s quite a crowd gathered by the time we''ve even started playing our first song.

    The sky is still light, but thanks to some scattered torches, the area will be well lit long after the sun goes down.  Ale and wine are flowing freely, and there''s no short supply of food courtesy of the street vendors.  I sampled some of their fare earlier during setup, and I must say, Dimos is not culturally lacking in the flavor department.  Veilsung in general has some of the best food I''ve ever tasted, and it certainly has the spiciest.

    Since the city''s population predominantly consists of serpent folk, who are obligate carnivores, there''s not much to speak of in the way of vegetables or even bread.  We managed to find at least one or two vendors that cater to a broader variety of diets, though.

    I sit in front of my harp, watching our director, Eliza, for the signal to get started with our opening song.  She climbs up onto her pedestal to address the crowd.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, old friends and friends we have yet to meet," she calls.  "Welcome to a night of music and revelry the likes of which you''ve never experienced before!  We have a long night ahead of us, so let''s not waste any more time, shall we?"

    With that simple introduction, she turns towards us and nods, and we start to play.

    Now, one of the nice things about having so many members in our troupe is, not everyone needs to play in every song.  During our shows, we take turns leaving the stage area and going into the crowd to start group dances and drum up some excitement when there seems to be a lull.  Our repertoire is extensive, and there''s a host of songs we can play without one instrument or another, and sometimes we hand off an instrument to another''s capable hands when the situation calls for it.

    When it''s my turn to walk out into the throng of revelers, my favorite thing is to find someone who is watching by the sidelines and pull them into a dance.  I''ve met so many interesting strangers this way.  Even the ones that start off stiff and uncertain usually loosen up and start talking, laughing, and generally having a good time by the time I leave them to head back up to the stage.  I also try to find a different partner for them before I go back, so that they might keep enjoying themselves after I''m gone.

    By the third time I leave the stage, night has fallen.  As I''m looking around by the light of the torches, I spot him, and my stomach sinks.  He''s staring straight at me, off to the side, but not far from the stage.  People are giving him a wide berth, and there''s a ring of muffled whispers and double-takes happening in the crowd just outside his bubble of empty space.  I see several flustered people giving him slight bows when they notice him standing nearby.

    Yesterday left a bad taste in my mouth, but I decide now to give him a second chance.  We got off on the wrong foot, but first impressions aren''t everything, right?

    "Khysmet," I call out to him and walk over to where he''s clearly been waiting for me.

    I figured he was someone of note by his dress and general demeanor, but it''s made abundantly clear by the number of people that flinch and stare when I call out his name.  I suppose I''m expected to call him "Lord Khysmet", or whatever honorific applies to him, but he didn''t tell me to, so¡­ I''ll correct my language if he tells me to, but until he does, I''m just going to keep using just the name he gave me.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Miss Catarina."  He nods politely at me.  "So nice to see you again."

    Is it nice?  I don''t know if that is the word I''d choose.

    "Welcome to the party," I say.  "Enjoying yourself yet?"

    I''ve been having a great day, and I''m determined to stay perfectly cordial throughout this encounter, no matter what he says to me.

    He grins at me with dubious sincerity.

    "Not yet, but I sense that''s about to change," he says vaguely.  "You know, I wouldn''t have believed it if I hadn''t seen it myself, but you do look genuinely happy onstage."

    My left eye twitches.  He''s testing my resolve early, but I''m not going to back down.  Maybe the next thing he says won''t be so horrible, and I can pretend he didn''t talk for the first twenty seconds of conversation.

    "Yes, well," I say, "what can I say?  I love what I do."

    "Care to dance?" he asks.  "I''m a bit rusty, but I''m sure you''ll make up for my deficits.  You seem quite good from what I''ve observed."

    I chuckle, a bit darkly.  "Oh, I''m not good at all, just very enthusiastic."

    I don''t necessarily want to dance with him, but I''d rather not refuse outright.

    "Do you mind a partner who doesn''t really know what she''s doing?" I ask, hoping he does.

    He grins.  "I don''t believe you''re as bad as you say.  And even if you are, I''ve been told I''m quite good at leading.  I should at least be able to steer you away from stepping on my feet."

    He holds out a hand.  I sigh internally.  I suppose there are worse fates.  Reluctantly, I take his hand, and he leads me a short ways away from the edge of the crowd.

    The bubble of measured, respectful distance follows us onto the dance floor, though a couple people are a bit too tipsy to notice Khysmet''s presence right away.  The song being played is upbeat, but a slower tempo, and he settles one hand on my waist while using the other to start guiding my steps.

    "You are pretty good at leading," I comment while being pulled back from a spin.

    "And you''re very enthusiastic," he responds, catching me when I''m coming in too hot on my return spin and bringing us back to the previous step sequence with seemingly no effort.

    I shoot him a reproachful look, trying to evaluate if that''s supposed to be sarcastic or not.  This time I''m going to say "not".

    "Your toes are still intact, aren''t they?" I say.  "Count yourself lucky."

    He smiles.  "True enough.  You know, I saw you switch instruments with four people just in the time that I''ve been here," he says.  "How many do you play?"

    "More than four, but not quite thirty."

    His eyebrows raise at that information.  "Really?  Impressive."

    "I have a lot of time to practice, is all."  Despite myself, I feel my cheeks warm at the slight praise.  "Are you much of a music lover, Khysmet?"

    "I''ve always considered it a bit frivolous," he admits.

    Somehow, I''m not surprised.  It''s something I''ve heard many times before, from many different people.  Enough times that I have a prepared response that I know by heart, one that I''ve workshopped over the years to amount to something I think really expresses how I feel about my work.

    "Most art is frivolous," I say.  "It only serves to make things more beautiful, or more interesting, doesn''t it?  But I''d rather die than live in a world that doesn''t appreciate beauty for its own sake, that doesn''t do things for the sheer joy of experiencing the full breadth of what life has to offer.  Wouldn''t you?"

    There''s a short pause before he answers.  He uses this time to spin me again, and again catch me on my somewhat clumsy return.  When he does answer, his words are measured and pensive.

    "Yes," he says, "I think I see what you mean."

    I hesitate for a moment before saying this.  It''s something I''ve been chewing on since last night, all through today.  But he''s been a good boy who hasn''t said anything rude since the start of our conversation, so I''ll throw him a bone.

    "I¡­ I apologize for yesterday," I say hesitantly.  "For getting angry that you called a carriage for me.  It was a longer way back here than I realized.  So really, thank you."

    After getting it out, I find that I do in fact mean it.  I hope that comes across in my words.

    "Not a problem," he says.  "After all, you couldn''t have known that I live here, and therefore know how far away different places are."

    His sarcasm is so polite and smooth it hardly registers as such, and that makes it so much worse.  My hackles rise and my face heats up, but I remember that I''m supposed to be apologizing here, so I keep my reply perfectly polite and reasonable.

    "I just don''t appreciate being underestimated, is all," I explain.  "I''ve been alone at night in more cities than you''ve ever visited in the first place.  It can get ugly, but trust me, I can hold my own."  I let some smugness leak into my expression.  "I''m not nearly as fragile as I look, you know."

    "No¡­" He pauses, flicking his tongue out while his red eyes trail slowly and deliberately down my body in a way that makes me glad I did decide to go with my best dress after all.  Then they slide back up to meet my gaze once more.  "I imagine you''re not."

    I blink vapidly.  Well, that was suggestive.  There''s a heat in his gaze that''s pinning me in place, and despite my general distaste for the man, it''s tugging on something low in my gut.  My face is on fire and I''m floundering to find something to say.  I''m just about to open my mouth in the hopes that something comes out when he suddenly yanks me flush against his body and spins me to the side.

    Through my confusion all I can think is, He smells nice.  Like bergamot and mahogany.  Then I look around and notice a couple dancing haphazardly a few inches away.  They must have almost just run into me in a drunken haze.

    They laugh and twirl until one of them looks up and the color drains from his scaled face.  He bows deeply and stutters an apology before dragging his giggling partner back into the crowd.

    I prise myself away from Khysmet''s side, still clutching his hand and shoulder as though we might keep dancing, even though we''re not even swaying anymore,  and give him an evaluating once-over.

    "Okay," I say, "who are you, really?  Everyone here clearly recognizes you, so you must be pretty widely known."

    He chuckles.  "It''s not important.  You''re leaving in a week, so what does it matter who I am?"

    I roll my eyes, not having the slightest patience for this.  "Yeah, I get it, you want to be mysterious and dramatic and everything, but no really, who are you?"

    He''s got that pained expression again, where he''s clearly trying to cover a smile that''s probably at my expense.  I''m on the verge of actually letting him have it when he gives in to my demanding glare.

    "Okay.  I''ll tell you who I am," he says.  "Just not until the next time I see you.  Then, I promise I will.  Is that acceptable?"

    My eyes narrow.  "Fine," I concede, rolling my eyes.  "I''ll allow you to be needlessly mysterious for tonight.  Obviously there''s not much I can do about it anyway."  I jab one finger into his chest sternly.  "You better come back to at least one other show, though.  If you try to pull that thing where you never see me again and I''m always left wondering, I''m not going to be happy."

    "Wouldn''t want that, would we?"

    I''m glaring at him and trying to project an aura of someone you shouldn''t mess with, and he''s staring back at me like there''s nothing in the world he enjoys more than messing with me.  Before I can attempt to issue a more concrete threat, he breaks eye contact with a sudden glance behind me.

    "Hmm.  I think you''re wanted back onstage."

    I jump and turn around to see that Eliza is in fact gesturing for those of us in the audience to make our way up front.  I drop Khysmet''s hand like a hot coal, and he releases his hold on my waist to graciously let me step away.

    "Um.  I have to go," I say, as though he wasn''t the one to point that out in the first place.

    "Of course."

    I give a slight, awkward curtsey.  "Thank you for the dance."

    "My pleasure.  See you again soon."

    I push this encounter out of my mind and get back to my position on the harp.  I''m focusing so hard on not thinking about it that I miss a couple cues.  I definitely don''t look for him the rest of the times I go into the audience, but if I did, I wouldn''t have seen him again anyways.  By the time the festivities are finally over, I''m not thinking about him so hard that I barely talk at all through preliminary cleanup.  For a reason I can''t begin to fathom, for the second night in a row sleep is impossible to come by.

 Chapter 4

    Day two is going to be a play, which is more annoying to set up because we have to get the stage ready.  It''s all in different segments, each of which is on wheels and has the set pieces stored in the hollow center.  They have to be linked together, and the set pieces have to be put together on top of them.

    They''re quite high.  Not a big fan of that.

    I''m working with Portia and Suzanne on stage left.  Luckily, they''ve agreed to let me stay on the ground and hand things up while they assemble the set, on the condition that I help Suzanne practice her lines for tonight.  I watch as Portia clambers up on top of some rickety-looking scaffolding completely unfazed.  I theorize that it''s because she''s already lower to the ground, so the same heights don''t seem as high to her.

    I hold up a copy of the script and read a line from the scene that Suzanne has asked me to go over.

    "Who amongst us has not taken some liberties in the retellings of our own tales?" I recite.

    Suzanne is in the zone even though she is also concentrating on hammering in pegs to connect two sides of a small staircase.

    "Some bending of the truth may be permitted in the pursuit of a good story, but you have twisted it so much as to be unrecognizable!" she says with great gusto.  "And to what end?  Has it made you more desirable in the eyes of your lover?  No, it has done nothing but poison your character in her eyes!  You''ve built a house of cards with your lies; why should you be surprised that it is crumbling around you?"

    "What do you know of truth and lies?" I read.  "Of me?  We''ve only just met.  Who are you to judge me?"

    "Who am I?  Who am I?  I am the one who¡­" she pauses to think.  "Line?"

    I read the line she''s supposed to say next from the script with significantly less dramatic inflection than she started it with.

    "I am Truth itself.  I am the one who sees all that is, as it is -- past, present, and future.  I am not the one who judges, but I can see the fated path to your judgement clear as your laughably transparent deceptions."

    "Damn," she curses. "I always get those first two ''I am'' statements switched.  Do you think they should be switched?  I kind of feel like they would sound better if I just switched them."

    "I mean, I doubt anyone in the audience would notice," I reason.  "I don''t think the plays we put on are as well-known in Veilsung.  They certainly have enough of their own stories and oral traditions that I''d never heard of at all before we crossed the border."

