Chapter 12 The Sign of a Noble Soul
The Sign of a Noble Soul
Brioni
A great banging woke Brioni. Regrettably, it was not the kind she had been dreaming about. This banging was at her bedchamber door, and Alamar was on the other end.
“It’s well past moonup,” the postmaster called. “Are you unwell?”
“I’m…kay,” Brioni mumbled into her pillow, no attempt at credibility since she felt anything but. “Be out…soon.”
Soon was just vague enough, and Brioni’s eyes fell closed again.
Exhaustion tried to drag her back into the delicious depths of a dreamworld where Ragnar did all sorts of unspeakably naughty things to her in return for her own naughtiness.
Tempting but also strange—she didn’t expect to feel quite this sleepy even after she’d buttered her muffin three times the night before.
Not that she could be blamed with the memory of Ragnar demonhandling her seared so completely into her mind and a little on her behind too.
Get out of bed, dream Ragnar growled.
Make me, she replied, and then remembered that having a job meant she had to discipline herself, which was painfully—or rather painlessly—boring. “Made,” she sighed and forced her own eyes open. Only one cooperated, the other blinded by her pillow.
Her messy bedchamber bleared back under flickering purple lanterns: dress and underthings left where they had been doffed, a stack of excess parchment spilled over the room’s tiny desk and onto the floor, a half-eaten hunk of sourdough probably gone too stale now for breakfast on the nightstand beside no less than three empty mugs.
Alamar was going to think she’d gone loony misplacing them when she next brewed tea.
She flung an arm over the edge of the mattress and reached out as if there would be something magical to coax her out of bed. The heaviness of her body drew her back into the linens, and they weren’t even all that luxurious—she was just wrapped up in them from rolling around fitfully in her sleep.
Her limbs ached as if she’d been running, but she’d only gotten a few paces into the woods before…
Brioni grinned, nuzzling against the pillow.
That wasn’t it either, even though she wished it were.
Getting pinned to a tree should have been rough and punishing and left her body aching, but Ragnar had been too careful.
If only he hadn’t been…If only he’d really let her have it…
Maybe she would tell Alamar she was sick and just stay in bed all day.
She shifted her hips against the mattress and groaned.
A whole day in bed with nothing to do but touch herself—gods, she would probably sprain it with just the thought of what Ragnar might do to her if she told him she’d lied and skipped out on work.
Now that might be too big a risk considering how much she liked what was between her legs.
She flexed her fingers as her shoulder slid off the edge of the bed, and finally she found something that wasn’t floor.
She lifted her head just enough to eye her satchel abandoned right where she’d left it, the strap in hand.
From the opening, the corner of a single letter peeked out, and that was magic enough to get her up.
“Gotta get Mister Orange’s letter delivered at least,” she mumbled.
And non-stale breakfast would be nice too, so she hefted herself out of bed and got on with the day in a fuzzy daze of unearned sleepiness.
Brioni was often huffy and cranky on her own time, but she rarely gave up, not when she wanted something so badly. And what Brioni really wanted was to hear Ragnar’s groan of pleasure in her ear again, the one he’d made when his hips dug into her rear and that thick length of his poked at her back.
But she was embarrassed too because he’d still sent her away with almost nothing, and she had plenty of time to ponder her mistakes as she made morning deliveries.
Maybe she’d been going at things all wrong.
She’d tried her darnedest to be an utter nuisance, but maybe…
maybe Ragnar would prefer if she was helpful.
It was a novel idea, but then they all were considering where they were written down.
As she handed over crates of corks to the demon who ran Sip Happens, she decided to say yes to chores and needle Ragnar a little less.
Whether or not he liked her gifts was still up for debate, but he had answered all her questions.
Her nosiness and little lies riled him up, but so did her charm until she’d essentially bared it all.
How her boobs didn’t work, she had no idea, but being helpful was at the very least worth a shot.
Moonset, however, surprised her, and she had to return to Heck Post before even delivering the letter to the maybe-abandoned-maybe-not cottage.
She fell into bed that night too exhausted for dinner and only rose the next morning when Kat fulfilled her promise to wake her up.
Brioni would have just stayed under the covers since Kat’s poking was so gentle, but the incessant “sorry” that accompanied every prod of her finger was too annoying to sleep through.
