CHAPTER 56 Her Promised Afternoon Nap

CHAPTER 56

Her Promised Afternoon Nap

Brownie

They didn’t meet any unicorns.

They did, however, pass by a unit of the Dark Horde transporting a wagonload of hats, sun lotion, and waterskins to each of the army bases—preparation for the summer. There were also three mice riding on an owl running down the road. The owl screeched but kept going.

In a dirt clearing off to the side of the road, they saw a regal wagon getting its wheel fixed. Everything looked to be well in hand, so they progressed.

A few minutes later, Donna stopped because a circle of ravens were standing in the road cawing at each other. A few of the birds flew off in each of the cardinal directions, while the rest took to the trees. All of their eyes followed them while they rode past, but Brownie ignored them. It wasn’t her story to interrupt. They did manage to find the perfect picnic spot around lunchtime. Brownie pulled out her red-and-white picnic blanket, and a basket full of goodies from Gerda and Henrietta.

The sun shone down on a golden meadow of broomlanding, yarrow, daylily, and scattered snapdragons. Rufus blended in well with his surroundings, his gold coat with ruddy undertones glinting in the sunlight and matching the yellow flowers. He pulled out a bottle of wine and two wine glasses to pair with bimbleberry scones, flying pork sandwiches, fresh strawberries, a round of unigoat soft cheese, and some imported olives from Sumbria for lunch. Brownie played a few songs on her instrument, including “Sally Oh Sally” from Peldeep, “Walk in Shadows” from Sumbria, and one of her own pieces, “The Blade My Father Bore.” The last was one she had been trying to perfect for quite a while, and still wasn’t right.

“I don’t remember you playing that song before,” Rufus commented. He was leaning on one elbow splayed out half on the blanket and half off. His free hand held his glass .

The wine was a ruby red that resembled her hair.

Brownie had enjoyed her glass immensely. The delicate aroma of violets and sour cherry blended with warm spice was light and refreshing, and it was probably one of the most expensive wines she’d ever tasted. One she’d finished while sampling the cheese and olives earlier.

She set her instrument aside, but deliberately on the picnic blanket between herself and the beastman—no need for it to go walking because she glanced away for an instant. This was the Dark Enchanted Forest, after all. “It’s not ready, but I hope it’ll be polished by the Masquerade.”

“I look forward to it.” He nodded.

“One question.” Brownie lay back on the blanket herself, both arms crossed behind her head as a makeshift pillow. “How many of my songs have you heard?”

“All of them,” Rufus stated before tensing and quickly continuing with, “At least, I’ve seen enough of your shows that I thought I’d heard all of them. You make new ones all the time, so I’m sure I only know the popular ones … Why? How many songs have you written?”

The innocent question didn’t seem so innocent when she noted the intensity of his gaze and the breath he held in wait for her answer. She smiled slowly at the beastman. “Fifty-seven.”

Rufus choked on the air he was holding. “F-Fifty-seven?!”

“Fifty-seven,” she repeated calmly. Her repertoire was much larger, but of the songs she’d personally written herself? That was about right. Some were juvenile and never saw an audience outside of her family dinners, and some weren’t appropriate for polite company. Others were purely campfire songs, like creepy lullabies designed to scare and delight children … And then some were too long or too short for a proper show. “I only perform about thirty-two.”

“I’ve heard all thirty-two.” Rufus didn’t seem happy about his surprising accomplishment. He must have been at any number of her events, since many of her songs were seasonal or scenario based—from wedding to tavern brawl. He’d have needed to slip into her concerts quite a few times … and in quite a few countries. She frowned; the only time she’d played “Wings of Ash” was on its debut night in Sumbria.

When the place burned down, she’d decided not to sing it at a concert again, just in case.

And just in case she was overthinking things, she asked, “Oh, have you heard this one?”

We sisters wake up with the day,

And rise in fire to the sun.

The eldest burns in red and gold,

The second shines orange in the dawn .

I am the youngest fire-touched,

A whirl with white and smoky-blue,

And though my sisters love me dear

They mourn my sky-bright hue.

She played the opening verse. Rufus grinned, “I have. It was sad, but sweet.”

“… I see.”

That evening had been a gathering of her fans organized by her fans. Rufus was obviously a great lover of music, and must have procured an invite, but Brownie didn’t know how she’d missed someone as large and in charge as the golden retriever beastman.

Unless he hadn’t attended in his beastman form.

Her mind drifted to the show as she felt the draw of her promised afternoon nap.

Ever since her big break in Drendil thanks to Henrietta, Brownie had gotten performance time at taverns and parties all over the kingdom and beyond. Her family in Peldeep had offered to set her up with a musical career early … but she’d wanted to find her own voice and her own path. Granted, Henrietta had pretty much done exactly what her family had offered to, but it was still different . Her friend might have set up the stage, but she’d had no one standing around with daggers pointed at their backs to clap. Being invited to one garden party on recommendation and being set up by a family of assassins were just not the same thing at all.

And so, when she had instantly become popular, she was suddenly collecting a team of music lovers who loved her . Brownie’s songs were catchy, and they were new, and her voice was praised in the inner circles. So, for the last five or six years, she’d been followed around by a group of fans, and once a year, they hosted a gathering. Brownie loved it. She could pull out old songs or mix in new ones, and everyone knew the lyrics and knew her . She’d met many of them, but respected any boundaries for her anonymous or shy listeners.

For which she assumed Rufus must be in those numbers.

The last fan show she’d performed had been earlier this year in Sumbria, at a large and welcoming tavern near the canyon that thankfully was in a village on the edge of the elven forest. The building was made out of wood, but not from a magical tree.

She’d arrived in good spirits, ready for an exciting evening, and accidentally provided the catalyst to burn down the venue.

As one does.

Her mind wandering, she closed her eyes and drifted off into a warm and comfortable sleep.