    "That''s true.  Remember that storyteller in the tavern back in Byrkhani?"

    "Yeah, I didn''t hear him tell a single tale that I already knew.  That creation myth he told about the caves in Veilsung?  I didn''t even know Veilsung had a huge network of caves before that."

    "Right?  There must be so many stories the rest of the world is missing out on!" she gushes, spacing out while she, I''m assuming, imagines the breadth of Veilsung''s unknown literature.  "We should try to recruit while we''re here.  I would love to help write some new plays based on Sungian mythology."

    "I wouldn''t mind a lizard or two on the team," Portia breaks in while climbing down the scaffolding.  "That thing they do with their tongues is kinda hot."

    Suzanne snorts.  "I didn''t know you had a thing for snake people, Portia."

    "Not specifically or anything, but I wouldn''t turn one down.  Do you know they have two penises?"

    "You''re joking," Suzanne scoffs, but she''s shooting Portia a look like she''s not sure whether or not to believe her.

    "Nope," Portia insists.  "Just like a regular snake.  Two."

    Suzanne puts down her hammer to address Portia''s claim more directly.  "Okay first off, there''s no way that''s true, and secondly what do you know about how many penises regular snakes have?"

    "I read things sometimes."

    "Things about snake penises.  Really."

    "Why is that so surprising?"This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    I listen to them bicker while handing up pieces of the backdrop, but before they can really get into it, I hear Jean''s voice call out from behind me.

    "Hey Cat!  Eliza was asking for you, I think she has something important to talk to you about."

    I wrack my brain for what it could possibly be about, but I''m coming up blank.

    "Thanks for letting me know, Jean.  I''ll head right over."

    I tell Suzanne and Portia that I''ll be back in a second, then make my way to Eliza''s caravan.

    It''s hot and stuffy inside when I get there, and it''s impossibly cluttered.  The total amount of clothing, books, knick-knacks, and other personal effects she has managed to accumulate seems to stay the same each time I come in here, yet the landscape is different every time.  She''s sitting behind her small, bolted-down desk looking over some parchments when I walk in, and she looks up at me when I step in and make the whole caravan shift and creak.  Her expression is unusually grave.

    "Uh oh," I say jokingly, "what kind of trouble am I in now?"

    She meets my eyes and says nothing, nor does her expression change.  My face falls.  Eliza is normally an overly cheery and expressive person, quick to engage and fire back at the most lackluster joke.  Whatever this is about, it must be bad.

    "Please, have a seat," she says, gesturing at the small empty chair before me.  Another bad sign.  She cleaned off the chair in anticipation of this conversation. I plunk down in it and wait for her to go on.

    "Cat, I''m going to be honest with you here.  The king of Veilsung has just made us an extremely generous offer.  He wants us to spend the next two years exclusively touring around Veilsung, and he will be bankrolling all our operations on top of what we already make from each town we visit."

    "Well that''s an exciting prospect," I say, perking up in my seat.  "I heard he was going to make an appearance last night.  He must have really liked what he heard."

    "Yes, well."  Eliza still looks uncomfortable.  "On top of that, after those two years are up, we get a large stipend to support us even after we move on from the country."

    "So I''m guessing there''s a downside of some kind?"

    I''m getting a little worried about why she called me in to talk about this, when I''ve never so much as touched anything related to our finances.

    "It''s not a downside per se.  Just¡­ a stipulation.  A very specific request."  She takes a deep breath.  "How would you feel about staying here in Dimos, working in the castle as a court minstrel?"

    I blink.  "Staying here¡­ for how long?"

    "The contract here is very specific on this."  Eliza picks up the parchment on the desk to check it.  "We are required to return to Dimos every six months over the course of two years, and at any of those points, you can choose to leave and rejoin us, but once you do, the troupe will no longer receive any additional financial support.  We aren''t required to pay back anything we have already been granted if and when you rejoin."

    I cock my head and consider the prospect.  I would miss traveling with the whole group, but even a little extra money would really take us a long way.  We''ve had plenty of lean years in the past, and being able to bank some in anticipation of that is always huge.  Even if I only agree to be stuck here for six months, it would have a significant impact.  I''m honestly struggling to see a downside, but there is one question that I''d like to know before I agree.

    "Who else got picked to stay?"

    Eliza takes a deep breath.  "It''s just you, Cat."

    I scoff.  That doesn''t make a lot of sense.  To a discerning ear, I can definitely be singled out as a very talented player, a cornerstone of our ensemble.  But most people notice the soloists and the ones who carry the primary melody.  I simply don''t stand out enough to have been the only one picked.

    "It''s a good choice," Eliza goes on when I don''t respond besides pulling a face.  "You definitely have the most range out of all of us.  I don''t know why you''re so surprised that someone noticed you''re good at what you do."

    My disbelieving look intensifies.

    She frowns and looks at the contract again.  "It''s a little odd how much he''s offered us in return for letting you go.  It''s not like we could stop you from going if you wanted to."

    "That is odd.  It''s like he anticipated that I wouldn''t agree to stay here without an incentive."

    Eliza heaves a pensive sigh.  "Well?  Thoughts?  Ready to leave the nest and start your solo career?"

    I chew on my lip.  So I''d be completely alone, surrounded by strangers, without a single person I know even remotely nearby.  Not to mention I''d be at the whims of a monarch I know nothing about.  Being a court minstrel would be entirely different from being on the road with the Warblers, in a way I don''t have the first clue about.

    "What''s the king like?" I ask.  "What do we know about him?"

    "I''ve never met him.  He sent a representative over with the contract, and the Sungian people aren''t very keen to share information on their nation''s politics to outsiders.  I don''t even know his name. You''d be going in blind."

    I hold my hand out and gesture for her to hand me the contract.  When she does, I glance over it quickly, looking for the numbers.  My eyes widen and my breath catches in my throat.  That''s a lot of money.  Way more than I''m worth, if I''m being honest, and I like to think I have a realistic estimation of my own talent.

    Then there''s no question about it, is there?  If I can ensure that my family is safe and well fed for the next decade¡­ There is no possible future where I choose to avoid the mere potential of unhappiness rather than take care of the people I love.

    "Okay," I say, resolute in my decision.  "Where do I sign?"

 Chapter 5

    My open-topped carriage trundles through the rapidly darkening streets of Dimos.  Maybe it''s because the horses are walking uphill instead of down this time, but it feels like it''s already been longer than the entire ride back to the campsite two nights ago, and we''re barely halfway there.

    I figured I would get to finish out the week of performances with my troupe before being called to the castle, but after we got the signed contract sent off, we received a reply almost immediately that I was to be picked up this evening.  I just barely had time to say goodbye to everyone.  Since they''ll be back in six months, it wasn''t that tearful of an affair.

    I tried as much as possible to give the impression that I''m excited for this change.  Suzanne saw through me, though.

    "Okay, what''s the worst thing that could happen?" she asked me.  "What are you most afraid of?"

    I laughed flatly, not meeting her eyes in the hopes that it might help mine stay dry.

    "I guess it would be that the king will be a complete asshole who makes my life miserable," I said.  "And that no one else in the castle will like me, so I won''t have anyone to talk to.  Those are the big ones."

    Suzanne took both my hands in hers to force me to look at her.  "Well there''s no possible way that your worst fears could happen, then, because you''re the friendliest person I know!  Even if the king is a dick, there''s no way you won''t have people to talk about it with."

    I''m playing her reassuring words over in my mind now as I fidget in my seat.  I don''t know how much longer I can sit still on this ride.  I stare at the back of the driver''s head and start to contemplate how to best strike up a conversation with him.  Whatever my near future is going to look like, there isn''t a doubt in my mind that I will need as many friends as I can get.  Plus, I''m so nervous I don''t know if I can just sit here silently any longer.

    I wait until the wheels stop as the driver brings the horses to a halt to let someone cross in front of the carriage.  Quickly, I get out of my seat and climb over to sit as close to the driver''s spot as I can manage. I take a deep breath and tap him on the shoulder.  He jumps and turns around to look at me with confusion.

    "Is there something wrong, Miss Catarina?" he asks.  He is smartly dressed, and short and squat with vivid green scales.  His words are clipped yet polite.

    "Hello."  I suck down my anxiety at potentially doing something rude here and put on my most amicable smile.  "I don''t believe I ever got your name, Mister¡­?"

    He looks at me like he''s not quite sure if I''m serious, but still answers my question.  "It''s Felix."

    "Lovely to meet you Mr. Felix."  I kick my smile up a few notches to what I''m hoping falls short of manic.  "Do you mind if I sit next to you?"

    I can practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he thinks of how best to say no.  Eventually, though, he moves over to make space and offers a hand to help me clamber over the back of the bench to sit beside him.  Once I''m seated comfortably, I commence the onslaught.

    "So Mr. Felix, how long have you worked at the castle?" I ask.

    He pauses long enough that I wonder whether or not he''s going to answer.

    "''Bout forty-five years now," he eventually replies.

    "Do you like your job?"

    He grunts noncommittally.  "I like it fine."

    I wait for him to elaborate on that point, but he doesn''t.  I plow forward and ask the primary question on my mind.

    "What''s the king like?"

    He sniffs.  "Good man.  Very reasonable."

    That''s not very descriptive, but it is a relief to hear.  It doesn''t give me a lot of room to ask as follow-up questions.  I move on to more conversational topics.

    "Your horses are beautiful.  What breed are they?"

    "Friesians."

    "They''re so calm.  And their gait is so elegant!  Nothing like the horses we keep to pull our caravans.  They''re more working breeds."

    I pause in case he wants to comment on that or ask me any questions.  He does not.

    "Is it hard to ride a horse when you have a tail?"

    He snorts, something that suggests the idea of a laugh without any accompanying change in expression.  "Not particularly, no."

    I can''t tell whether he''s laughing at me or just at the question, but I''m chalking it up as a win that I got any reaction out of him at all.

    I continue to pester him the whole way, saying any asinine thing that pops into my head.  Whether or not he''s annoyed by it, it''s impossible to tell.  His responses certainly don''t get any longer, though.

    When we pull up before the front entrance, he disembarks and walks around to offer me a hand down.  When my feet are safely on the ground, he pulls my bag and lute case off the carriage and sets them down next to me.

    "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Felix.  And for the company," I say to him as he climbs back into the driver''s seat.

    He looks back at me and bows his head slightly.  "My pleasure, Miss Catarina."  Then he flicks the reins slightly to get the horses going, presumably taking the carriage back to wherever it is usually kept.

    I''m beaming.  "My pleasure," he said.  Hopefully that means I made a good first impression.

    I turn around to find two servants standing behind me, one of whom is in the process of picking up my lute case and bag.

    "Oh, you don''t have to do that," I say, reaching to take them from her hands.  "I can carry them myself."

    "Begging your pardon, miss, but I''m just carrying out orders," she responds, keeping them out of my reach.  "It will be waiting in your room."

    I press my lips together and nod.  I''m not going to try to wrest them from her hands or anything.

    "Thank you for your help," I say.  She nods back to me and then heads inside, my worldly possessions in tow.

    I turn towards the other servant, who is smiling at me politely, waiting.  When we lock eyes, she gives me a little bow.

    "Welcome to the castle, Miss Catarina," she says in a chipper tone.  "His majesty is expecting you.  Please follow me."

    I follow her inside, more than a little confused.  I''m not sure what I expected to be met with when I arrived, but I certainly didn''t expect any sort of special treatment.  Especially not for the king to be waiting for my arrival.

    She''s setting a brisk pace, which is a little disappointing, since there''s so many beautiful tapestries and interesting objects mounted on the walls down the hallways we walk down, and I wish I could stop and observe them more closely.  The art in Veilsung is so stylistically distinctive and different from what I''ve seen before, and whatever is on display in the king''s castle must be some of the best art the country has to offer.  And this is only what''s in the hallways.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Well, I''m going to be here a while, so I suppose I can always come back later.

    "Excuse me," I say to the back of the woman I''m following.  "I don''t think I got your name."

    She flinches a bit and falters in her step, shooting an odd glance back at me, but she doesn''t stop.

    "My name is Sahresh, ma''am," she says.

    "Nice to meet you, Miss Sahresh.  Looking forward to working with you."

