CHAPTER 26 If You Counted Not Getting Caught As Behaving

CHAPTER 26

If You Counted Not Getting Caught As Behaving

Brownie

The day dawned clear and bright and perfect. Bronwynn refused to acknowledge it and rolled over to go back to sleep.

When she did wake, the sun was warm, the wind was cool, and breakfast was romancing lunch. She didn’t worry about missing either, grabbing a honey oat bar with dried bimbleberries and almonds from her ring. Then she whiled away an hour thinking about the afternoon to come.

It was a surprise how much time she could waste just thinking about lyrics or practicing on her instrument. Her cousins used to tease her about it, though it turned out it wasn’t a waste when it let her achieve her dream.

“Time to show them why I’m a Minstrel .” She smiled and picked out one of her favorite dresses, designed for exactly this type of event. It was a darker red bordering on black, with tiny glittering garnets sewn into the fabric. It clung to her waist and smoothed her curves as it accentuated her figure. She wore soft black tights and heeled boots that gave her even more height.

She’d have to remember to duck at the servants’ door. Remembering to duck was a lifelong struggle.

Brownie finished with a light glitter on the cheeks and red lipstick, then she grabbed her red shoulder bag with its fancy herringbone weave and her lyre harp case.

“Minstrel Bronwynn!” A page girl ran up to Brownie when she stepped into the servants’ hall. The girl had tussled short light-purple curls and big blue eyes. She had the same ashy skin color as the duke, and Brownie wondered if they were related.

“Yes?”

The girl bobbed a slight bow and then smiled a gap-toothed grin. “I’m Page Saryl, at your service. May I show you around? ”

The smile was welcoming, and Brownie found herself taking a liking to the girl. “Thank you, I would love that.”

“We’ve moved the entire event to the garden.” Saryl led Brownie through a maze of back doors and onto a stunningly colorful path full of flowers in bloom. “It’s been months of rain, and everyone was excited to finally get the chance to enjoy the sun. I can’t tell you how dreary it’s been. Was it raining in other kingdoms? What about in the Dark Enchanted Forest? Fenn, from housekeeping, said you played for the Dark Lord himself . Is that true?”

The girl’s breath ran out, and Brownie resisted the urge to laugh out loud. “I’ve performed for every crown royal this side of the Empire of Sands. And no, it’s not raining anywhere else. At least, no more than usual.”

“Wow! Oh, just through here, Minstrel Bronwynn. We’ve set up a place for you in the corner.”

The performance area was perfect; a small chair surrounded by a flowerful circle of pink hydrangeas. She was only a few paces from the head table, which itself was at the bottom of a short staircase leading to a stone patio with closed double doors. Servants came and went from side doors at either end of the large patio.

She admired the two griffin statues at the base of the staircase.

She could tell it was the head table because it was long and rectangular with chairs on one side, while the rest of the garden green was covered in smaller intimate round tables.

“May I take your things?” Saryl asked, seeing my instrument case and bag sitting on the grass.

“Yes, please.” Brownie handed over everything.

“Of course, Minstrel Bronwynn. I can put them with the rest of the staff’s belongings.” Saryl bobbed her head.

“Actually, could you put them back in my room?” Brownie asked, debating taking the bag back to grab her spare tuning peg inside. She decided it would be fine to leave it. She kept a tuning peg in both her red bag and her lyre case. And her wagon. And her cloak pocket. Even the ring on her finger contained one, along with any other important things, like snacks, rope, a change of clothes, and an antidote potion.

“Of course!” The page bowed again.

She settled in and started to play warm-ups. The castle staff were still setting up, laying out cutlery and carefully folded napkins that looked like cute swans. They brought out cut flowers and salt and pepper, all while Brownie happily played. The atmosphere was pleasant.

And her horse was behaving herself—if you counted not getting caught as behaving .

Brownie did. Her crate of carrots and rutabagas was lighter, but it kept Donna happy .

Then the first guest arrived.

She assumed he was a guest because he strutted in with his chin held high and his tail higher. Not that it even reached Brownie’s knee, given that the guest was the size of a large cat.

He was a grimalcat.

Brownie had only ever met one other, when she was seven and running from bullies through a back alley in Fallstaff Harbor. She had been in pretty bad shape. Just when she’d thought she’d get caught, a grimalcat had wandered by and saved her. She would never forget his fluffy brown fur with little gold horns and yellow eyes.

That was the day she made a promise to give up her old life and step on the path to becoming a bard.

This grimalcat was black, with glowing green eyes and two tiny little green horns between his pointy ears. The creature sported batlike wings that he currently had tucked at his sides.

“Greetings, Adventurer Slake.” An attendant bowed low to the grimalcat, as low as one was expected to bow before a visiting duke. “As you are the first to enter, may I show you to your seat?”

The grimalcat nonchalantly rubbed his paw against his face. Brownie had to focus harder on her song and not on the thought of squishing the little beanies. She had a problem.

“Right this way.”

The grimalcat was shown to the head table, where a fresh bowl of cream was presented to the creature with a flourish. He eyed the dish, then daintily stuck out a tiny pink tongue and lapped at the cream, satisfied. He didn’t move from his chair.

“Announcing, Mage Lina of Colwood.”

And so it went until the entire garden was full of well-to-dos. Rufus arrived midway through, looking a little irritated if she read his slightly lowered tail and drooped left ear tip correctly. The man hid it well with his powerful demeanor, but she could tell he wasn’t enjoying himself.

She slipped into an instrumental version of “Traveler’s Anthem,” which she knew he loved. His eyes caught hers from across the garden, and he sent her a small smile. It warmed her all the way to her tummy, and she had to catch herself.

Finally, the guest of honor arrived. The head attendant’s voice rang loud and clear, drawing everyone’s attention, and I rounded off the chord, coming to a clean stop. “Presenting Duke Wyldon Holst of Servalt.”

There was a polite round of applause for the duke …

And then someone threw a bottle of bright red liquid with little black flecks at the man.