[ It’s easy to understand. He relates, of course—his bardmaster was demanding, harsh when she needed to be, and judicious with praise. But that meant she really meant it. Or it felt like it meant she really meant it, anyway. It meant he could please her, unlike his parents, and nothing made him prouder than managing to do it.

And that was just him. Hungry for affection and approval, sure, but still with higher self-regard than he suspects Byerly has ever had at any point in his life, much less ten or so years ago, rejected and alone and selling off his violin to survive. ]

I’m glad someone did. I’m glad you had it when you needed it. [ He tugs on the shorter hairs on the back of By’s neck, gently. ] So I won’t track him down and coat his clothes with powdered blood lotus before his most important meeting.