Chapter 6
The look that Fig gave Ainsworthwas sincere in its apology—brows raised, cocked head, a slight smile weighed down by guilt. But still Ainsworth could not acceptit.
“Apologies, I— Did I mishear? You are goinghome?”
“We are.”
Honey cleared her throat. The sound was followed by the small thump of a coin pouch on the counter. “Please do count it; this is the return of your expenditure for the horses.”
“There’s no need, Honey. I trust you’re good for it.” Fern winked, taking the bag.
Ainsworth felt like he was the only one who truly comprehended the ridiculousness of what was happening. Beyond the trailing ivy, he saw Quiddle out of the corner of his eye, clearing the breakfast things. Through the open front door stood Ashe, facing away, resuming her post. The slight, deep humming floating through the room suggested Bren was polishing his bar. “What happened? Did you receive some bad news? Or— Are you ill?”
Fig walked over and placed a heavy hand on Ainsworth’s shoulder. “Something happened, yes. But nothing like that.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them, Ainsworth was momentarily stunned. He recognized that, previously, the adventurer had worn a face of ambition. Eyes alight and aglow with the fire of a promised, glorious future. Yes, it had been hunger. Hungerhad framed every inch of the swordsman, had him chasing everything from his next adventure to his next laugh around a dinner table. “We realized that we had nothing to prove. We do not need to conquer Mount Vengeance. Neither the mountain nor the land beyond it holds what we seek. What we set out to do, we did long ago.”
It was as if Fig’s mask of ambition had slipped away before Ainsworth’s eyes. Contentment was now what engulfed the man. His jaw was slack, his shoulders no longer taut, his face bright in a way that was happy with what was in front of it, not needing to look any further for satisfaction.
“I— Really? You are sure?” Ainsworth stuttered. Behind Fig, Fern chuckled.
“Yes, Ainsworth. We are sure. Your disappointment proves it.” She pushed past her brother and placed a pointed finger in the middle of his chest. Her claw was retracted but clearly needed filing. It stung, piercing through the cloth of his favorite shirt.
When she continued, her tone remained friendly, but her words were firm. “This morning, we realized we have already done what we set out to do. Sure, we could conquer Mount Vengeance, but then what? We’d seek something, bigger, better. More and more, never stopping to truly look back and think:Wow. Look at what we have achieved thus far.”
Fig nodded next to her. “And so it is time to finally reap that satisfaction. To retrace our journey here, to see what we have already achieved, how far we have come. Not to boast, not to brag, but to remember. We werehere.And that is enough.”
Ainsworth, speechless, merely returned Fig’s nod. Beaming behind them all, Honey politely asked if the siblings could return their room keys. Ainsworth watched in disbelief as the flurry of packing and organizing was finalized, and before he knew it, brother and sister embraced him in a giant, warm hug of farewell. “We are sorry, Ainsworth. Truly,” said Fig as he gently pushed Ainsworth’s postage package and coin back into his hands. “We eagerly await the account of whoever is the first to provide you with the words you seek.”
“It isn’t too late. It could still be you, both of you!”
They shared a knowing, conspiring look. Fern gave him a light punch to the chest before they both stepped back. Ainsworth stumbled, crestfallen and irritated by her touch. By their departure. “It won’t, Ainsworth. Farewell, friend. We have made a note of your library; we will seek you out should we ever uncover anything we think worth documenting. But for now, we have tales enough already. They may not be immortalized in song, and our names may only be known by the folk whose paths we cross, but that does not make the way we live our life any less impressive or important.”
As he stood outside and watched the gentle trot of their horses carrying them away from the Misnich Inn and Mount Vengeance, Ainsworth momentarily questioned his observational skills. But he absolutely had not been mistaken in witnessing the eager ambition from the siblings, their strength, their bravery. Had not imagined their thrill in the song Honey composed for them, the contagious anticipation for the next morning.
Now—nothing. Gone.
Was it hangover-induced cowardice? Or had the beast scared Fig more than he let on the previous night? Yet Ainsworth recalled the triumph, the obscene casualness in the face of such darkness from the pair of them. No, there was nothing cowardly about them.
“Breakfast finished a while ago. Quiddle may have scraps in the kitchen.” Ashe’s remark was curt, cutting into Ainsworth’s despairing ruminations as he stared into the distance. The siblings were almost out of sight as they trotted up the hill.
Ainsworth ignored her. He spun on his heel and marched back into the inn. He found Honey polishing a table and frowning, most likely at the poor job Quiddle had done beforehand.
“You did something.”
She did not interrupt her thorough polishing as she replied. “Excuse me?”
Ainsworth took a breath. His first real lead for his project had just walked away. Who knew when the next party would arrive? He tried to hold back some of his frustration as he exhaled, but he could notstop the rush of words that poured out, hot and furious. “Something has run afoul here. You said something to them to make them change their minds, or did something…some sort of spell!”
Honey still did not look his way. Instead, she began wiping down the backs of the chairs. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped pointing your finger at me.”
Despite the fact she did not meet his gaze, Ainsworth swore he felt a simmering wrath radiating from her. He did as she asked, and she continued. “I did not think you a stupid man. Last night you witnessed the feast we threw for them, the songs we composed, and how we stoked their courage with companionship. As for any magic—well, you slept in the same room as them. Surely you would have noticed any trickery.”
“I—” he stuttered, recalling the way he stumbled to bed the previous night. “I am a deep sleeper, and so—”
Honey threw down her cloth. “It does not matter. There are none of us here who are adept at sorcery beyond the small menial tasks that you can also achieve. And did you even listen to them, Ainsworth? You said you were here tolistenand record our stories, but it appears you barely take heed of any words you do not wish to hear. The night before they set out on a dangerous, life-altering quest, they changed their minds. Realized all their motivations were wrong, and not truly what they wanted. Is there anything so strange about that? Quiddle, stop your staring and make yourself useful. You’ll need to make a start on lunch.”
“Yes ma’am!” the young hauflin piped from behind Ainsworth, clearly dismayed that his eavesdropping attempt had been foiled.
Ainsworth considered Honey’s words. Thought about how the night before he had embarked upon this very journey, he had lain abed and sobbed furious tears until his throat was raw. He had thought, mostly, the despair had been the result of his fight with Enach and their hurtful parting of ways. The fact that he was being denied the chance to pursue his original research project. But…perhaps he had been scared to put one foot in front of the other the next day, to begin such a high-stakes and uncertain journey.
