For the next few weeks, I focus on playing my lute daily at lunch with wild success.  Envisioning visceral murder is taking me far.  It brings me to an interesting headspace wherein everything seems to melt away, and I’m sort of floating dreamily through incendiary conversations.  It definitely makes me seem dumb, vapid, and innocent, which is quite funny given the thoughts that are really running through my head.

I end up having to ask Cevine for novel recommendations, because I can only be so creative when it comes to making up torture methods.  I can tell it’s going to start getting repetitive at some point.  The books she suggests are really dark, and they are chock full of ideas.  My mental library of violence is very well enriched.

Lunches may be successful for me in the sense that I’m getting good acting practice, but I’m just not overhearing anything worthwhile. And I haven’t heard anything besides gossip in the great hall since the matter with Sulfeng.  I just know that dinners are where I’m going to be able to pick up something good, but I’m still hesitant to put myself in that situation, especially not after the altercation with Vespyn.  Even at lunch where I’m not getting ganged up on as much as I would at dinner, people are still often cruel.  I thank the gods that Khysmet isn’t there to witness it, since he’s always at his meetings.  That wouldn’t be the case at dinner, though; he’d be there through the whole thing.  It's just not practical to give him a reason to want to assault every other person in his court.

So for now, I’m waiting in limbo, just practicing my acting abilities, distributing gossip through the castle staff, and doing whatever Khysmet wants me to do on any given day.

It’s been three weeks of limbo so far, and I’m waiting outside his meeting room.  He’s out late today.

When he does open the door and come up to greet me, he looks uncommonly chipper.  It makes me nervous.

“I have," he says, tapping his fingers together eagerly, "an exciting proposition for you, Miss Catarina.”

“Oh boy," I say with maximal sarcasm.  "I am quivering in anticipation already.  Do tell.”

He starts walking down the hall and I follow.  No clue where we're going today, but he clearly wants me to come with.

“Before I tell you anything," he says, "your participation in this proposition is entirely contingent upon your answer to my next question.”

“Okay, what's the question?”

“I overheard an interesting snippet of conversation in the dining hall the other day," he says innocuously.  "It was between two servants, and they were talking about a person whose name I’ve never heard before.  Somebody named Cat?”

A jolt goes through my body.  Some part of me knew that this conversation would happen eventually, but I had been holding onto hope that it might not come for a long time yet.  Given how many members of the serving staff told me they didn't feel comfortable calling me Cat except in private, I thought they would keep it under wraps among members of the court.  I should have known that with dozens of people calling me Cat regularly, one would slip up sooner than later.

“I didn’t think much of it," Khysmet continues.  "It’s a name I haven’t heard before, an odd one for someone from Veilsung.  But I can’t possibly know everyone in the castle, can I?  It's not that strange that I didn’t know one name out of hundreds.  However, one of the servants mentioned something very specific about this Cat person that really stuck out to me.  She mentioned being asked by her to acquire a certain kind of paste for fixing stiff lute pegs...”

My forehead is getting sweaty, and my knees are starting to feel weak.  I wonder what the chances are that I could just slip away without him noticing.  Probably quite low.

“Catarina…" Khysmet says like a parent about to scold an unruly child.  "Do you have a nickname that I don’t know about?”

I take a deep breath through my nose, in and out. 

"Yes," I admit.  "I do."

A sly smile spreads across his face.  He flicks his tongue.

“So," he says eagerly, "can I call you Cat, then?”

“No," I say immediately.

His face falls into a sullen pout.

"I- I like hearing you call me 'Miss Catarina'," I stutter, fidgeting.

I don't know how to explain why I do, but I really do.  I'd prefer he not know how much though.  Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to pick up on my slightly flustered tone.

Khysmet sighs dramatically.  “How disappointing," he laments.  "I thought we had become such good friends.  Well, since we’re not good friends, I suppose you don't get to participate in my exciting proposition."

I snort.  "I think I'll live."