    She hesitates before replying to that.  "Yes, ma''am," is all she says when she does speak.

    So the carriage driver is Felix, and this tall servant with black and orange stripes is Sahresh.  There''s no way there won''t be many more names to learn¡­ maybe I should take notes.  So far it seems I may have a harder time making friends than I''d hoped, if the two people I''ve met so far are any indication.

    Sahresh comes to a stop in front of a beautiful oak door with subtle silver inlays.  She knocks before opening it, and gestures for me to walk inside.

    "Right this way, Miss Catarina."

    I take a deep breath and step through the doorway.

    The room I enter into is a spacious office, lushly decorated and lined with bookshelves.  There''s a sitting area near the entrance, and past it a couple chairs in front of a stately desk, behind which sits someone I recognize.  My face falls.

    When Khysmet looks up and sees me standing speechless before him, an indulgent smile spreads across his face.

    "Excellent," he purrs as he rises from his chair.  "I can see by the look on your face that you''re surprised to see me.  You know, I gave my staff, including the representative I sent to your camp, explicit orders not to mention my name, hoping your director had never heard it before.  Looks like it paid off."  He closes his eyes and breathes in and out deeply.  "I do love a good dramatic reveal."

    My shock ebbs as I process the meaning of this development.  So the person who will have total control over my life in accordance with his every whim¡­ is this asshole?  And even though he wasn''t too awful last night, this entire scenario plus his little opening speech here is definitely tipping the scales further towards "asshole" in my mind.  The numbers on that contract I signed suddenly seem much too small in light of this development.

    "Sorry for sending the carriage for you," he continues, sauntering around his desk and coming to stand not far in front of me.  "I know you would much rather have walked the whole way, but I thought it better to protect my new investment."

    I''m pretty sure the only reason he came to stand closer is so I would have to look up further to meet his eyes.  What a dick.  My irritation is mounting at an unprecedented rate.  I''m finding it impossible to think of a single thing to say that doesn''t involve cussing out my new patron.

    "What''s the matter?  Cat got your tongue?  I would have thought you''d be happy I kept my promise to reveal my identity at our next meeting."

    "I''m ecstatic," I say flatly, voice dripping in sarcasm.  "I was just lost in thought trying to figure out what I could have possibly done to deserve the pleasure of your patronage."

    He flicks his tongue and beams at my cold response.  "Don''t be so harsh on yourself, your talent and hard work have made you more than worthy of being a musician in my court."

    "I''m aware of that much," I say tetchily.  "I was speaking more in terms of karmic retribution.  As in, why you, of all people?"

    "Retribution?" he chuckles.  He''s getting more smug with every passing second, and I feel my anger rise in perfect tandem with it.  "This is more of a blessing than you know.  You''re lucky to find yourself in front of me tonight."

    "I suppose there''s worse fates.  I could be being eaten by a bear right now, for example.  Or dying of dysentery."

    "I''m glad you see it my way.  By the end of your stay here, you''ll be showering me with thanks for bringing you here."

    I''m on the verge of hyperventilating here.  My vision is starting to get dark around the edges.  Between these smug little remarks and the realization that I¡¯m going to be subjected to them constantly over the next six months at minimum, I can''t think of a time I''ve ever been more pissed off at any one person in my life.  I''m about to abandon any self control I have and let my anger take the wheels completely.

    Then I remember that this man is not only going to be irritating for the next six months, but he is also going to have complete control over every aspect of my life during this time.  He could kick me out into the street, or worse, keep me trapped here and make my life a living hell if he feels like it.  I have to do whatever I can to make sure he doesn''t feel like it.

    I have to learn to choke down every urge to talk back and to stifle every emotion I might have.  My safety is entirely dependent on that ability.  Maybe if I''m lucky, I can make myself so completely bland and uninteresting that he''ll forget I even exist most of the time.

    Sheer necessity helps me find a new center of calm and humility within myself.  I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and bow deeply.

    "Thank you for selecting me to serve you and your court," I say in a voice devoid of any malice or emotion.  "I look forward to the months I will spend working for you."

    When I straighten up and look him in the eyes again, I''m surprised to see that for the first time since I''ve met him, he looks displeased.  Maybe even disappointed.

    He straightens his posture so he''s standing at his full height, looking down his snout at me with a severe expression.  Suddenly, he seems broader and much more imposing.  His demeanor changes so abruptly it''s giving me whiplash, and I find I''m intimidated despite myself.

    "I''ll tell you now, I''m not going to tolerate such obvious lies," he says with absolute authority, though he doesn''t raise his voice at all.  "Not from you.  Not while you''re working for me.  You haven''t been dishonest with me yet, and if you want to stay in my good graces, I suggest you keep it that way."

    If he was rubbing me the wrong way before now, this is more like lacerating me with a cheese grater.  The implicit expectation that beyond a shadow of a doubt I will meekly do whatever he tells me to, his posture that seemed intimidating a second ago but which now reminds of a particularly strict school teacher threatening to smack me with a ruler if I speak out of turn¡­ My resolve snaps like a twig under his foot.

    "I honestly think you''re being a complete and total asshole," I snarl at him with the full force of my unfettered rage.

    I hear Sahresh gasp softly behind me, but I don''t care.  If she thinks less of me for openly insulting her king, so be it.  It had to be said.

    Khysmet, on the other hand, looks like I''ve just said exactly what he wanted to hear, if the shit-eating grin that splits his face is any indication.  His eyes rove over my face, bright red and contorted in defiance as it is, seeming to revel in my anger.  Then he proffers his hand for me to shake.

    "Welcome to my court, Miss Catarina," he says smoothly.  "I know you won''t disappoint me."

    I take his hand, gripping it with force to show him I''m not stepping down from whatever unspoken challenge he''s clearly issuing me here.

    "Don''t count on it, your majesty," I hiss.

    I try to drop my hand, but he holds fast to it.  Then he gives it a tug that throws me off balance and has me stumbling forward, almost crashing into him.  My other hand reaches out to catch myself and it finds his chest.

    I have to look up further than ever to meet his gaze.  His expression has softened, but his eyes are intense on mine, and his bergamot and mahogany scent washes over me in a flood.

    "For you," he says, his voice low, "just Khysmet is fine."

    I blink up at him wordlessly.  My anger from mere seconds before evaporates into thin air, replaced with confusion and something unidentifiable that pounds against the inside of my chest.  My brain fills with fog, but my senses feel heightened, and I''m suddenly aware of every inch of my skin, especially the points of contact between us.  His palm is so cool and dry, yet satiny smooth against my own, and his chest is firm and unyielding under the soft fabric of his shirt.  I find myself falling into something of a daze.

    Suddenly, his forked tongue flicks from between his lips, startling me a little due to my proximity to his face.  I''m more than a little embarrassed by the barely audible yip I make when I jump.  It''s obvious that he heard it.  I can feel his breathing deepen in response, his chest expanding further under my palm, and there''s a new glint in his eyes that looks almost¡­ hungry.

    We stay like this for what feels like a long moment, but probably only lasts a few seconds, the air around us frozen in a sort of limbo.  Then he shatters the silence abruptly.

    "Please escort Miss Catarina to her chambers," he calls out without breaking eye contact with me.  Presumably, he''s addressing Sahresh, who must still be standing near the door.

    "Of course, your majesty," she responds

    He makes no other move to dismiss me.  His hand stays in mine, his gaze locked onto me.  Eventually, I get the impression that he''s waiting for me to back off first.  I might be less willing to do so normally, but I''m hit with the sudden realization that I really don''t want to be here anymore.  Slowly, I back away, maintaining eye contact while he finally lets my hand slip out of his.

    Eventually, I''m the first to look away.  It definitely feels like a concession, but I realize that running into something I don''t see on my way out the door would be infinitely worse than just... looking away first.  I turn and face the waiting Sahresh, whose face is a tad pale after all that.  She bows deeply to Khysmet and then gestures for me to follow her once more, which I do promptly.  As I walk out the door, I refuse to look back.

 Chapter 6

    Sahresh is completely silent as she leads me to my room, and I am entirely unwilling to even attempt a conversation with her.

    I''m beyond embarrassed.  Knowing she was behind me the whole time watching that little¡­ exchange¡­  I can''t imagine what she must think of me.  I don''t even know what to think of me.

    Now that there''s some rapidly increasing distance between us, my anger at Khysmet is bubbling back up a bit, in sort of a dull ache.  That little move of pulling me off balance was annoyingly disarming.  I''m kicking myself for getting suckered in by it.  And what was with telling me not to use any honorifics for him?  That cannot possibly have been a genuine request.

    He was just toying with me that whole conversation, and I couldn''t do anything to stop it.  Whether or not he values my "honesty", I can''t just keep letting my emotions run away with me like that.  If he tries to get me riled up in front of any other people, I''ll just make an ass out of myself, like I did in front of Sahresh today.  My heart sinks as a vision of a future where I''m constantly shaming myself in front of every stranger I meet flashes through my mind.

    The wide hallways Sahresh is leading me down remain beautifully decorated, with fancy doors spaced far apart, promising spacious rooms behind them.  Occasionally, I see maids dusting various knick-knacks and ducking in and out of rooms with bedding and carts of cleaning supplies.  I''m anticipating at some point to be taken to the part of the castle that''s more narrow and plain, where the servants are lodged, but that point doesn''t come.  Instead, she pauses before one of the pretty carved doors and opens it for me.

    I hesitate before walking through, looking to her for verification, but she won''t meet my eyes.  I swallow thickly, then walk into a room far from what I was expecting.

    It''s modestly decorated, but spacious, with a large four-poster bed, several cabinets and bureaus, a stunning armoire, huge windows, and several comfortable-looking seats, one of which has my bag and lute case on it.  My heart leaps when I notice that based on the light of the setting sun streaming in through the windows, they face west.  Maybe I can watch the sun set every night, even.  I hope the view from here is nice.

    There''s another door in the wall opposite us that is open right now, and from what little I can see, it seems to be an en suite bathroom.  For some reason there''s even a small fireplace in the wall, despite the pervasive heat I know sticks around here even during winter.  I don''t think I''ve ever even been in a bedroom this big, let alone gotten to stay in one.  And I can count on one hand the times I''ve gotten to sleep in any room alone, completely sans roommate.

    I turn back to Sahresh, because I can''t not speak up about this.

    "I think there''s been a mistake?" I say tentatively.  "Shouldn''t I be in the servants'' quarters?"

    "No, ma''am, this is your room," she insists.  "His majesty''s orders were very clear.  Your attending maid will be in shortly to help you get settled."

    She bows and exits the room gracefully.  I hope that with time I can subvert this botched first impression and get her to like me.

    Left alone in this vast chamber, I start to unpack my bag, which now seems impossibly small for the amount of space available.  All my worldly possessions save for my lute take up about one and a half drawers in one of the massive bureaus.

    I look around at all the empty unused space.  I''ve never felt this¡­ small before.  Like my whole existence, the life I''ve lived, is not enough to fill up even a fraction of this room.  I know that''s not how it works, that my life is measured by so much more than the things that I own, but I can''t help but feel that in this new world I''m going to be living in, I''m not going to stack up.

    I open my lute case and stroke the wooden soundboard, the paint of the decorative flowers artfully rendered there by Portia years ago just starting to crack slightly.  I dearly wish I could have been able to have my harp sent here, but strictly speaking, it belongs to the troupe, not just to me.  This lute is the only instrument I actually own, purchased with my own money.  I hope I''ll be financially compensated enough here to purchase new ones.  Maybe I can even just convince Khysmet to buy some outright in the interest of musical diversity.

    A knock at the door pulls me out of my head.  I turn around to see a young Sungian woman coming in through the doorway with a bright smile on her face.

    She''s quite young.  I''m not great at judging the ages of serpent folk, but she can''t be any older than eighteen.  Her scales are a lovely coral pink with white running from her chin down the front of her neck, presumably all the way down her belly to the tip of her tail.  Her eyes are the striking blue of a clear sky.

    "Good evening Miss Catarina," she says, greeting me brightly with a sweet curtsey.  "I''m here to see if you need anything before bed tonight, and to take your measurements."  She holds out a cloth measuring tape.  "Could you please come stand in the center of the room?"

