“I don’t have a talent, Aertis,” Lyria groaned. She was wearing loose britches and a loose linen shirt, and she was draped over the back of one of Aertis’s couches, her hair dangling off the seat and brushing the floor.
“You have plenty of talents, Lyria,” Aertis replied. She was flicking through her dresses, seeming bored. They were both waiting for Aidria to come by, if she chose to. They were expecting her in about fifteen minutes or so, and Lyria had been groaning about the talent contest for about thirty minutes.
“Aertis, the King doesn’t want to see me fight. Or read. Or… what else can I even do?”
“Um,” Aertis hesitated. “You can… knit?”
“Badly. And not exactly a thrilling skill.”
“You can sing!” Aertis said, turning enthusiastically toward her friend.
“Everyone is going to si