"Well since you're begging," he says, "I'll at least tell you about it.  There's a big sporting event taking place in Dimos tomorrow that I am expected to attend.  Normally, it's boring as hell, and I have to stay the whole day.  I was thinking that this year, I could bring you along so I have someone halfway interesting to talk to."

"Well golly, you make it sound so fun,” I say sarcastically.  “How will I survive not being invited to this boring-as-hell event?"

"Fine,” he concedes, “you don't have to let me use your cute little nickname.  I'll let you come anyway."

I stop in my tracks and cross my arms.  Khysmet keeps going a few steps before realizing I'm not next to him, then stops himself and turns around to face back at me.  He looks at me expectantly.

"You say you’ll ‘let’ me come…" I say hesitantly.  "Meaning that I have a choice?"

I already know the answer to this question, but I want to hear him say it. 

He smiles darkly and flicks his tongue.  Then he closes the distance between us, coming to stand in front of me.  He pats me on the head.

"Be sure to wear comfortable clothes," he says.  "It gets hot being outside all day."

******

The event starts early in the morning, so Vizsla wakes me up at the crack of dawn.  I insist on choosing a dress that doesn’t have anything that cinches tight against my body.  It’s hot enough inside the castle where the sun isn’t beating down constantly.  I need my skin to be able to breathe as much as possible.

After pondering it for a while, I decided it is a good call to wear my thigh holster so I can bring my knife.  I’ve always kept a knife on me when wandering through town – any town.  You never know what might happen.  Even though I’m sure I’ll be surrounded by guards the whole time today, I’d rather have some backup.  It always feels reassuring to have the leather against my leg.  I’ve kept it sharp since I started occasionally going out into Dimos with my friends, since I’m not sure how well it can cut through snake scales.  Hopefully I won’t have to figure out whether or not it’s up to snuff.

The arena isn’t terribly far from the castle.  It’s carved out of the side of the mountain like a big scoop was taken out of the earth.  On three sides, the central clearing is surrounded by tiered seats, making a big U shape, and the fourth side opens out where the edge of the clearing starts curving down the mountain again.  Under and behind the seating areas, there is a network of cavernous rooms, some that fill with street vendors of all kinds, and some for the athletes and other performers to congregate and prepare to enter the arena.

I’m enamored with the architecture.  I wish I could just run around through all the underground areas and explore.  I wonder what happens in this space when there’s no events going on.  What are the odds that I could sneak in and just wander through the empty rooms and check everything out?  Probably not very high.

Khysmet has to sit up in this boxed-in area on the south side of the U shape, not too high and not too low, the place from which he shouts out the opening remarks at the very beginning of the event and will eventually shout the closing remarks at the end.  Nothing much for him to do in the middle.  It’s got a perfect view of the clearing, but is totally cut off from all the other people in the stands.  I kind of hate it.  Isn’t the point of public events to get together with your friends and a bunch of strangers and experience the shared joy of pointless entertainment?

I express this sentiment to Khysmet, and he nods sagely.

“Yes, that would be why I find it to be so horrendously boring each year.  Occasionally, some of my advisors will drop by here and there, but most are not terribly good conversationalists.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll be any better of a conversationalist?”

“Miss Catarina, the bar is so low, it’s subterranean.  If you make a single statement relevant to what’s actually taking place on the field, you’ll be doing better than most of them.”

I hum thoughtfully.  “What sort of sports are involved in this event, anyway?  Anything good?”

“Quite a few contests of strength and accuracy, which I don’t personally find to be that interesting.  What’s the appeal in watching someone throw a large rock a short distance?  I just don’t get it.  The duels and hand-to-hand combat, however, are quite fun to watch.”

I haven’t been to many sporting events.  I’m usually the one putting on the entertainment, not watching it.  From the start, I’m at the edge of my seat.

Khysmet called the feats of strength uninteresting, but the things these people are throwing around are bigger and heavier-looking than I was expecting.  The hammer throw specifically scares the shit out of me.  People are getting real air with that thing, and I’m convinced one of them is going to slip and let it go in the wrong direction and take me out.  I hide behind Khysmet during that whole event, much to his amusement.

