I'm still a bit too chi to try pying at dinner. The prospect of a lot of drunk nobles shing out at me is still one I'm not too keen on, even though in defereo my new role as castle narc, drunk people are more likely to bb about their illicit activities. I'll have to think of another way to initiate iions with the ministers and nobility.

  My first idea is to wahe castle with my lute, waiting to enter someone of some political standing so I strike up a versation with them, my musical services as pretext. It would be a great way to practice getting talked down to without shing out, while not being subject troup of people who hate me all at the same time.

  This has mixed results. On one hand, I get talked down to a lot. About one hundred pert of the time, actually.

  Oher hand, the versations aren't very long. They only st as long as it takes for the person to give me a very disparaging "no", then walk away. This isn't much use if I o practice my ability to suppress my emotions over time. I'm getting nowhere with this tactic.

  I’m ying on a cou some drawing room pining about this to Vizs one day, watched by the ever-present Rhys standing in the er, and she suggests something I hadn’t thought of.

  “Why not just py in the main dining hall at lunch?” she says.

  I break my staring match with the ceiling and look at her quizzically.

  “I didn’t know the main dining hall gets any use at lunch,” I say. “Don’t most people eat at different times in their rooms or offices, or in the smaller dining rooms?”

  “A lot of people do, yes, but a modest spread gets put out in the dining hall every day, and a det amount of people take their lunch there. Not nearly as many pared to dinner, and they e and go between eleven and two.”

  I’m fairly certain it’s around three-thirty now, so it’s too te to try today. Khysmet had something to do that took him out of the castle this afternoon, so I’m on my own for the rest of the afternoon and evening. If I want to pn it tomorrow, I should spend the rest of my time today making sure I have some of the new songs I’ve learned down pat, because I know if some uppity aristocrat makes a specific request and I get even one line slightly wrong, I’ll be mocked relentlessly.

  I sit up abruptly, making Vizs jump a bit.

  “Do you think,” I ask her, “you could help me rolepy? I would follow you around while you work and you would name songs for me to py, thele me if I fuck up.”

  Vizs giggles.

  “I don’t know if I could be mean enough to make it feel real,” she says, “but I’ll try my best.”

  I run off to grab my lute.

  True to her word, her insults aren’t very cutting. They’re too general; she mostly just tells me that I'm horribly ued and makes some digs at my being human. I’ve heard the actual slights people make against me, and they’re a lot more subtle and specifibsp; As much as I appreciate Vizs’s help, it’s not going to prepare me for the real thing.

  I iurn, eager and hopeful, to Rhys. He is standing in the far er, pointedly looking away because he already knows what’s ing. I approach him slowly with the biggest puppy dog eyes I muster, getting as close as I without causing him to run away.

  “No,” he says before I’ve said anything.

  “Please?”

  "Absolutely not."

  It takes a lot of cajoling, but he relutly, yet iably, agrees to try and help.

  I start pying, mentally preparing for the verbal attack I have explicitly requested.

  But when I mess up the first time, he es at me with an insult so specifid cruel, delivered with such derision that it makes me fet this is pretend. I feel my heart jump into my throat and geears beginning to bud in my eyes.

  “Rhys, you…” I say, my voice crag. “You don’t really think that about me, do you?”

  “What?!” He physically recoils as though touched by a hot coal. “Of course n– You asked me to say it!”

  “I know, it's just…” I shiver. “It felt so real.”

  “I would never, ever say that, Miss Catarina, I swear!” he insists, gesturing emphatically. “I heard someone say it oime, and it stu my head because of how terrible it is, that’s all!”

  I sigh in relief, then clutch my chest as my tears transform into those of joy.

  “Rhys, that was incredible!” I say, voice thick with emotion. “Your delivery was filled with such passion and forbsp; You’d be an amazing actor!”

  The gray scales on his face flush into a bright red aurns his head away.

  “I’m just around the nobility a lot, so it’s not hard to copy their mannerisms,” he mutters as expnation.

  “Don’t be so modest, Rhys, you’ve got real talent!”

  He refuses to respond or even look in my dire. Mentally, I’m pnning on introdug him to Suzanime the Warblers e baos, but I sehat su offer would be unwele right now, so I’m not going to push the issue.

  “Okay,” I say, rubbing my hands together, then pig up my lute. “Do it again just like that. It caught me off guard st time, but I’m ready for it now.”

  “Fuo.”

  I spend like fifteen mirying to vince him to fake-insult me again, but he won’t budge. Vizs, whose jaw dropped at his initial fake insult and hung open for a full mier, even helps try to talk him into it. I’m pretty sure any pliments on his ag ability end up taking us further away from the goal, so eventually we give up.

  Ultimately, I settle for just practig the songs themselves. I’ll work oing to mean ents when I’m iual treomorrow.