    "Oh, of course," I say, and quickly move to comply with her request.  She walks up and gestures for me to lift my arms, which I do.

    "It''s nice to meet you," I say while she wraps the tape around my waist.  "What''s your name?"

    She jumps a tiny bit at my question.  I''m seeing a trend with the folks who work at this castle.  For some reason they don''t seem to expect to be asked about themselves.  I start to worry a bit about how they''re treated by the nobles around here.

    "It''s Vizsla, ma''am," she answers shyly, a blush creeping into her face.  "Nice to meet you, too."

    I grin, cautiously optimistic.  Now this is a person that I might stand a chance of befriending.

    "Well Vizsla," I say, "Sahresh told me you''re going to be my attending maid.  What exactly does that mean?"This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    "It just means that I''m the one who''s been assigned to attend to your needs," she explains, reaching around to take my hip measurement.  "I''ll be helping you get ready in the morning, and keeping your room tidy, and fetching things for you, should you request anything."

    "Oh, I don''t think I''ll need much help getting ready in the morning.  I''ve been doing that for long enough that I''m sure I can handle it."

    She smiles and looks down bashfully.  "I''ll still come wake you up in the morning in case you find you do need help with anything.  Um, can you lift your arms up a little more?"

    She''s blushing violently and trying not to look at me when she reaches up to take my bust measurement.  Sungian women don''t have breasts, since they''re not mammals, so I imagine she''s extremely uncomfortable touching mine.  I keep talking and look elsewhere around the room so she doesn''t feel like I''m staring at her.

    "So what are you taking my measurements for?" I ask conversationally.

    "King Khysmet wants to have some new clothes made for you."

    "Of course he does," I mutter, more to myself than her.  "What''s so wrong with what I have now?"

    "Well you''ll be up in front of the entire royal court, all the nobles and ministers and civilians too.  I''m sure he just wants to make sure you look nice for that."

    I hum noncommittally.  My first guess is that it''s some weird power trip thing, but I suppose I''ll reserve my opinion until I see what he''s putting me in tomorrow.  I most certainly don''t want to insult their king in front of any more Sungians.

    "What do you think of King Khysmet?" I ask.  "As both a king and a boss, you know?  Does he treat his people well?"

    "Oh yes, he''s always been very kind to all of us on staff here," she says with a bright smile.  "And he''s quite generous to the average citizens that come to him asking for help.  I''ve seen him be very stern with his ministers and other nobles, though."  She finishes writing down the last number and returns the cloth tape to her pocket.  "Did you eat before you came here, ma''am?  I can fetch you something if you''re hungry."

    Ooh.  I can''t even imagine what decadent fare they eat here.  I didn''t even think to think about it before now.  I''m not hungry, but my mouth starts to water as I picture what I might get the chance to eat tomorrow.

    "Tragically, I did already have dinner," I admit with a sigh.  "Thanks for offering, though."

    "Of course, ma''am."  She curtseys slightly.  "Is there anything else I can get you?  If you would like a bath, I can show you which tincture to use that heats up the water instantly."

    I perk up instantly.  I clean myself regularly with a washcloth.  I''ve bathed in rivers and pools whenever I could.  I''ve soaked in many natural hot springs.  But I''ve hardly ever gotten to take a hot indoor bath alone, and the possibility of doing so regularly is the most exciting thing I''ve heard all day.

    "Please, please show me how to set up the bath!" I practically squeal.

    Vizsla takes me to the en suite bathroom, which features a toilet, a sink, and a sizable claw-footed tub, all with running water.  I had heard that Veilsung boasts some truly impressive waterways in their cities, but this is amazing.  I ask Vizsla how they work, but she says she doesn''t know, so I''ll have to find someone else to grill about how they have running water at the top of a mountain.

    She points to each bottle lining the shelves next to the bathtub and tells me what they do.  Some of them are potions for changing the water, like a liquid that heats it up, a tablet that makes it bubble violently, and a paste that over a short time clears the water of all soap, dirt, and oils.  Most of them are soaps, though, of various kinds and scents.  I''m admittedly unfamiliar with the purposes of some of them, having almost exclusively used bar soap to clean myself before now, and Vizsla is very patient about explaining how to use the different kinds.  I¡¯m surprised when she shows me some that are just for cleaning hair, since Sungians don¡¯t have any.  They must have been brought in just for me.

    "Thank you so much, Vizsla," I gush when I feel ready to hop in.  "I should be good for the rest of the night, so there''s no need to stick around or anything.

    "Of course, Miss Catarina.  If you do need me, there''s a little pull string along the wall near the bed.  Give it a tug, and I''ll come back as soon as I can."

    "Oh wait,¡± I say, ¡°there is one more thing I have to ask¡­"  I take a deep breath, then clasp my hands together and give her big pleading eyes.  "Please, could you just call me Cat?  Not ''Miss Catarina''?"

    She hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the request.

    "I- I don''t think I''m allowed to do that¡­ I would get in trouble for being disrespectful."

    "Please, Vizsla?"  I reach out desperately and take her hands in mine.  "I''m not some noblewoman who expects people to talk up to her all the time.  All this ''Miss Catarina'' stuff is freaking me the hell out.  I need at least one person here to call me Cat, or I''m going to go insane.  You don''t have to do it in front of anyone else, just behind closed doors, when it''s just us.  I''m begging you, please do this for me?"

    She shuffles her feet and makes a series of pained faces while she considers my request.  Eventually, though, she agrees.

    "Okay," she says slowly.  "Cat.  Is there anything else you need, Cat?"

    "Oh thank you, thank you so much!"  I fight the urge to hug her, since she''s already so uncomfortable.  Instead I just give her hands a firm squeeze before letting them go.  "I''m just going to take my bath and then head to bed.  I''ll see you in the morning?"

    She gives me the faintest, most tentative trace of a smile.

    "Yeah.  See you in the morning, Cat," she says, then leaves me to my bath.

    I spend over an hour in the tub, replaying the day''s events and trying out different soaps.  My fingers are wrinkled prunes by the time I get out.  When I finally do, I find an impossibly plush towel hanging up next to me, and also, when I exit the bathroom, a white, flowing nightgown set out on the bed.  It''s not mine, but it fits perfectly and is insanely comfortable.  I guess now it is mine?

    I shudder.  The thought of having my clothing picked out for me is deeply unsettling, for a reason I can''t quite pinpoint.  Something about taking away my agency?  What will I even be allowed to choose for myself in this place?

    Somewhere on the other side of town, the Warblers are finishing tonight''s play without me.  Mine was a bit part, easily covered by someone else.  I wonder who took it?  Even in our concerts from here on out, others will be able to take my parts.  The only thing they can''t replace right away is someone to play the harp.  Luca only ever taught me, and I never had a chance to pass on my knowledge.  I wonder what they''ll do with it?  Hopefully they''ll keep it around for when I return.

    The one thing I don''t think about is what will happen tomorrow.  I don''t even have the first clue about what it will be like, so why bother wondering, right?  Not thinking about it doesn''t necessarily mean I''m not worried about it, though.  My chest is tight with anticipation.

    I lay in the softest bed I''ve ever had the pleasure of occupying and stare into the darkness for a long time before finally being overtaken by a fitful sleep.

 Chapter 7

    Vizsla wakes me in the morning like she said she would, and I do end up needing her help to get ready.  Turns out some of the clothes that have shown up in my wardrobe overnight have corsetry that laces up in the back.  I¡¯m relieved to see that none of it is horribly ostentatious or excessively revealing as I¡¯d feared it might be.  Just a few quite elegant dresses, each of which is nicer than anything I¡¯ve ever worn in my life.  I pick one out and beg Vizsla not to lace me up too tight, a request that she generously grants.

    Once it''s on, I notice to my dismay that the neckline is a bit low for my tastes.  I''m not flashing anyone or anything, but it''s a far cry from modest.  A second glance around the wardrobe reveals that this is a common theme.  I wish I could make myself believe that this is not by design.

    Vizsla apologizes profusely for not having the first clue about how to do up my hair.  Fortunately, though, I know how to do some pretty fancy braids.  She watches my fingers with fascination.  I offer to show her how to do it when we have some free time, and she looks ecstatic.

    After I''m done being made presentable, I am led to breakfast.  I assumed that it would take place in a dining hall with many other members of the court, but once again I am led to a room where the only other occupant is Khysmet, save for a few attending servants standing on the edges of the room.

    At this point, I''m no longer surprised, just disappointed.  This man seems to revel in my discomfort, and I''m not looking forward to seeing the full extent of the lengths he will go to to engender it in me.

    At least it''s too early in the morning for me to get mad.  I''m still not fully awake, and strong emotions require more brainpower than I can muster right now.

    "Good morning, Miss Catarina," he greets me, flicking his tongue.  "Sleep well?"

    "More or less," I say, taking a seat at the large table that dominates much of the room.  It looks to seat about fourteen or so people.  Khysmet is at the head, and I pick a seat a few chairs down.

    "Please, help yourself," he says and gestures to the modest spread of breakfast foods that covers a good half of the tabletop.

    I take a plate and start piling it with a wide assortment of food, trying to choose an even split between dishes I recognize and those I''ve never seen before.  I''m inexorably drawn to the many strange and interesting dishes, but I need to take things I know I''ll actually eat, too, so I''m not starving all morning.

    "Normally I eat my breakfast alone," Khysmet says, "but I thought now might be a good time to address any questions or requests you might have before your first day here."

    I perk up at that.  He actually wants to help me out on my first day?  Not just leave me to flounder?  Unexpected, but I''m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, here.  I think for a second before replying.

    "I guess my first question would be, what is my day actually going to look like?  Obviously I''m going to be playing music, but, you know, when?  Where?  For how long?"

    "Well," he starts, "my daily routine is fairly straightforward.  For most of the morning, I make myself available to the public.  I sit in the great hall, and various people who seek my audience come in to make requests, alert me of situations in my kingdom, voice concerns, et cetera.  That lasts from after breakfast to about eleven.  I''d like you to provide some background music during that time.  Nothing obtrusive, instrumental only, but other than that, whatever you want to play.

    "At eleven, I have lunch, and between then and about one or two, I meet with my ministers, various nobles, and other leaders who come from across the country.  In the interest of national security, you are not permitted to listen in on those meetings, so feel free to run around and do whatever you want, within reason, for those hours.  Just make sure to be outside the meeting room waiting for me by one.

    "After I finish my administrative meetings, I have until seven to do whatever the hell I want, provided there aren''t any matters that I need to attend to.  Sometimes I may desire musical accompaniment.  Other times, I may not.  Just be waiting for me at one to find out.

    "Dinner starts at seven, and it''s open to any ministers and nobility that might want to partake.  The dining hall generally gets quite full.  I''d like you to play then, so make sure you eat before seven.  Take people''s requests, keep it lively, stick around until I tell you you can leave.

    "And that''s about it," he finishes.

    "That''s¡­ not so bad actually," I say ponderously.  I can''t help but think how strange it is that he gave me a straight answer.  "And this is every day?"

    "Every day except Sunday.  That''s my day off.  I''m thinking I might let you take Sundays off, too.  Don''t count on it every week, though."  He pauses and looks at me expectantly.  "Any questions?"

    "A couple¡­" I pause and twiddle my fork while I try to think of the best order to ask them in.  Eventually I decide to come right out with my most demanding one.  "I brought my lute, but that''s the only instrument I have.  Would I be able to-"

    "We have several instruments here for you," he interrupts.  "Some pianos that were only really decorative before and such.  If there''s anything you might want that we don''t already have, just let me know and I will have one sent here."

    "Oh," I say, pleasantly surprised.  "Thank you."

    I think I already know the answer to my next question, but I ask it anyway.  "Do you have any other musicians in your court right now?"

    "We have entertainment brought in during dinner here and there, but no one on retainer at the moment."  He smiles in a way I don''t trust.  "I have just recently acquired a strong desire to hear more music during my day."

    I don''t know exactly what he means by that, but I''m not going to ask.

    "I was also hoping I might be able to get some sheet music," I continue.  "I''m sure there''s a lot of music that''s well-known in Veilsung that I''ve never heard before.  I can only imagine that people will be making requests for songs I don''t know."

    "That''s a good point."  He waves over one of the servants at the edge of the room.

    "Could you send someone out to purchase sheet music?"  He looks back at me.  "Any specific requests?"