After the regular archery competition, they do a trick archery demonstration, and it’s the most entertaining thing I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.  I’m leaping out of my seat in excitement every three minutes.  They’re running and jumping around doing flips and firing three arrows one after the other so fast I can barely see it, all with perfect accuracy.  When the demonstration is over, I loudly lament the fact and sit and pout for the next few competitions.

The combat isn’t as amazing as the trick archery, but it is still extremely entertaining.  Partly because Khysmet gets more animated during those events.  He has a lot to say about each combatant’s technique, and he even starts waxing poetic about intricate strategies and understanding one’s opponent.  It's kind of cute how earnest he is about it.

At one point, when the participants of a duel get close to our side of the field, I notice something strange.

They’re circling each other waiting for an opening, then the one facing my direction opens his mouth to hiss and two massive fangs emerge from the roof of his mouth.  It almost makes me jump.  I always wondered why none of the serpent folk I’ve met seem to have fangs like regular snakes, but at some point, I stopped questioning it.  I’m questioning it now, though.

“Hey, Khysmet?” I ask.  “Do all Sungians have fangs?”

He chuckles.  “Yes, Catarina, we all do.”

“So… why haven’t I ever seen anyone else’s fangs before right now?”

He laughs more.  Like what I’m asking is much funnier than I realize.  I’m a little scared to know why that is.  I turn to give my full attention to him, fully ignoring what’s happening in the arena, because my curiosity on this subject is intensifying very quickly.

“Well,” he says, “for one, they’re retractable.  For another, there’s just not a lot of use for them in polite society.  They’re only really used for posturing.  Like in fights, or… similar activities.”

I’m leaning in with rapt attention.

“Do you have venom?” I ask.

“Yes, we do have a sort of venom.”

My eyes widen.  “So if you bit me, would I die without an antidote?”

He’s holding in laughter so intensely, he can’t even meet my gaze.

“If I bit you,” he reassures me, “you would be in no immediate danger.  Evolution curbed most of the negative effects of our venom.  As it is now, it has…different uses.”

“Different uses?  Like for potion making?  What does it do?”

Khysmet sucks a deep, centering breath in through his nose, then looks at me square in the eyes.

“It’s an aphrodisiac, Cat.”

I blink.  Then blink again.  “It’s what?”

“It heightens the senses for a brief period of time.  The only time we really bite each other is during sex.  The worst it can do is give you a slight headache when you come down.”

I scoff.  No.  That's not possible.  He has to be messing with me.  There's no possible way that Sungians run around biting each other on the dick.  Of all the bullshit things he could possibly tell me, this is the absolute least believable.

"There's no way that's true," I say. 

"It's true.  I swear to you."

"I don't believe you."

He smirks and gently takes me by the hand, pulling my arm out straight toward his face.

"Care for a demonstration?" he offers suggestively.  Then he opens his mouth and extends his fangs inches from my skin.  "It's your first time, so I promise I'll be gentle."

Every nerve in my body kicks into overdrive.  My face heats up instantaneously.  That should NOT be hot.  That should be absolutely terrifying.  So why is it that when his fangs slide out, every single muscle in my lower abdomen clenches at once?  There may be something deeply wrong with me.

As much as I want to sit here bug-eyed and confusingly aroused, I tug my hand away from his grip, and he lets me go, retracting his fangs and flicking his tongue.

"I still don't believe you," I accuse, rubbing my recovered wrist.  "You're just trying to poison me."

He gives me a positively withering look.

"Yes, that would make the most sense, wouldn't it?" he says.  "That I want to kill you right here in public, as a joke."

I purse my lips, mad that he's right – it really doesn't make any sense.  I'm not going to back down, though.

"I'm not letting you bite me until I've checked with a third party that you're not messing with me," I say definitively.

He lights up.  "So you're saying when someone else confirms this information, you will let me bite you?"

"Th- That is not what I said!"

"I'm not hearing a 'no'," he says in a sing-song voice.

"This conversation is over."

