Chapter 9 Too Much and Not Enough #2
Brioni tried to laugh, but it came out stilted.
“Oh, I went outside all the time—my stepmother preferred me there—but I couldn’t leave the walled garden on my own.
There was plenty to do, though—lots of fruit trees and roses.
You have roses here too, but the colors are all different. Ours were red and pink.”
Ragnar was staring, she knew, because she could feel his eyes. It wasn’t like when she drew someone’s attention by laughing too loudly or hopping into their path, though. It wasn’t fleeting acknowledgment or startled scrutiny. The way his eyes bore into her was entirely new.
Brioni had a pretty standard reaction to most things though: to talk.
So despite the urge to hide behind the nearest tree, she opened her mouth instead.
“I can still see the rose garden if I close my eyes”—which she did, tight—“lots of pretty pale pinks and flashy ones too, and these reds that were like the first autumn apples and some others that were as dark as cherry filling. And then there was one white rosebush in the middle of everything. Well, there was supposed to be, until I ruined it. Accidentally,” she added quickly.
“My stepmother was so excited about it when father had it delivered from Farryn. She didn’t get excited about a lot, but she was in a really good mood that day.
She let me have dinner and dessert with everyone that night.
So when the roses finally bloomed in the spring, I plucked them and brought them to her.
I really thought she’d be pleased, but she was so mad.
” Brioni flexed her fingers, feeling the thorns all over again.
“Flowers grow back,” Ragnar huffed, and she jumped because she’d forgotten she was there in the Veilwood beside him and not once again trapped in the walls of the garden, hidden away like a wicked secret.
“But she never forgot,” Brioni whispered, looking up to see they’d come upon a pond nestled in the forest. Her breath caught at how the moon sparkled like crystals in the water’s reflection and at the sprawl of purple moss that climbed over the rocks lining the bank, a shroud of mist hovering just beyond.
The picture was so pretty it knocked the garden and the roses and the thorns right out of her head—easy when she’d been trying to do just that forever.
“The Veilwood runes are carved into the trees beyond the pond,” Ragnar said as he pointed. “But dangerous creatures can still find their way here, so you shouldn’t—”
“It’s beautiful!” she squealed, kicking off her shoes and trotting to the pool.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think? You can’t bring a girl to water and not expect her to—”
Eerie lights blinked into life between the trees all around them, stopping Brioni in her tracks. Her stomach tightened, eyes unblinking as more purple sets appeared in the dark.
“The veilhounds have returned,” Ragnar said quietly.
Brioni couldn’t count them, the fluttering of her heart too erratic, but it wasn’t fear that flooded her veins.
Her toes had just teased the edge of the pond, but she backed out of the cool water carefully, hands clutching her skirt as she watched the skulls slink out of the mist. Each was bigger than the last, a long line of exposed spine, bright white under the moonlight, nestled into coarse dark fur as they padded silently over the vegetation.
The creatures should have been terrifying, but Brioni knew nothing that showed its innards had much else to hide.
“Hold still,” Ragnar warned as she skirted the pond toward them. “They eat creatures that dart through the underbrush.”
Brioni took in the sprawling ferns around her. They were massive, yes, but nothing she could really hide beneath—nothing she wanted to hide beneath. “You said they follow your orders. You wouldn’t tell them to tear me apart.” But her next step was slow, measured, careful, as she extended a hand.
The largest veilhound stood steps away. The swirling of its eyes was hypnotic, and Brioni understood how a critter could be caught in that gaze and gobbled up—painlessly, she hoped.
Not that what she was about to do would be her last act—she was sure it would all turn out just fine, but on the very, very off chance it went south, she imagined it would be a swift and merciful end.
How a snout made of bone could exhale, she didn’t know, but the veilhound’s breath was hot and wet as it fell on the back of her hand. There was no soft nose to caress, only white fangs hanging down over a jaw smeared with…some deeply red fruit’s innards. Probably.
After taking in her scent, the veilhound lifted its head, face level with her own when it stood to its full height.
It really could eat her, if it wanted. Ragnar couldn’t even get between them fast enough.