    "Anything and everything, please," I say to the attendant.  "I''d rather cast a wide net."

    She bows and leaves to carry out the request.

    Khysmet turns back to me.  "Anything else?"

    I stare at my now mostly empty plate.  Everything is delicious.  I can''t believe I''m going to get to eat like this all the time.  The schedule he''s laid out for me is perfectly reasonable, too.  It seems too good to be true.  And that leads me to my next question.  I fold my hands and look at Khysmet with extreme skepticism.

    "Why am I getting the star treatment here?" I demand.  "The new clothes, the fancy room, my own attending servant.  After last night, I was pretty sure you only brought me here to torment me.  But I''m being treated like royalty here, in very literal terms.  What''s your game here?"

    He grins at me with a sinister glint in his eyes and flicks his tongue.  "I brought you here for my entertainment," he explains.  "Sometimes that might involve tormenting you.  Most of the time, it will not."

    I heave a sigh.  Some torment is worse than none, but much better than constant.  And it at least sounds like I''ll have quite a bit of free time to get away from being his source of "entertainment".

    "So," I say tentatively, dreading the answer to this question, "during my off hours¡­ I can really do whatever I want?"

    He looks delighted that I asked.  "Just make sure you generally keep someone apprised of your location.  If I should seek your services and find you unable to be located, you''ll find my retribution to be unpleasant."

    Rarely have I heard a threat issued so cheerily.  I can''t help but roll my eyes.

    "I''d also like you to let me know directly if you want to leave the castle grounds."

    "Why?"

    "Just because."Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    I take a deep breath and rub my temples with my fingers.  It''s too early for me to deal with this.  I thank the gods that he¡¯s already told me he usually eats breakfast alone.  Maybe I¡¯ll get some time in the mornings to mentally prepare for my daily tribulations.

    I¡¯m out of questions and out of breakfast.  I look to Khysmet expectantly, in case he has any more information or instructions he¡¯d like to inflict upon me, but he¡¯s getting out of his chair, so this conversation must be over.

    ¡°Let¡¯s head to the great hall,¡± he says.  ¡°I have a surprise for you.¡±

    There¡¯s nothing that could instill more dread in me at this moment than that sentence coming from this person.  Nevertheless, having no other choice, I stand and follow him out of the room.

    ******

    The great hall is vast and well-lit by the morning sun streaming through massive stained glass windows.  It''s also well populated.  There''s a great number of people just milling about and talking.  I still have yet to really meet any other members of the court, so I''m excited that I may have the opportunity now.

    The excitement curdles into anxiety as the first few people who notice my presence stare openly and drop their voices to whisper amongst themselves.  It''s a pattern that continues as I follow Khysmet across the room.  I''m trying to reassure myself that they''re just surprised to see a human in the room, that it''s just the typical gossip and rubbernecking that follows a novel development.  But many of these glances are decidedly not friendly.  I feel eyes cutting into me from every angle, but I keep my head as high as I can and stick close behind Khysmet''s back.

    He leads me over to a spot close to the edge of the room, on the side opposite the windows, and gestures to something that makes me forget the watching eyes immediately.

    It''s a pedal harp.  Not just any harp either; my harp.  The one I was sure I wouldn''t see again for months.  I''d recognize it anywhere; all the scratches and other damages that have occurred and then been repaired over the years of travel and use form an intricate pattern on the wood that can''t possibly be replicated.  I run my fingers over them reverently.  If I close my eyes, I can pretend I''m still with my family, waiting onstage for the signal to start.

    "I bought it off your director when I found out it wasn''t already yours to take," Khysmet explains, interrupting my reverie. "Turns out, harps are an uncommon instrument in Veilsung, and it would take several weeks to have one delivered here."

    I look back at him.  He''s watching me expectantly, his expression soft.  I wonder if he knows the impact that this gesture has on me.

    "Thank you," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.  "The harp is easily my best instrument.  It''s hard to move, though, so you may still want to source another if you want me to play it in a different room."

    "Yes, well.  I certainly want you at your best, so I may just do that.  Anyway, go ahead and start now.  If you need to take small breaks, do so at your discretion.  I''ll be over there."  He gestures to a stately seat overlooking the room.  "When the clock chimes eleven, follow me and I''ll show you where I take my administrative meetings."

    I nod my assent and sit down to play as he walks toward the back of the room to go sit in his fancy chair and do monarch things.  Still not sure what that even means, but maybe I''ll find out while I''m here.

    Once again I feel the less-than-friendly attention of just about everybody in the room searing into my skin.  I''m used to having lots of eyes on me when I''m performing, but rarely have I had an audience this hostile.  I narrow my focus to only the strings in front of me, letting the background blur and fade.  With a deep breath in, I get my fingers into position, then pluck an elaborate arpeggio up and down the full length of the strings with a long, centering breath out.

    A hush falls over the room as the rich, layered tones reverberate through it.  It doesn''t last long, but the second of silence is unmistakable.  I smile.  Perfect.  I have their attention on my own terms now.  It may still be mostly hostile, but I can feel the air laced with at least a little bit of interest, of curiosity.  I''ll take what I can get.

    I launch into one of my favorite songs, aiming to keep the volume low enough to not be distracting while still being loud enough to be heard from the whole room.  It''s rather soothing to just play whatever I feel like, with no one else whose tempo I would have to match.  I can just space out and let my fingers dance across the strings of their own volition.  It''s so effortless that I even start to let my attention roam around the room, listening to conversations happening close enough or loud enough to be within earshot.

    The trio nearest to me are having some sort of scientific discussion about the uses for different parts of a local species of cactus.  They must be chemists, experts in the magical properties of substances and how to combine them to create potions with countless different effects.  If they''re part of the court, presumably receiving royal subsidies, they''re probably doing some cutting-edge research.  Sadly, I don''t understand a lick of what they''re talking about ¨C it''s mostly jargon.  I try to take a mental picture so I can remember what they look like.  I still want to know how we have running water at the top of a mountain, and they would be the people to ask.

    I let my attention roam a bit further out and hear two women discussing the fidelity, or lack thereof, of some high-ranking minister.  I smile to myself.  There''s no shortage of drama to be found anywhere, really, but especially not in a castle full of so many people who think themselves so important.  I certainly won''t want for entertainment here.

    Then an accusatory voice rises up over the general background din, ringing out clear as day.

    "I strongly object to this decision.  How could you bring an outsider into this court, where she may bear witness to the inner machinations of our country''s governance?  Once she is released from your employ, she will invariably go and sell all our secrets to the highest bidder!"

    I look to find the source of the voice, and see that it belongs to an elderly Sungian in elaborate robes planted firmly opposite the throne, upon which Khysmet is seated and looking rather unimpressed.

    "She''s not going to be bearing witness to anything of substance," Khysmet responds dryly.  "Everything that occurs in this room each morning is a matter of public record.  And we have entertainment brought in during dinner regularly, yet I''ve never heard you complain about that before."

    I can''t see my accuser''s face, but I can see him shaking with rage.

    "You''re a fool if you can''t see what a poor decision you''re making here.  Your new little pet," he spits the word out with force, "is nothing more than a rat you''re letting loose in our larder."

    Ouch.  My fingers falter for a second, but I don''t stop playing.  I can''t possibly pretend I''m not listening, but I certainly want to avoid showing weakness so publicly.

    I watch as Khysmet straightens up in his seat and glares at this man, exuding cold authority.

    "Your objection has been noted," he says in a tone of grave and absolute finality.  "I don''t particularly care to hear any further opinions on the matter.  Is that all?"

    The robed man harrumphs and turns on his heel, and I snap my head back around in front of me as fast as I can in the hopes he doesn''t see I was watching the exchange.  I don''t particularly care to see the hatred in his eyes, which I''m sure are hurling daggers at the side of my head right now.

    As grating as Khysmet''s sovereign voice is, it''s satisfying to hear him use it against someone else.  I have a feeling calling me a pet is an accurate description of my position here, given that the only person that seems to want me here is Khysmet, and he essentially purchased me on a whim just for his "entertainment".  At least my "master" has a vested interest in defending me.  I can only hope that doesn''t make me even more of a target¡­

    Most of the conversation in the room has turned to me after that little spectacle, so I play some more technically challenging pieces in order to keep my mind more occupied.  It helps.

    Hours pass, and I''m zoned out completely, so much so that a hand that touches my shoulder makes me jump about twenty feet in the air.  I whip my head around in a panic, but it''s just Khysmet standing next to me, looking down at me calmly.  He gestures with his head toward the door.

    "It''s eleven," he says simply.  "Come with me."

    I get up and follow obediently, eager to leave this room full of judgmental stares.

    "I quite liked that, actually," Khysmet muses while I fall into step beside him.  "The music helped me think, more so than I thought it would."

    I shoot him a puzzling glance.

    "Isn''t that the reason you invited me here?"

    Before I can really react, he reaches out a hand and pats me on the head as one might do to a lapdog.

    "Of course it is," he says in a placating tone.

    My blood simmers, and I move to swat him away, but he pulls away before I can make contact.

    "I was thinking," he continues as though nothing happened, "this afternoon might be a good opportunity for you to familiarize yourself with the layout of the castle.  If you need a guide," he grins ominously, "I would be happy to offer my services."

    I try not to grimace at that prospect and fail miserably.

    "I''m sure you have much better things to do with your time than to play tour guide for me all afternoon," I say, praying that it is true.

    "I assure you," he insists, "I do not."

    Ugh.  I flounder for another excuse.

    "Well," I say, "wouldn''t it be better for me to start right now, rather than wait for two or three hours for you to finish with your meetings?  I''m sure I can find someone to show me around."

    He hums and shrugs, flicking his tongue.  "I suppose so.  Sad that I won''t be enjoying the pleasure of your company this afternoon, but I''ll survive."

    I can''t imagine my company would be all that pleasurable if I were to be forced to endure his for such a long period of time, but I don''t contradict him.  We soon arrive in a small sitting area at the juncture of three hallways, a large door set into the fourth wall.

    "This is where I''d like you to wait for me in the afternoon.  Today that''s not necessary, but most days it will be.  I''ll endeavor to let you know in advance when it is not.  Your room is not far down that way," he says and points down one of the hallways.  "I trust that by the time seven rolls around, you will have found your way to the dining hall.  Bring your lute, since we don''t have anything set up for you there.  Don''t forget to eat."

    The command in his tone is so irritating, and I can''t repress the urge to be petulant.

    "Yes, your majesty," I mutter sarcastically and do a little mock bow.

    He smiles warmly and pats me on the head again.  This time when I move to swat him away, he lets me.

    "See you at seven," he says, and leaves me alone in the room.

 Chapter 8

    To my utter delight, when I go back to my room, I find Vizsla there putting up new towels.  I excitedly beg her to take me on a tour of the castle, and it seems that as my attending servant, my requests supersede her other duties.  She''s more than happy to show me around.

    The castle is large and sprawling, but not too hard to navigate where the main rooms are concerned.  I''ll definitely be wanting to spend a lot of my free time exploring some of the more winding and convoluted offshoot hallways, though.  Such an old castle must have a host of secret passageways to find.

    Vizsla shows me the way to the main foyer, out to the stables, around dining rooms of various sizes, through two libraries, briefly into some ceremonial chambers, and down some hallways lined with the rooms of various nobles, including Khysmet''s, which I hope I never need to remember how to locate.  But most importantly of all, she shows me how to get to the kitchens.

    The royal kitchen is huge and bustling, the air swirling with a cacophony of the most delectable scents I''ve ever had the pleasure of smelling.  I know right away that I''ll be spending a lot of my time here, provided I can manage to avoid being underfoot.  The last thing I want is to bump into someone and get the contents of one of those burning pots and pans spilled all over me.

    The cooks turn out to be extremely friendly, too.  Despite my coming right at the end of lunch, and their being busy with cleanup, they are more than happy to scrounge up something for me to eat.  They''re not particularly polite, either, which I find to be extremely refreshing after spending all day overhearing people badmouth me in the most tactful ways possible.  I ask as many of their names as I can, planning to go back to my room and add them to a notebook that I started last night.

    Not long after the end of my tour, a young man approaches me with arms full of sheet music.  I thank him and drag Vizsla with me back to my room so I can look it over.

