Chapter 9

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Psyche sat in one of the music rooms with the lyricist. The vocal trainer would be coming shortly to help her practice through the notes. The composer was nearby plucking out a fine melody.

Yesterday, the team had already done a full study of her vocal range, shaking their heads because it was, in their words, “somewhat limited.” Still, they agreed it was enough to work with.

Psyche was just glad to be away from the dressing room. 

That was where Cydippe was continually adding layer after layer of adornments and drapes to her performance costume. It was getting so bad that Psyche worried it would be too hard for her to walk — or see! But every time Aglaura came to report on a wonderful thing she had added to the scenery or some detail she had ordered for the environment — fresh fragrant flowers were the latest — Cydippe would frown at Psyche and insist that the costume wasn’t good enough.

It was getting quite ridiculous. 

All to get a husband?

Psyche shook her head. She still couldn’t figure out what she was doing wrong and why none of the eligible bachelors, or just plain bachelors, were not at all interested in her. 

“Now, Princess Cydippe has suggested we create a song about a hunt. Something moving and stirring about conquering a wild beast,” the lyricist said. 

Psyche wondered if perhaps she was the wild beast to be conquered. 

“I’ve put together a few lyrics to get us started,” the lyricist said. “Something like: 

Through the forest and the wood 
A spotted doe is seen 
Her slender neck, 
Magnificent breast 
Among the grass so green.

Psyche hid a grimace.

“That’s nice,” she said. “But not very moving.”

“I agree,” the lyricist said, undisturbed by the critique. “If it were me, I would have you sing about being victorious in war. That would really impress the gentlemen.”

“Yes,” Psyche said, half-heartedly. She was trying to be agreeable, but it was hard to get behind songs about crushing one’s foes or marching into battle. The Goddess Athena might be able to get excited over odes to victory, but for Psyche, it was a struggle. 

Sensing the princess’s lack of enthusiasm, the lyricist decided to pivot. 

“What about a song about a prince, then?” the lyricist suggested. “We could take the audience through an odyssey, so to speak. The prince — or better yet — a naval commander — has to journey far from home and encounters all kinds of monsters. He fights his way through, inspired by his love back at home. Her face is always before his face, her love always in his heart.”

“What about a song about a prince, then?” the lyricist suggested. “We could take the audience through an odyssey, so to speak. The prince — or better yet — a naval commander — has to journey far from home and encounters all kinds of monsters. He fights his way through, inspired by his love back at home. Her face is always before his face, her love always in his heart.”

“Hmm,” Psyche considered.

“And then,” said the lyricist, encouraged by her silence, “at the end, the two lovers are finally brought together before meeting their untimely death.”

“Why their untimely death?” Psyche asked.

“Well, Princess Cydippe would like the audience to be moved to tears. Death makes everyone cry. The death of lovers pierces the hardest heart,” the lyricist said, sighing. 

Psyche felt that their death was unnecessary. 

“Hate to interrupt,” the composer said, “but the vocal trainer is here and we have the melody ready to practice. We need to go over the notes.”

“Perfect,” said the lyricist, slapping his knees and standing. “I need to work on a few stanzas with this new theme and see how they fit with the music.”

Psyche joined the vocal trainer for a quick vocal warm up. 

He told her she needed to use her diaphragm and open up her throat. 

She tried. 

“Bring it out more. Not up in your nose, but more forward, towards your teeth,” the vocal trainer said. 

Psyche thought for a moment, trying to picture how she could get her voice to move like that. 

She tried again. 

“Let’s change from ‘lee’ to ‘la’, and move your jaw forward, giving more space for your voice,” the vocal trainer said.

So Psyche sang “la”s with her jaw forward. 

“Open the throat more,” the voice trainer said. 

She tried to open her throat more. 

She felt ridiculous. 

“Princess Psyche!!” 

One of the attendants rushed in, not waiting for a pause in the practice. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” the composer said. “We’re in the middle of a very important –”

Psyche rose and held out a hand to silence him. 

“What is it, Iris?” Psyche said. By her face, Psyche could tell that something was terribly wrong. 

“Princess Psyche, you must come!” Iris said, still catching her breath. “There’s been an accident.”

“Has the healer been called?” Psyche said, moving towards the doorway. 

“The healer should be on her way, if not already there,” Iris said, following her.

“But Princess, our practice!” the vocal trainer wailed. 

“I’m sorry,” Psyche said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She left the three men looking at each other.

What could possibly be so important? 

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