Brioni’s heart had stopped fluttering, though, and instead she stood in wonder of the beast, of the…
juice caked down its chest, of the claws that flexed into the dirt, of the lean body with more power in one limb than she had in her whole being.
It dipped close and took a deep sniff of her neck.
“Ah, that tickles!” She scrunched herself up and hurriedly raised her hands to push it away, but the veilhound was too strong, snuffling harder down her chest and into her armpit, completely undeterred.
But then her hand was in the denseness of its fur, and she knew this was her chance, reaching up and scratching the back of one of its ears. It’s even softer than I imagined!
The veilhound rumbled contentedly as it leaned in, then opened its mouth wide with all of its teeth on display and yawned right in her face.
“Gods, your breath is terrible! Oh, but you’re so sweet, aren’t you?” Brioni dug all her fingers into the fur around its ears.
As if to agree, the veilhound flopped onto its back, bony spine digging into the earth and massive tail swiping away a rock so it splashed into the pond. Brioni dove hands-first into the creature’s belly, and it happily rocked itself on the ground.
“All right, all right, you’ve made friends with the Aun’eth leader,” Ragnar called, and she knew the irritation in his voice was at least half put on.
There was a nudge at her back, and another veilhound was sniffing her, perhaps smaller but it hardly mattered when it headbutted her right atop the first.
“And apparently her mate approves too.” Ragnar strode over and reached into the veilhound pile, pulling her out with one hand. “Enough. She is much fleshier than you lot—you’ll trample her.”
The veilhounds sat at attention, the others gathering around, heads tipping with curiosity.
“Hey, I’m tougher than I look.” Brioni snorted as she wiped her hands down her skirt leaving smudges along the deep green of the fabric, but at least most of the drool was off.
Ragnar looked her up and down. “Doubtful.”
She smirked, mind racing with how he could test her, but then it seemed she wouldn’t have to suggest he should pin her to a tree because Ragnar’s fangs peeked out, and his eyes narrowed with hunger.
Brioni’s heart sped up like it probably should have when the veilhound was staring her down, but she knew then the animal wouldn’t eat her. The demon, however, looked starved, and gods, she hoped he would finally take a bite.
But then he glanced over her head and concern washed over his features. “What’s this?”
Ragnar hurried to one of the pack and knelt so he could inspect the creature’s head. He ran large fingers along an almost invisible crack on its snout, and a wisp of purple slipped out before disappearing into the darkness.
“What did this to you?” he whispered to the animal.
It whimpered back.
Ragnar shook his head and commanded the lot of them to return to the barn. Brioni was just as quick to fall in line with the hounds, and despite her disappointment, she still found herself flushing.
The veilhounds took turns nosing Brioni’s hand on the short return trip. They knocked one another out of the way to earn her attention, often bumping her right into Ragnar. She laughed and apologized every time, but she wasn’t in the least bit sorry to brush up against his solid frame.
“Your presence seems to make them very needy,” Ragnar mused in a voice that was probably meant to admonish the hounds, but none of them seemed to care.
“I think they’re perfect,” she said mussing up the fur on one’s neck as it walked in tandem with her. Moar led them all back to the barn, and only when they arrived did he gallop up to Brioni and demand his own attention, which she was more than happy to give.
Ragnar then went stall to stall, inspecting each veilhound.
Brioni followed, carrying a bag of supplies and asking questions, but eventually Ragnar offered up answers without her urging.
He explained the difference between the balms in his bag, and how treating a veilhound’s wound was more complex than a wolf or dog due to their magic.
She fell into silence, enthused to finally hear Ragnar talk—really talk.
Perhaps it was an accident, but he began to slip in details about some of the animals’ past wounds and then his own past too.
He spoke of his first year as beastkeeper on his own, after an elder who had taught him everything had passed, and how lost he had been when eight days of rain flooded the barn.
He’d had to bring all the animals up into the loft.
“So much cleaning,” he grumbled with a faraway look to his eye.
As he inspected another hound, he recounted the day she joined the pack and how she had been the easiest to domesticate.