    "There''s so many," I mutter while perusing the massive stack I''ve been handed.  "I''m excited to have so many options, but I''d really like to pick out some of the most well-known songs to start with.  Vizsla, could you help me out?

    Vizsla has returned to working on the tasks that I interrupted earlier, but she happily puts them on hold again to help me pick out songs.

    "For Want of the Moon is a pretty well-known folk song," she says, picking some pages out of the stack to hand to me.  "Snake with a Thousand Tongues is popular, too.  Oh!  Beneath the Tomei River is one of my favorites!"

    "Then you must sing it for me!" I command with a power stance and dramatic flourish, then pick a fancy lick across the strings of my lute.

    She emits a flurry of laughter so nervous I would call it panicked and shakes her head vehemently.

    "Not a chance, Cat.  I barely sing when I''m alone.  There''s no way I''m singing in front of anyone else."

    "Well how else am I supposed to know how it goes?"  I throw up my hands in exaggerated exasperation.

    "You have the music right in front of you!"

    "What makes you think I know how to read this?"

    The look she shoots me is positively withering, so I make a placating gesture and back off.

    "Okay, okay.  But I''m going to be sight reading here, so I might get some things wrong.  If you hear me make any mistakes, feel free to correct me."

    Sight reading is one of my more developed skills, but I of course still make mistakes.  I make sure to add some extra ones in, though, and make the same ones over and over to try and goad her into singing.

    Eventually, she can''t help but correct my egregious errors.  She is a lovely soprano, and while she''s not always perfectly on key, her voice is absolutely haunting.  Before long I have her laughing and dancing a little as she goes about her chores.  She teaches me some other songs she knows, too, ones that I''m not sure I have in my stack of sheet music, and I''m having a lot of fun ad libbing some accompaniment.

    "I have to go back and report to Mr. Marahk," Vizsla says a bit sadly when she finishes up.  "It''s getting close to dinner time, so you should head for the kitchen and get something to eat."

    I groan and flop face-first onto the freshly made bed.

    "Vizsla," I lament, "I don''t want to go get glared at by a bunch of aristocratic wet blankets who hate my guts because I don''t have a tail."

    She looks at me with pity and tentatively pats me on the back.

    "It''ll be okay," she soothes.  "Give it time ¨C they''ll come around to you eventually."

    I sigh deeply.  "I sure hope so.  I''ve got enough to worry about with his majesty trying to think of as many ways as possible to piss me off."

    Her hand pauses.  Right away, I''m kicking myself for speaking ill of her king, but when she speaks again, she doesn''t sound angry or tense.

    "King Khysmet is not a cruel man, Cat.  He might tease a bit, but he''s not going to let anything happen to you."

    "I¡­ I believe you," I concede, though I''m still not completely sure I do.  I sit up and heave a sigh.  "I just wish he didn''t get off so much on telling people what to do."

    Vizsla blushes furiously at my comment, whether at its content or just at my sustained anger at Khysmet, I''m not sure.

    "What do you mean?" she asks with genuine curiosity.  "He''s always been very kind to me, and to everyone who works here.  I''ve never gotten the sense that he¡­ that he likes giving orders all that much."

    She doesn''t see it then?  I know it''s not just me, but I''m not going to contradict her now.

    "It must just be my imagination," I say.  "Anyway, I''d better go eat."  I grab my lute and head for the door.  "Wish me luck!"

    ******This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    I show up, lute in hand, to the dining hall at seven, as instructed, and it¡¯s already rather packed.  The many tables across the very spacious room are overflowing with the most amazingly delicious food and drink ¨C I know it¡¯s amazingly delicious because I was just in the kitchen snagging some before it went out.  And around all the delicious food sits the dozens of aristocratic wet blankets that I am going to have to talk to tonight.

    Immediately, I run into the same problem as I did this morning.  Everyone next to the door when I walk in looks at me like I am a piece of moldy cheese.  The disgust pours off of them in waves.  It¡¯s palpable in the air, and I can already feel myself starting to choke on it.  Though I have mixed feelings about the man, I find myself searching desperately for Khysmet amidst the crowd.  He might be an asshole, but at least he doesn¡¯t seem to viscerally and unilaterally hate me.

    I spot him easily at a long, elevated table that spans most of the wall on the far side of the room.  He¡¯s staring straight at me, holding a wine glass in hand and waiting for me to meet his eye.  When I do, he gestures with a slight tilt of his head to the empty seat to his left.  An invitation that I am more than happy to take him up on.  I try to walk at a natural and normal pace, not meeting anyone¡¯s disgusted glares, focusing on the empty chair that is my goal.  Walking around the back of Khysmet¡¯s long table is the worst part, since most of the people there are old and well-dressed, which I¡¯m pretty sure means they¡¯re high ranking snobs like the guy who complained about me in the great hall.  The hatred here is thicker than anywhere else.

    When I sit down, though, Khysmet at least greets me warmly, seemingly indifferent to the vitriol radiating off of his nearby advisors.  I note that he has pulled my chair closer to his own than to its neighbor on the other side.

    ¡°How was your tour this afternoon?¡± he asks.

    ¡°It was nice," I reply somewhat hesitantly.  "I had Vizsla show me around.¡±

    ¡°Sad I missed out on it," he laments.  "Oh well, I¡¯ll have plenty of opportunities to spend afternoons in your company during the coming months.  Did you get the sheet music you wanted?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I did," I say.  "There¡¯s definitely a lot of it to sift through.  I''ll have my work cut out for me trying to memorize as much as I can.  I''ve practiced a couple songs already, after we finished the tour.¡±

    ¡°Well," he says with an encouraging gesture, "let¡¯s hear it, then.¡±

    I scoff.  ¡°You sure?  I might have picked up the melodies, but I guarantee I¡¯m going to butcher the lyrics.¡±

    ¡°I am dying to hear your renditions, Miss Catarina," he purrs.

    I squint at him.  I can''t tell if he''s being sarcastic or not.  Even if he isn''t¡­ I glance around the room for a second.  I don''t think that anyone here wants any additional reminder that I even exist.  I know that this is the reason that I''m here, but I can''t help but hesitate at the thought of bringing more hostile attention upon myself.

    "Don''t pay attention to anyone else," Khysmet commands authoritatively, drawing my eyes back to him.  "Only look at me.  I don''t care if there''s somebody out there that doesn''t want to hear it.  I want to hear you play for me."

    My face heats up a bit at his words.  Part of me is mentally deriding him for how egocentric that demand is.  The other part is grateful for the encouragement I so desperately needed.  Both parts are flushing under the intensity of his gaze.  I sigh and shrug.

    "Okay," I concede, "but you have to correct me when I get the words wrong."

    "I can do that."

    I launch into the intro to Beneath the Tomei River ¨C since Vizsla loves it so much, we went over it a few more times than most of the others, so I figure I''m less likely to embarrass myself with it.  Khysmet smiles and eats, quietly listening to my rendition of a Veilsung classic.  Sometimes he makes gentle corrections to my half-remembered lyrics.  He does not sing, though.  I wonder what his singing voice is like, and if I could ever possibly convince him to let me hear it like I did with Vizsla.  Somehow I doubt it.

    He has me play a couple other songs I learned today, but I remember even less of those lyrics, so he soon asks me to play some of my favorite songs for him, a request that I readily fulfill, happy to slip into my comfort zone a little.  He asks me questions about the pieces I play for him, where they came from and what some of the more vague lyrics mean.  He''s being unusually kind, possibly sensing my unease and taking pity on me.  It''s odd, but I don''t mind.

    Twice during my performance, the long table shakes, causing all the plates and glasses to clatter with the vibrations from an advisor slamming his hands on the table and storming off.  I falter in my playing, but I try to follow Khysmet''s advice (choosing to think of it as advice rather than the command it actually was) and just keep focusing on him.  It helps.

    Khysmet does not stay at dinner for very long.  Maybe half an hour, max.  When he gets up and motions for me to come with, the dining hall is still nearly full.  I imagine that dinners can run pretty late, with free-flowing alcohol and so many people to talk to.  It probably gets pretty rowdy later on.  I''m glad we leave before then.

    When we''re alone in the hallway outside the dining hall doors, he makes a suggestion.

    "I might," he says, "have you abstain from performing at dinner after all.  At least until the unrest at your presence has died down.  Should some of the more outspoken members of my court have a bit too much to drink, you may find yourself a target of their¡­ unpleasantness."

    I sigh and rub my arms self-consciously, grateful that he''s giving me a pass for the near future.

    "You really think it will die down?" I ask.

    He nods reassuringly.  "I know it will.  You may never be the most popular person in the castle, but most people don''t hate your presence so much as they''re just interested in salacious rumors."

    I hum and bite my lip.  Salacious rumors, huh?  I guess that makes sense.

    "Allow me to walk you to your room," Khysmet insists, and I nod and walk with him.  "I don''t think it''s entirely necessary, but I''d like to have a guard tasked with watching you when I''m not available.  I''d rather not take any chances."

    "What makes you think a guard will have any warmer regard for me than anyone in your court?" I ask.

    He snorts.  "I do get regular reports from my serving staff, Miss Catarina.  According to my butler, Marahk, you seem to already be ingratiating yourself to just about everyone who works here.  Even my driver likes you, and he''s as taciturn as they come.  I''ll be selective about the guard I assign to you, but I have no doubt you''ll be on their good side within a day or two."

    The corners of my mouth twitch up.  Felix does like me?  That''s wonderful to hear.  I wasn''t sure if I just pissed him off with all my chatter.

    Khysmet stops outside my door and watches me as I open it.

    "You know, it''s still rather early to be going to bed," he says.  "If you want some company, I''d be happy to offer mine."

    I flush a deep red at the suggestion, deeper with how closely he''s watching my reaction.

    "No, I think I''d just like to take an extremely long bath, then head to bed.  It''s been a long day."

    He hums and flicks his tongue out.  "I wouldn''t mind a bath, too.  You sure you don''t want company?

    My mouth goes dry.  "Positive."

    He shrugs.  "Just thought I''d offer.  You should come try my bathtub sometime, though.  It''s much bigger.  Goodnight, Miss Catarina."

    "G- Goodnight."

    I duck through my door so fast I almost slam it.

    Every hair on my body is standing on end.  What the hell was that?  Sure we¡¯ve had about seven total seconds of sexual tension between us, but isn¡¯t inviting me to bathe with him a bit much?  It takes a long time for my hackles to lower after that one.  I keep thinking about it so much that I can''t enjoy my own bath and have to cut it short.  He was so kind to me during dinner that it started to raise my estimation of him a little bit, but evidently he''s right back to fucking with me when it suits him.  It''s giving me whiplash.

    This first day wasn''t so horrible, aside from being viscerally hated for a few hours, but I can''t help but think that part of the reason it was okay was just because I didn''t have to deal with Khysmet that much.  Unfortunately, I''m not going to get that lucky every day.  I sigh as I think about it.  I have a lot of headaches to look forward to during the next six months.

 Chapter 9

    My first few weeks consist mostly of just getting into the rhythm of my new schedule.

    I don''t expect to be called back to breakfast after the first time, since Khysmet had said he usually eats alone.  However, I only eat breakfast in my room with Vizsla once before being called back the next morning, and every subsequent morning thereafter.

    It''s unfortunate, because I''m hardly at my best behavior first thing in the morning.  But I start to get the sense that the more I lower my filter, the less effort Khysmet puts into being irritating.  When I make that connection, I drop my filter so hard it bounces.  Instead of trying to hold my thoughts in and not being able to control when they explode out, I just tell him when I think he''s being a dick, and he seems to appreciate my candidness.

    A little too much, if I''m being honest.  He seems more pleased when I tell him what I really think of him than when I attempt to tolerate his antics.  Every unkind word earns me a very genuine, if self-satisfied smile.  Whenever he moves to pat me on the head again, he¡¯s ecstatic when I try in vain to slap his hand away.  And he absolutely revels in my sarcasm.  It¡¯s a bit mystifying, but there¡¯s a level of comfort in the feeling that I don¡¯t have to hold anything back.