  ******

  “I’m a little hurt that you didn’t ask me to help you rolepy,” Khysmet says over breakfast the m. "I do a very ving impression of cruel aristocracy."

  I snort. "Impression?"

  I push the food on my pte around with my fork. When I told Khysmet about my pns for lunch today, he was very supportive of the idea. This, however, is too supportive. The thought of him just openly insulting me, fake or not, makes me ge. The usual releeasing is bad enough as it is.

  "I promise I won't mean it," he reassures me. "I know you care deeply about my opinion of you."

  That makes me smirk. It also reminds me that I do not, in fact, care about his opinion. It was hard to hear it from Rhys, who I actually want to like me, but it actually probably wouldn’t be so bad ing from Khysmet.

  I y eyes and take a breath to help me get into character, sitting up straight, g my hands, and putting on a saccharine smile. When I feel ready, I open my eyes and start the se.

  “Hello, sir,” I greet brightly. “Would you like to listen to some music while you eat today?”

  Khysmet is looking at me with amusement and flig his tongue.

  “Very well,” he says in a rather ving bored drawl, “but don’t sing while you py. I’ve heard screaming cats with voices better than yours.”

  I’m a little impressed. That’s definitely something I’ve overheard in a hallway before, almost verbatim. My grin does not falter, and I summon the spirit of vapid obsequiouso respond.

  “Of course, sir," I say as genuinely as possible, "I wouldn’t want to disturb your meal in any way. What would you like me to py?”

  Khysmet flinches and makes a face like he just tasted something horrible.

  “What,” I say, “no good?”

  He shakes his head emphatically. "Way too ving. Definitely say that to the people you see at lunch, but never speak to me like that again."

  I grin. Whatever I might think about Khysmet, at least he doesn't wao be a simpering yes-man. He genuinely seems to appreciate my back-talk, which is perfect, since I delight in talking back.

  "How about this," I suggest, "you say somethio me, and I'll respond with what I would really say to that person if I could get away with it."

  "Sounds fun," he says, thes ba his chair and affects an air of faux s, waving his hand in exaggerated dismissiveness.

  "I'm amazed that you're able to py your instrument effectively with those fat human fingers of yours."

  "My human pinky finger is twice as fat as your dick, dipshit, and you 't do anything effectively with that."

  Khysmet chokes loudly. He puts an elbow oable and holds his head in his hand for a while. I think I see him shake a little in silent ughter. After a beat, he emerges more posed.

  "It's a bit crude," he says, voice froggy, "but I'd pay good moo hear you say that to a couple of my more arrogant advisors."

  I make a request to leave the great hall fifteen minutes before eleven today, which he willingly grants, tellio meet him in the library when I’m done. It gives me a ce to grab my lute a in position, and also to yself. I doly know why I’m so nervous about this. It’s not as though I’ve never been insulted before. I haven’t been heckled that mu stage, but it has happened. I've also had some enters with exceptionally rude people ireet when we would be trying to drum up i for a show. It’s unpleasant, but I know it’s survivable.

  Perhaps it’s because there’s no one bag me up here. I have lots of friends in the castle, but no one who could e to my defehout fear of excessive retribution. I ’t even e to my own defense.

  It occurs to me now that I should ask some of my friends in the castle staff what goes through their heads when they’re talked down to, especially the attending servants who I know end up bearing the brunt of many nobles’ wrath on a regur basis. I feel iive for not thinking about this before now. I ’t believe I was asking Vizs to rolepy sarios with me before just asking how she personally hahe exact same situation, which I have no doubt she has many times before. I’ll apologize to her about it ter.

  For now, I just take a deep breath and walk into the dining hall.

  There’s a wide assortment of foods put out across several of the tables, but signifitly less than there was at dihe oime I went, where nearly every table was overflowing with ptters, bowls, and pitchers. There are proportionally fewer occupied seats as well, and the people are mostly separated into smaller groups. For my purposes, it’s an ideal situation.

  I’m determined not to think too hard about it. I pick the group closest to the door I just ehrough, sisting of four women of various ages, and walk right up.

  One of them notices my approad speaks up before I have a ce to say my opening line.

  “Oh look, it’s the king’s little pet,” she remarks in an amicable tohat’s at odds with her words. “Is there something you want, dear?”

  I put on my , most i smile. “I was just w if you wao listen to any music while you eat, ma’am.”

  The older woman to my right, whnize upon seeing her face as Lady Hoskhana, one of my more vocal detractors, scoffs derisively.

  “I ’t see why I should willingly choose to listen to the musiy people rendered so poorly by the inpetent, fleshy hands of a brainless ape,” she says haughtily.

  Yeah, that’s pretty much what I expected. Apparently, the fortuhing about w about this all yesterday afternoon and this m is that the real thing doesn’t have the same impact as I thought it would. I’m about to bow out gracefully and try my luck elsewhere, when the first woman, to my surprise, speaks up.