The scholar’s letter was her first delivery the next day.
The cottage was still creepy, but the extra thumping of her heart helped to wake her, and by the time it was done, she felt as fresh as if she’d had a whole week of good sleep.
By midmorning, half her route was complete, and she even had time to stop by the Lovable Loaf and use her spending coin to buy an assortment of sweets, perfect for lunch with a certain grumpy someone to set her newest plan of action in motion.
She heard the argument before she reached the barn’s clearing, pace quickening at the rising voices. Around the last bend before the path opened up, she caught sight of a blue demon storming out of the barn, Ragnar following close behind.
“Just how long is this going to take now, Felgon?”
The blue demon shrugged and waved something in his hand. “I’ve already told you: it’ll take as long as it takes.”
Ragnar looked incensed in a different way than what he reserved for her, and Brioni sidled up to the last tree on the path, hugging the package of still-warm pastries to her chest.
“That’s not an answer,” Ragnar roared. There was no cold, vicious anger like with Drolmoth, nor the docile prickliness he flashed at her. There was desperation laced into the wrath, and it stung her heart to hear.
“Take it up with the Horn of Rudiments.” The other demon grinned in a vile way, a way Brioni had seen too many times on her half siblings’ faces when they knew they had the upper hand, which was always.
But Ragnar wasn’t like Brioni. He wouldn’t play nice or beg to get what he wanted. “Fuck off, Felgon.”
Brioni stepped into the clearing and pulled out her second-best smile because this was an emergency. “Who wants a cookie?”
Both demons turned to her, the hottest pits of the blazes burning in the hollow blackness of all four eyes.
She held out the package like a shield and chuckled nervously.
No amount of religious studies could have prepared her for this, but baked goods were the best line of defense she could think of.
“I have some with little bits of brown stuff in them that gets all gooey when it’s warm and another thing with blue oozy stuff in the middle, which I know sounds gross, but Laz let me try them all, and I promise they’re real good. ”
Ragnar’s irritation melted away, the corner of his mouth turning up, and that made her insides brighten. She unwrapped the package and hurried closer, and Ragnar took the morsel she offered, but the demon called Felgon curled his lip as if she were presenting him with a veilhound turd.
Ragnar growled. “Take. The. Cookie.”
“From a human?”
Before he could grab Felgon by the throat, she laughed loudly and waved in the space between them like she could swat away the nastiness.
“Oh, I didn’t make these—Lazerath and Davarox did!
No, no, I wouldn’t know how much butter or flour or brown bits to use, and I don’t know anything about all the fun fruits you guys have here in Heck, and I definitely can’t work a magical oven.
Even Alamar says I’m not allowed to touch the hearth rune because she doesn’t want the post blowing up.
Don’t worry, these are totally demon made.
They’ve even been wrapped up the whole way over here. ”
Ragnar’s black brows rose at Felgon’s hesitation until the demon stuffed the stone he’d been holding into his bag and accepted a cookie.
“I already missed my lunch,” he said with a disapproving frown. “Another reason you’re not getting the water rune fixed today.”
“It’s been weeks,” Ragnar spat.
“And it’ll be gods know how much longer,” lilted the blue demon as he stalked away.
Ragnar mumbled curses under his breath, but the sweet seemed a good distraction, stuffing it into his mouth as he tromped back toward the barn.
“Is this about the spigot out back?” Brioni asked, hustling after on her short legs, barely able to keep up.
“Yes. The rudiment department doesn’t care when it’s only animals suffering, apparently.”
Brioni took a bite of one of the cookies as she caught up, sighing at the taste but it wasn’t enough to deter her either.
She’d heard about those rudiments things—they were the part of the council in charge of the post too, in a sort of roundabout way, along with all the other more mundane things in Heck that kept it operating smoothly.
“I thought magic just made everything work…well, magically.”
Ragnar took a last bite, but the sugary goodness didn’t seem to have much of an effect on him. “Some magic is complicated, but Felgon always has something to say about coming all the way out here. He’s been an asshole since we were young.”
“This is it,” Brioni gasped around a mouthful of delicious crumbs.
Ragnar stopped his charge through the barn, brows dipped in confusion.
She shoved the package of sweets into his chest. “Save me one of the blue thingies. I’ll be back!”