    The flirting confuses and flusters me, moreso at first.  It isn¡¯t very frequent, just every once in a while, right when I start to get comfortable.  He never makes any sort of move and hardly ever even touches me; he¡¯ll just say something suggestive that makes my skin prickle, wait a second to gauge my reaction, then move on like nothing happened.  I¡¯ve become convinced that he only does it to watch me squirm.  I¡¯d love to stop giving him the satisfaction, but not squirming under his penetrating gaze proves difficult.  It¡¯s the only aspect of his teasing I can¡¯t really get used to.

    The times he asks me to accompany him in the afternoon are not as horrendous as I''d thought they''d be, especially as his presence becomes more tolerable.  Often, he wants to go to the library, where there''s a beautiful grand piano for me to play.  The windows there, which span multiple floors full of bookshelves, provide a breathtaking view straight over the cliff the castle sits on.  I can just noodle around on the piano and stare off into the distance while he reads and occasionally talks to me about the novel he¡¯s picked that day.

    A couple times he has me bring my lute and accompany him on walks through the expansive royal gardens.  They¡¯re breathtakingly beautiful, but man, am I miserable under the heat of the sun here.  The clothes I have been given are almost invariably made of a nice, cool cotton, but breathable fabric only takes you so far.  I mention my discomfort to him once, and the next day for breakfast, I get led into the garden for a picnic under the much cooler morning sun.  It¡¯s a little too intimate, which has me on edge the whole time, but it is fun.

    Sometimes he even has other plans ¨C either administrative matters that require more attention, his wanting to practice his swordsmanship with members of the castle guard, or whatever else might strike his fancy ¨C and he doesn''t need my services at all.  On those days, I get to wander the castle and work on my efforts to make as many friends as possible.  I''m filling my notebook of people''s names up at a steady clip, and I spend about half an hour before bed each night studying it.

    Most of the attending servants are very receptive to my friendly advances.  Many of them are quite young, and they are invariably kind and curious ¨C curious about me, and also about everything going on in the castle.  There''s no shortage of thirst for salacious rumors among them, but I don''t find the same sinister overtones in their questions as what I overhear from the court nobles in the great hall every morning.  For many of them it takes only a little persuading to get them to call me Cat, and they talk to me happily whenever they see me in the halls.

    The stable hands are exceedingly friendly ¨C too much so.  They''re loud and boisterous, and quite funny, but they flirt with me incessantly.  The guard Khysmet assigned to me is on edge every second I spend in their company.  For his sake more than anything else, I don''t make a habit of visiting the stables often.  I don''t think he''s been instructed to stop me from going anywhere, but I have a feeling Khysmet might not be happy with him "letting" me hang out there.

    Most of the guards don¡¯t talk to me very much.  They are extremely tight-lipped when they¡¯re on duty.  I can only imagine that they speak more amongst themselves in their barracks and other places in the castle that they use for breaks, but I have a distinct sense that I¡¯m not welcome in those areas, so I avoid them.  I still try to learn their names, though, and I ask how they¡¯re doing even though I don¡¯t typically get much more than a word or two in response.

    The kitchen is where I feel I am truly among my people.  The energy there makes me feel like I''m back with the Warblers.  They''re chatty while they work, and I bear witness to many little good-natured squabbles between them that are quite entertaining to listen to.  The head chef is a stern but fair woman named Lorna who doesn''t take anyone''s shit, and I love her from the moment she hands me a freshly baked pastry and tells me to piss off and stop bothering her staff.

    I even manage to start a conversation with two of the court chemists when I happen to encounter them on their way into a room I didn''t know was their lab.  They''re reticent at first, but once I express interest in what they''re working on, they open up quick.  I''m excited to have a chance to get to know some of the smartest scientists in the country.  I can''t tell if they like me yet, but both of them are positively jazzed to have someone asking questions about their work.

    No one of noble blood has said a word to me yet.  I find it hard to be disappointed by that.

    I¡¯m also trying to befriend the guard appointed to watch over me.  He¡¯s rather young ¨C I''d guess about twenty, give or take a few years.  His name is Rhys, and he obstinately refuses to call me Cat.  Nothing I say will sway him.

    He seems rather skittish in general, and it''s odd to me that Khysmet would have picked such a nervous person to watch over me.  Somehow I get the sense that it''s not because Khysmet lacks confidence in his abilities, though.  Whenever I move too close, he flinches and scurries away with surprising alacrity.  It almost seems like he''s scared of me, but I can''t fathom why.

    Not until I mention it to Khysmet one morning, anyway.

    "Oh, he''s not scared of you," he says, waving my concern away with a dismissive hand.  "If anything, he''s scared of me.  I told him if he touched you, I''d have the tips of his fingers removed."

    "You¡­ you what?" I splutter, physically recoiling in shock and disbelief.  "You can''t-  I mean-  You wouldn''t really do that, would you?  Is that something you''ve done to people?"

    He chuckles at my energetic response.  "No, it isn''t," he admits.  "I can''t say I''ve ever given an order to maim someone who works under me."

    "Well, does Rhys know that?" I demand loudly, not finding the situation very funny at all.  When he doesn''t answer, I rip a piece off of my toast and throw it at him, but that only serves to turn his subdued chuckle into a full laugh.

    "Okay, look," he says with a placating gesture, "not only does Rhys know that I''m not going to hurt him, that''s also not what I actually said to him."

    I ready another piece of toast, and it''s satisfying when he flinches and holds his hands up to deflect the projectile before I''ve even thrown it, though his laughter doesn''t stop in the slightest.

    "I did order him not to touch you," he concedes, "but I didn''t threaten him.  I promise you."

    I reluctantly stand down and lower my throwing arm.

    "Well, you better hope you didn''t."

    After that I don''t try so hard to befriend Rhys, since the last thing I want to do is get him in trouble.  I make sure to telegraph more clearly when I''m moving in his direction so he can back off more discreetly, and it''s not long before he''s much less nervous in my presence.

    My mornings in the great hall are still fairly disheartening.  After around a month and a half, the jabs at me have died down somewhat, but I still hear them every day.  I will say though, that other topics of conversation do start to take precedence.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    I overhear so much from my spot beside the west wall.  For one, I get to witness all the interactions that Khysmet has with the members of the public that come to see him.

    He is shockingly kind to his people.  When he speaks to those who come representing their towns to plead for his assistance, he never mocks or belittles them, never rejects them out of hand without first listening to their full stories.  More often than not, he agrees to help quite readily, though he is pragmatic about the amount of aid the kingdom is able to provide.  Not once do I even hear him say an unkind word about them after they leave, not even about the truly odd ones, like those who come to read aloud the dreadful poetry they have written in his honor.  His advisors mock them regularly, but Khysmet unflaggingly shuts that down.

    When it comes to the members of his court, however, he is not always so kind.  I don''t yet have the context for much of the political talk that passes between him and his ministers, advisors, lords, et cetera, but Khysmet is quick to tell them when he disagrees with or is displeased by them.  And there''s a lot of conversations that seem innocuous to me at first, but then Khysmet shuts them down hard, and I wonder each time if there was some sort of underhanded double-speak happening that I just didn''t recognize as such.  I hope that given time, I''ll be more attuned to what''s really being said.  Khysmet seems to navigate these conversations with ease, or at the very least with confidence, and I find I''m impressed despite myself.

    Watching these interactions only convinces me more that he gets off on telling people what to do, though.

    I do notice a marked difference between the way he interacts with other people and the way he talks to me.  His public face is very calm, very above-it-all.  Very kingly, I suppose you could say.  His general demeanor holds a lot of authority in and of itself, and he is treated with a great deal of respect by just about everybody.  I don''t see many people directly contradict him ¨C even when his advisors express differing opinions, they sort of talk around it so it doesn''t seem like they''re saying "no" in as many words.

    With me on the other hand, he''s much more animated.  I don''t think I even once see him have more than a reserved two-second chuckle in front of his advisors, but I personally witness him full-on cackle on multiple occasions.  His movements are looser, his face more expressive ¨C even the way he talks is more relaxed.  He affects what I would call a sort of boyish charm, if he was directing it at someone else.  As it is, I would call it an obnoxious series of tribulations inflicted upon me with an irritating level of enthusiasm.  But he does seem genuinely happy.

    I wonder if there¡¯s anyone else that he lowers his guard around, someone I just haven¡¯t met yet.  It really doesn¡¯t seem like it though.  Given all the time I spend with Khysmet each day, I think I¡¯d at least have run into them incidentally at some point.

    I wonder if he was lonely before he brought me here.

    The hardest part for me to get used to might be the lack of agency I have over my choices.  With the Warblers, it¡¯s not like I was making all the decisions or anything.  I was told what to do pretty frequently, in fact, and I didn¡¯t mind it whatsoever.  Maybe the reason I didn¡¯t mind was because the things I was told to do were generally perfectly reasonable.  Also, I almost always had the ability to say no, even though I didn¡¯t exercise it very frequently.

    Here, when I¡¯m told what to do, there¡¯s not often a rhyme or reason to what I have to do and why I have to do it.  When I ask, Khysmet often gives the maddeningly opaque reasoning of ¡°Just Because¡±.  The most egregious example of this happens at breakfast one day, the first time I tell him I want to go out into the city for a day with a couple people from the kitchens.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± I ask, taken aback.  ¡°What do you mean no?¡±

    ¡°I mean no, you can¡¯t go,¡± Khysmet says simply, as though stating an obvious fact rather than saying something ridiculous.

    ¡°Well why the hell not?¡± I demand.

    He shrugs.  ¡°It¡¯s dangerous.¡±

    ¡°The fuck do you mean ¡®It¡¯s dangerous¡¯, we¡¯ll be in broad daylight the whole time!¡±

    He cocks his head like he¡¯s carefully considering the logic of my argument, and not just thinking of more ways to torture me like I know he is.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he says, ¡°But I¡¯m coming with you.¡±

    I scoff.  Is he serious?

    ¡°No way,¡± I say.  ¡°You¡¯d make my friends nervous hovering around the whole time, and they wouldn¡¯t have any fun.  It defeats the whole purpose if you come.¡±

    He shrugs.  ¡°Then I guess you can¡¯t go.¡±

    I slam my hands down on the table and stand out of my chair.

    ¡°This is ridiculous!¡± I snap at him.  ¡°I¡¯m not asking for permission, I¡¯m informing you of what I¡¯m doing regardless of what you want.¡±

    He smirks and leans back in his chair, steepling his hands.  He looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes, exuding smugness from every pore.

    ¡°I think we both know that¡¯s not true.¡±

    I blink.

    I¡¯m going to kill him.

    He watches with apparent glee, flicking his tongue as I stand there, hands on the table, murder in my eyes, shaking with anger and the exertion of holding myself back from picking up a plate and breaking it over his head.  And then I realize that this is exactly what he wants.

    Well I¡¯m not going to give it to him anymore.  I close my eyes and take deep breaths.  I sit down.  I put my hands in my lap.  Then I go back to eating and don¡¯t even look in his direction.

    ¡°How badly do you want to go?¡± he asks, trying to reel me back in.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No?  No what?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to beg to go outside like a four-year-old,¡± I say.  ¡°I refuse.¡±

    He hums thoughtfully and leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll let you go¡­¡± he says, ¡°if you tell me exactly where you¡¯re going and promise to be back at least an hour before dark.  And you have to take Rhys with you.¡±

    I close my eyes.  My left eyebrow twitches.  I suck my lips in between my teeth and bite.  I tap my fingers on the table, slow at first but building to a frantic speed.  I take in a deep breath through my nose.  And I tell him.

    ¡°Good girl,¡± he praises.  ¡°Now was that so hard?¡±

    ¡°Someday I am going to smash a plate over your head,¡± I inform him.

    ¡°I look forward to the day that you try.¡±

    Upon later reflection, it¡¯s clear to me that he was going to let me go anyway.  If he really didn¡¯t want me going, there¡¯s no way he would have lost so much ground, going from a full ¡°no¡± all the way down to ¡°just tell me where you¡¯re going¡±.  He just wanted to see how much he could get away with telling me what to do.

    This is a common theme with Khysmet.  Because he gets off on it.  I can¡¯t figure out why no one seems to see that but me.

    It¡¯s a common trend among the whole castle staff.  No one will say a single thing against Khysmet.  They have a lot to say about just about every other member of the court, but never him.  Whenever I kvetch about the trials and tribulations he puts me through every day, I am always, without exception, gently but firmly corrected.  It¡¯s maddening.  I become generally popular with most of the staff, but I think complaining about him sets me back with a few people.

