Miri's fingers tapped on the table, one after the other in sequence, rising then falling. The chatter of her citizens surrounded her. Briskly, she halted her tattoo in order to push dark brown hair out of her eyes. Her meal, a cold pumpkin soup topped with a toast of jellied squab sat untouched before her. She made a mental note to thank her chef for his inventiveness, but to ask if his Tree needed less esoteric ingredients.
A new paper sat in her chambers, unread. It had been delivered, along with the musicians currently playing, this morning. Since then, there had been such a fuss of people coming and going, all of them requiring just a moment of her time. She'd scarcely had a moment to attend to her necessities, much less a treatise on Static Physical Constants Required for Life-Sustaining Demesnes. She took some comfort in knowing that the gates would be closed soon, restricting unaccompanied access. Her keyholders were meticulous in their duties, and she scarcely needed any time spent ushering people between her demesne and Prime under ordinary circumstances.
Peace, it was just one more day. Then the fuss would die down. The citizens will shift and her scientists will remain with her, in quiet. The babble lulled. Her spoon dipped into her soup, and raised.
Her chef was destined to remain disappointed, as the music began. A lone instrument, stringed, played. It began deep and resonant, filling the air and demanding attention. Then it raised, higher and higher, until it sang like it couldn't belong to the same instrument. The falsetto rang as other strings entered the chorus. They wove around the cello, in its intricate patterns, It hinted at resolution, only to shy away, forcing her to follow where it led.
A man cradled the cello. He had large hands. His fingers moved rapidly on the neck, deftly spanning it as his other hand coaxed the music with the bow.
He was enraptured.
So was she.