There was a star-shaped mark on her side that reminded him of another hound he’d lost a year prior who had valiantly defended Heck beside the guard.
This he told Brioni with a slight hitch to his voice but was quick to swallow the grief back.
She didn’t needle for more, but she did pat his shoulder, and he didn’t move away from her touch.
When they came upon a second veilhound with a thorn in its leg, Brioni handed off the correct ointment without being asked.
He looked at the jar and then her. “Very good.”
She thought her heart might explode but then squeezed her thighs together and realized she ought to be more concerned about pressure south of her belly button.
All day she’d had bouts of excitement, especially when she teased Ragnar and earned his steeliest warning glares, but of course when he offered her the slightest bit of approval, her body lit up like she was naked under the covers and having her way with herself.
The blood that pooled as Ragnar worked out the thorn was good at dousing her lust, though. The veilhound stuffed its bony snout beneath a paw and whimpered, and Brioni scratched his ears and cooed soft words of comfort.
“Why were you not allowed outside your family’s garden?”
Brioni snapped up her head like she’d heard a branch breaking in the silence of the forest.
Ragnar looked intent on the injury left by the thorn, but still asked, “Before, you said you were not allowed to explore the town you lived in. I assume it is because you were poorly behaved, but I’m willing to be proven wrong.”
She snickered. “Well, everyone was afraid I’d get into trouble, but that was mostly because I wasn’t supposed to exist.”
He screwed up his face, and she laughed at the way his mouth opened and his brow furrowed, totally perplexed. “You are here: of course you’re supposed to exist.”
“Well, I’m here,” she stressed. When he still didn’t seem to understand, she went on.
“Humans don’t exactly belong in Heck, do they?
It makes sense, though, because I didn’t really belong with the Doonovanis either.
It really surprised them when my mother turned up on their doorstep with me.
Not that she existed, I don’t think—it wasn’t a secret my father visited Ankerick’s fanciest brothel, but mother had done a good job keeping me a secret until she got sick.
” She picked out a second ointment from the bag and handed it over before Ragnar had to ask.
“Father did lots of bad things, but they made him really wealthy, so she brought me there, and boy did she have good timing because she died a week later. And she was smart too because she got the ladies at the brothel to spread a rumor about me to the other crime families, so they sort of had to keep me.”
Inside the bag of wound care items, there was an unraveled but clean bandage. She picked it up and began to wrap it neatly again. Ragnar said nothing, and she didn’t exactly want to look up at him and see the words he wasn’t willing to speak.
But the silence was intolerable.
“My father really didn’t have to keep me, but he could do a special kind of sorcery to people’s minds.
He taught his children, and if I could be taught too, I would be really useful.
Sometimes sorcery takes years and years to manifest, so they just kept trying to teach me.
At that point it was sort of too late because what if one of his rivals got their hands on me and suddenly the sorcery stuck, you know?
That would be really bad for his business. ”
She swallowed, admiring the neat ball of bandage she’d made then rifled through the bag for something…anything else. Ragnar was, unfortunately, very tidy with his tools.
“I also think maybe he felt…guilty? One time my sister—well, half sister, Camila, told me the reason her mother hated me so much was because my father actually liked my mother more. She didn’t say it exactly like that, and she wasn’t saying it to be nice—she never said anything to be nice—but I think it’s what she meant when she said my mom was so good at being a whore it ruined their family.
He kept this little painting of my mother in a drawer in his study that I would sometimes sneak in to look at.
She wasn’t naked in it or anything like that, she was just smiling and pretty and…
I don’t know. It just didn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d keep around if you didn’t actually care about someone.
But I suppose he kept me around too, even though I never figured out how to do sorcery.
That is until…” Brioni’s throat closed up on the next words.
It had been easy to blot out the memory that had gotten her here, so many other painful and terrifying things happening in quick succession that her last days in Ankerick felt like a lifetime ago, but it was suddenly breaking through everything else, desperate to pour out until a ruckus at the far end of the barn rescued her.
“Oh, would you look at Moar,” she cried as the dog bounded in covered in mud. “He’s a mess!”