By some miracle, he actually does let it go, though he acts exceptionally pleased with himself the rest of the day.  That little conversation makes the rest of the combat somewhat hard to watch, though, since on the occasions that I catch a glimpse of someone baring their fangs at their opponent, a tiny jolt goes through me as I relive my moment of weakness.  Sometimes I glance at Khysmet during those times to find him watching me instead of the fight and flicking his tongue.

It’s a long, hot day, and toward the end, maybe an hour or so before sunset, I find myself getting antsy in my seat.  People have been bringing us refreshments during the day, which has been great and all, but I really wanted to check out the public vendor stalls inside the caverns.  I want to get up and walk around and explore and talk to people.  I express this urge to Khysmet and, predictably, he is not super stoked about the idea.

"The arena is packed today," he says, brow furrowed.  "It will be extremely chaotic around all the vendors, especially since it's right around dinner time."

I shrug.  "So I'll take a guard.  It'll be fine."

"I don't like it.  I'd rather you stay close by."

I can tell right away from his tone that he actually doesn't want me going, as opposed to his usual attempts to arbitrarily bother and tease me into submission.  Being obstinate won’t get me anywhere here.  I have to bring out the big guns.  I cross my forearms on the arm of his chair and lean in, blinking up through my lashes.

"Please?" I beg.  “I’ve been sitting around all day, and I just really need to stretch my legs.  I’ll be quick, I promise.  Please?”

I can see on his face plain as day the exact second that his resolve crumbles away like a pillar of sand.  I never beg.  Not to him anyway.  It’s even more effective than I thought it would be.  To my surprise, his face even starts to take on a slightly pink hue.  Now that’s interesting…  I lean in more for a closer look.

He takes a hand and puts it over my whole face and gently but firmly pushes it away.

“Ack!” I choke.

“Fine,” he says.  “You can go for fifteen minutes.  But after that, I’m coming after you and you will not enjoy what happens when I find you.”

I grin toothily, then get up and find a guard to accompany me.  Rhys isn’t here sadly, but I’m sure I can manage with someone else.  I pick a man who I recognize, named Omagh.  He’s been more talkative with me than most of the other guards.  I ask him to come with me and then lead him through the door out of the boxed area we’re in.

On the way in, I’m pretty sure I saw a sign directing the way to the vendor stalls, so I retrace my steps to that, Omagh hot on my heels.  Sure enough, I come across the sign again after only a minute or so of walking through hallways and down stairs, and I excitedly follow the direction the arrow is pointing.

In the span of seconds, we go from having no one else around to being enveloped in a throng of Sungian bodies, all packed into a huge room that stretches a long ways in both directions.  I even see some humans, elves, and other races dotted amongst the crowd.  When I look up at the ceiling, I can see it curve around in the distance.  There are a couple guards in front of the opening we just walked through that leads back to the isolated hallways.  I make a note of where it is relative to the designs on the wall and ceiling, and of the stalls closest to it.  It won’t be hard to find again, even through the crowd.

I wander from vendor to vendor, watching them cook and perusing their wares.  Most of the stalls are selling food, but there are a lot of them that sell little trinkets, and I’m enamored with the variety of bits and bobs available.  I run through my allotted time very quickly, according to the big clock high up on one of the walls, and I’m thinking about how irritating that is, when I turn around to look for Omagh and find he isn’t there.

I sigh.  We must have gotten separated at some point.  I’m a couple inches shorter than the average Sungian, so I think he might have a hard time finding me again if I don’t find some high ground.  I notice that there are some benches along the edge of the long room, so I decide to go stand on an empty one and make myself more visible.

I climb up and peer over the crowd.  Omagh is bright green, so hopefully that makes him slightly easier to spot, though it’s not an uncommon color for Sungians.  I’m only looking for a minute or so before I decide it would be better to just go back to Khysmet without him.  I’d rather be on time and get shouted at for losing my guard than have to deal with the consequences of being late, whatever they might be.

I hop down and move to rejoin the crowd, but before I take more than a step forward, I feel a hand wrap around my upper arm.