《The Serpent King》


 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.