    I actually come to gain a sort of significant status amongst the staff, filling a crucial role that earns me points with pretty much everyone in every section of the whole castle.  I become an information broker.

    Listening to people in the great hall every morning has put me in a unique position wherein I hear a positively insane amount of gossip.  The things that people will talk about in a crowded room amaze me to no end.  What''s more, they will often come stand next to me and speak very low when they want not to be overheard.  I suppose they figure the sound of the harp will drown them out to everyone else in the room.  Unfortunately for them, I have an uncommonly good ear.

    I bear witness to so many personal arguments, private confessions, and other secret exchanges on a daily basis that I start to have a near encyclopedic knowledge of everything that''s going on within castle walls.  And I am very generous with distributing this information.  Members of the castle staff start coming to me just to ask what''s new, and to check things they''ve heard against my knowledge base.  When it comes to salacious rumors, I am the last word on truth and integrity in this place.  I don''t ever make shit up.  I don''t have to; the royal court is chock full of drama, and it''s all spoon-fed to me every single day.

    I take my role very seriously.  I keep my ears open constantly and try to tune in to as many conversations as I can, casting a wide net as it were, so I stand the best chance of hearing something new and otherwise unknown.  I can''t hear everything, but I don''t miss much.

    This is how, one day, sitting as usual at my harp along the west wall, I end up hearing something exceptionally strange, far beyond the typical run-of-the-mill gossip.  Something that I immediately know I can''t tell anyone.

 Chapter 10

    "You told me you''d put my cut in the drawer," comes a harsh whisper from a few feet away.  "Well, I looked all through the damn desk, and I didn''t see a thing."

    I perk up immediately.  Now this sounds interesting.  I listen as closely as possible, making sure not to betray my interest in any way physically, keeping my body relaxed and expression vacant.

    "Maybe you just didn''t look hard enough," replies a second voice, slow and sinister.  "I put it there myself.  I don''t believe I appreciate what you''re insinuating here¡­"

    "I''m not," the first man walks back, "insinuating anything, all right?  I just¡­ didn''t see it the first time.  I looked for the false bottom in the third drawer, and there was nothing."

    "Did you press the button under the desktop?"

    Silence.  Then,

    "No.  I didn''t."

    More silence, for longer this time.  I can picture the second man''s expression in my mind''s eye with perfect clarity, even though I have no idea what he looks like.

    The first speaks up again.

    "I didn''t know-"

    "Shut up," the second interrupts coldly.  "And think twice before you speak to me in public again."

    For the whole conversation, I kept my head facing forward, not letting on that I even noticed they were there.  But when I hear two sets of footsteps walking away, I risk a glance.

    Luckily, they''re both looking around the rest of the room for eavesdroppers, not behind them.  Because of all the time I''ve spent listening in on every conversation every morning, I recognize one of them immediately by the brown saddle markings on his scales ¨C he''s a high ranking financial minister named Sulfeng.  Sulfeng isn''t particularly outspoken compared to other ministers, and he tends to go along with popular opinion in the conversations I''ve listened in on.  Somehow I''m not surprised to learn he''s committing some kind of fraud.

    The other man is someone I don''t recognize, but I take note of his appearance: black with thin white stripes running vertically down his back and his limbs.  It shouldn''t be terribly hard to find out his name if I ask the right people.

    And, I think eagerly, I know exactly who to ask.

    This brief clandestine conversation has gotten me exceptionally excited.  Political intrigue?  Embezzlement?  Secret drawers full of illicitly acquired cash?  It''s making my heart pound.  I have to go investigate.  I can''t just tell someone what I heard, of course ¨C the only person of political consequence who would even listen to me is Khysmet, and I doubt he would take it seriously without some actual proof of wrongdoing.  But I have no intention of letting this go.

    So, I figure I better go get some actual proof.

    The second I hear the bells toll eleven, I run up to ask Khysmet if he wants my company after his meetings today.

    "Well," he says, looking a tad surprised to see me coming at him so animated, "I was thinking of spending my afternoon in the library, so yes."

    "Would it be okay if I meet you there?" I ask.  "I might be a little late, but I''ll get there as soon as I can."

    He cocks an eyebrow at me quizzically.

    "Got some urgent matters to attend to, do you?"

    I narrow my eyes defiantly.  "You say that like I couldn''t possibly, but believe it or not, I do."

    His smile is that of someone indulging a child''s fantasies, and I resist the urge to stomp my foot and pout so as not to complete the image.

    "Very well then," he says.  "See to your urgent matters and meet me in the library when you''re done.  I''ll allow it this time."

    "Oh I''m so eternally grateful to receive your permission, your grace," I say and curtsey deeply.  "Please continue to shower me in your favor, I beseech you."

    I''ve been getting more elaborate with my sarcasm over the weeks.

    ¡°Have fun,¡± he says, and pats me on the head.

    I don''t move to stop him anymore.  No matter how hard I try, I always just end up embarrassing myself, so better to just let him do it.

    I tell him I''ll see him later and run off to start my inquisition.

    ******

    I only have to talk to two attending servants to find out that black-with-white-stripes guy is a scribe named Rolf who works in the financial sector copying records for analysis and distribution.  Triangulating the location of the desk they spoke of is going to be a bit trickier, though.

    I reason it must be one of Sulfeng''s desks, either in his office or his bedroom, because I can¡¯t imagine he would put ill-gotten funds in a desk for public use lest it be discovered by accident.  It''s unlikely that it''s in Rolf''s desk if he didn''t know how to open the false bottom in the drawer.  I can''t rule out the possibility, since he might have been given a desk by his superior or something, but I also don''t think a superior would give him a fancy desk with an elaborate mechanism in the first place.  So, it¡¯s either in Sulfeng''s office or his bedroom. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Problem is, I have no idea where either of those are.

    I need to be discreet about how I go about finding this information.  The attending servants have exceptionally loose lips, and if anyone finds out I''m snooping around, it could easily get back to Sulfeng.

    I start by asking where the financial offices are, figuring that''s innocuous enough.  Thankfully, today is Wednesday, the day of the week that Khysmet meets with the finance ministers.  Plus, it''s lunch time, meaning that most people will be out finding food.  There''s only one scribe eating at his desk when I walk in.

    "Hello," I greet him brightly when I walk in.  I figure it would look more suspicious if I don''t.

    "Oh¡­ hello Miss Catarina," he says.  "Is there something you need?"

    I¡¯m not surprised he knows who I am, but I wish he didn¡¯t.  It highlights the fact that my being an obviously different race from everyone else in the castle puts me at a disadvantage if I want to sneak around.

    "I was just exploring the castle," I reply with as much nonchalance as I can.  "Most of the time I stay away from this area, since it''s usually full of people.  I noticed it''s pretty empty today, though."

    I wander around the room, pretending to look around aimlessly.  The scribe keeps an eye on me but doesn¡¯t question my presence further.

    It''s fairly clear which desks belong to the ministers, since they''re much bigger and on a raised platform, easily seen from the rest of the room.  I hop onto the platform and immediately know the desk I''m looking for isn''t here.  Not a single one of these desks has a third drawer, just very large second ones.  It has to be the one in Sulfeng''s room.  I thank the gods that I don''t have to hang around feeling for hidden buttons in front of this scribe who''s watching me intently as I try not to look like I''m snooping for anything specific.  I hop down away from the ministers'' desks and keep walking around the room like I¡¯m really just interested in checking out the whole place.

    When I start touching things on random scribes'' desks, he all but begs me to leave, a request I''m happy to comply with, apologizing for bothering him on my way out.

    Next, I find someone and ask who Sulfeng''s attending servant is, saying I have something I just have to tell her and implying that it''s extremely juicy gossip.  I''m happy to find that it''s someone I get along with, a young woman named Cevine.  I''m over the moon when I''m told that she''s in Sulfeng''s room right now, and I get pointed in the exact right direction.

    "Cevine!" I call out when I see her leaving a room with a cart of cleaning supplies.

    "Oh hey, Cat," she greets me, cheery as can be.  "What''s up?"

    "I was just looking for you," I say.  "Are you busy cleaning Sulfeng''s room?  Should I come back later?"

    "No, I just finished up."

    I cheer ecstatically in my head, make a mental note of which door she just came out of, then offer to walk with her on her way back to put the cart away.  I follow her around for about twenty minutes or so, telling her some tidbit of gossip I haven''t spread around yet.  I pray that she doesn''t ask me why I wanted to tell it to her specifically.  She doesn''t.  Once we''re far away enough from Sulfeng''s room and there''s a suitable spot to end the conversation, I say goodbye to her and retrace my steps.

    It''s almost two by this point, so Khysmet''s meeting with the ministers of finance are definitely over ¨C or at least they will be soon.  Sulfeng could very well be back in his room at this point.  It''s more likely he''ll be in his office, though.  I hope.

    I knock on his door, loud enough that if he''s inside he''ll definitely hear it, then duck around the corner into a different hallway.  After a couple minutes without the sound of an opening door or someone asking "who''s there", I go back to his door, open it myself, and slip inside.

    The layout of this room is more or less the same as my own, and the desk is plainly in view right upon entering the room.  Guess what?  Three drawers.

    I walk over and kneel down to look under the desktop, feeling around for a button.  And there it is, plain as day under my fingertips.  A quick click, and there''s the sound of something moving on one of the drawers.  The third one, in fact.

    I open it.  There''s the money, plain as day.  Mission accomplished.  I close the false bottom again, and move to make my exit.

    Then it occurs to me that if the money is still there, Rolf hasn''t come to pick it up.  The second this thought flashes through my mind, I hear a knock on the door.

    I look around the room frantically.  Should I hide in the wardrobe?  Or under the bed?  I go for the bed, even though it''s a bit further away ¨C no creaky doors.

    The bed is plenty high up off the floor ¨C perfect for me to scuttle underneath it ¨C and there''s a skirt around the mattress that hides me from sight completely.  By the time I hear the door open, all the fabric I moved on my way here has settled down.

    "Did you press the button under the thing?" Rolf mutters to himself in a viciously mocking tone as he walks into the room.  "Of course I didn''t press the fucking button you cranky old lizard.  Nobody told me about a fucking button.  Nobody tells me shit."

    I hear him jostling the desk, feeling around for the button and cursing more and more with each passing second that he can''t find it.  It takes a while.  Eventually, though, I hear the little click, and he cheers in triumph.

    There''s the clinking sound of coins.  I imagine he''s counting it out to make sure it''s all there.

    Minutes tick by, and I get impatient very quickly.  Isn''t he with the finance sector?  He should be faster at counting money than this.

    Eventually though, he seems satisfied.  He opens the door and walks out, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until the door closes all the way and I can''t hear them anymore.

    I peek out from under the bed just barely, trying to move the fabric as little as possible.  I don''t see any feet.  Exhaling a tense sigh of relief, I come out from under the bed and all but sprint to the door.

    I open it as quietly as I can and peer out into the hallway.  I don''t see Rolf, but I do see someone much worse.

    Sulfeng himself is walking down toward me at the far end of the hall.  He''s a long way down, but he could easily see me if I were to come out of his room.  I feel sweat bead on my forehead.  Has he already noticed his own door opening?

    I look more closely and notice that he''s reading from something while he walks, presumably some sort of paperwork.  He''s not looking up.  I''m not completely fucked yet, but I have to act fast.

    I make a break for it, ducking around the nearby corner as fast as I can without making noise, letting the door close on its own behind me so that by the time it makes a sound, I won''t be visible to Sulfeng.

    I stay perfectly still and listen.  The door closes.  Footsteps are still approaching.  They don''t get faster or slower, which I take to be a good sign.  I wonder if I should walk around the corner nonchalantly, hoping he sees me coming from somewhere other than his room and decides I couldn''t have been in there.  It would probably be better to save that tactic for in case I see someone come down the currently empty hallway that I''m in right now, though.

    His footsteps are regular the whole way down.  At the last second, it occurs to me that he might not even be going to his room, and I panic.  It only lasts a moment though, as I immediately hear his door open and shut before I have the slightest chance to do something stupid.

    Deep breaths.  In.  Out.  Walk at a normal speed toward the library.  I turn to an imaginary audience and bow.

    We pulled it off, folks.