  “Oh she’s not so bad,” she says. “I quite like her on the harp in the ms. Sometimes I go to the hall just to sit beside the windows and listen.”

  “Th- Thank you, ma’am,” I stutter with a slight bow. “I didn’t realize that anyone besides his majesty liked my pying.”

  “Don’t be silly, little pet,” says a third woman with a dismissive wave. “If your music was truly disliked, not even the king’s favor would be enough to keep you around.”

  This is much better than I could have even hoped for. I happily py a couple of their requests while they eat. Hoskhana doesn’t look at me or aowledge me in any way the whole time, which is perfebsp; In fact, I am mostly ignored except when they pick a new song. I’m not a fan of how they talk to me like I’m a simple child, but sihey’re not deliberately mog me about it, it’s a bit easier to stomach.

  It’s a good pce to start, but if I’m not feeling bothered aed, then it’s not good practice, is it?

  After a few songs, none of them has requested a new one. I think they might have actually fotten that I’m here. In this lull, I hear a male voice speak up from oable down.

  “Hey, little mouse. Over here.”

  I look in that dire and see, amidst a group of six men, one of them waving me over. I bow to the folks at my current table and thank them for allowio py for them. Not one of them even looks in my dire, so I take that to mean I’m permitted to go.

  As I approach this able, I have an unfortable feeling i of my stomabsp; The man who called me over is the only one even looking at me, the others talking amongst themselves, and there’s a strange look in his eyes that I don’t like. He waits until I’m right in front of him to speak up.

  “Why haven’t I seen you here at lunch before?” he demands.

  Cue my vapid smile.

  “I wao learn a lot of Veilsung’s music before pying at meals,” I say sweetly, “and it took me a while to get a good repertoire.”

  “Aww, how thoughtful of you, little mouse,” he says in a so sickly and simpering it makes goosebumps erupt on my skin. “Why don't you sing Sons of the Desert for me, and we'll see how well your 'repertoire' is ing along."

  Aha. Here it is – a challenge. The start of my real practibsp; I feel from the air quotes he put around "repertoire" that this man is going to push the limits of my resolve.

  I haven’t even made it through the first verse before he interrupts.

  “No, no, it’s ‘of all the seasons’, not ‘all of the seasons’,” he says testily. “If you don't know the lyriething, just say so, little mouse, so I request something else."

  My hackles rise instantly. I feel my left eye twitbsp; Not because I'm being corrected so rudely, which is already irritating in and of itself, but because I said it right in the first pbsp; He either heard me wrong or he iionally corrected me on a mistake I didn't make.

  I ’t say that, of course; I ’t say anything against him at all. That would defeat the purpose of the exercise. So, I’m going to grin and bear it.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” I say, hoping he ’t see how hard I’m g my fist. “Thank you,” I get out with difficulty, “for correg my error. Is there something else you would like to hear?”

  He proceeds to request three other songs, and he corrects me on a ent mistake for every. Single. One.

  After the first time, the other men at the table start to snicker and add little ents wheerrupts me.

  I’m beginning to hyperveh suppressed rage. My eye won’t stop twitg. I’m trying to say as little as possible so I don’t have the opportunity to tell him that if he wants a song performed right, he should pull his head out of his ass and sing it himself.

  I have no doubt that he would just keep going, asking for song after song until the exercise starts to bore him, but I cut him off at fiving the excuse that Khysmet requested my prese a certain time, and I o get going.

  “I feel sorry for the king,” he muses before I take my leave. “I don’t know how he tolerates so mupetence from someoh such a simple and pointless role. When you see him, give him my sympathies.”

  I feel a vein pop in my forehead.

  “Of course, sir, I’ll be certain to rey your s in full.”

  I mao walk out of the dining hall, but on the hallway and out of sight, I break into a run. I fly down the corridors and into my room to start beating the ever-living hell out of my pillows. I scream and curse and pick up whatever unbreakable objects I find and hurl them violently across the room. I even pick a chair that looks like it has enough padding to survive the fall and flip it over with all my might. When I’m finished with my tantrum, I throw myself bodily onto the bed and y there face down for a while, itently screaming.

  When I’m all screamed out, I get up and start putting the room ba order. I push the chair back up on its legs, pick up all the socks and towels from disparate ers of the room, and put everything bato pbsp; No matter how pissed I am, I’m not going to make more work for Vizs when she es to tidy up.

  This isn’t going to work. I o find a way to keep my anger in chebsp; Practice will help, but I’m g any sort of strategy to even make it lohan a couple minutes. ce I get, I’m going to tour the whole castle asking every single member of the staff how they handle dealing with assholes day in and day out. There must be someoh a method that will work for me.

  For now, though, I o head to the library to meet Khysmet.