...it's been a week

“Of course they have,” Firiell said. “You're too young to remember, but Queen Fiella was the songbird of the court even before she became Queen. She and her sisters used to perform whenever her father hosted, and people would fight tooth and nail just to sit outside the windows and listen.”              “Firiell exaggerates,” Fiella said at last, though she was smiling. “We all had some small talent that was greatly indulged by our guests. I'm happy to support true talent in our court.”              “And what of our Jisel?” Iana asked and Jisel startled, jabbing her finger with the needle. “Will we hear your talents now that you've returned?”              With everyone looking at her, Jisel had to resist the urge to pop the pricked finger into her mouth to stop the bleeding. She folded it into her palm instead, under the banner draped over her lap.              “I'm afraid I didn't inherit my mother's gifts,” she said, and tried to make it sound light and unbothered. “I am a better audience than performer.”              In truth, she wasn't even a good audience member. She enjoyed listening to well-played music or watching artful dance, but she knew too little about either to have an informed opinion about what she heard or saw. She was better versed in poetry, but she'd never put brush to paper to write her own.              “You must have heard interesting music in Arradine,” Atheme, Melos’ eleven-year-old daughter, blurted out before pulling back a little in delayed sheepishness. “Or do they even have music?”              Everyone's eyes were on her—except her mother's. Fiella continued to sew steadily, unbothered and untouchable. Jisel’s hand closed tighter onto itself.