He gave a mock sigh. “I wish I could. But alas…”
She laughed and hit him with the damp towel. “It’s a wonder they sent you away from the archives, Gladsly. To think your superiors thought you could speak with people!”
His laugh was a little forced. Honey paused. “Oh, come on. You were joking about harsher things thanI—”
“It’s not that,” he replied quickly. “I was just…thinking about that. Why they sent me here.”
“I recall you spoke about wanting to make something of yourself. It was you who came up with this project and came here, yes?”
“Not precisely. There was another project I was attempting to pursue, but when I found the letter from Artan, my supervisor felt I had the lead for a good solo project.”
“Ah, your great-grandfather, correct?” Honey said gently. “Have you—have you found any leads upstairs?”
“Nothing,” huffed Ainsworth. “I know he stayed here, but I do not know what he wasdoinghere, really, or what happened to him afterward. However, that’s merely a side project compared with my wider research. As I was saying, when I found his letter, I conducted some preliminary research about the mountain, sharing it with several peers. I agreed with them that there was likely a gap in adventuring culture knowledge and documentation of this place, but I…was somewhat shoved out the door. It was all rather…quickly done. Normally, we would have sent a messenger ahead. I would have spent some time here, then returned home, then come back with maybe a research team and…Well, there was no time for any of that.” Ainsworth closed his eyes. Recalled the mortifying state Lyria had found himin.
The archives, his safe space, hishome,the scene of that last fight with Enach. The toppled shelves, the cut on his shoulder, his utter inability to talk about what happened. Lyria rushing to his side, clearing up the scene so as to not attract unwanted attention, and plying him with sweet tea until he finally confessed what had happened. “But it— It was an accident. He meant no harm, really.”
Lyria had placed her hands atop his own around his teacup. The warmth from within and without had seemed to seep through into his very soul. “I am all too familiar with those words, Ainsworth. They came from my own mouth many years ago.”
He had balked, cursing himself as foolish. What memories had he stirred for Lyria due to the mess he found himself in? He had to pick himself up, straighten things out with Enach…
“I’m sorry, but it will be fine, I promise,” he had assured her. “It really was just a one-off. He has never…” Ainsworth could not quite say aloud that Enach had never hurt him before. Ainsworth could not even remember how things escalated so quickly. They had been fighting about something trivial—an acquaintance of Enach’s whom Ainsworth did not want to spend time with—and suddenly he had been on the receiving end of a barrage of insults and cutting remarks.
I cannot understand why you do not give my friends the respect they deserve, Ainsworth. At least they have made something of themselves.
Lyria had sighed. “Well. I understand how you feel—more than you know. I will not ask you why you do not leave, but rather I ask how he could do such despicable things. I candosomething about this, though. And I will.”
The following day, Enach had been sent out immediately to auditthe data collection of a research project in Hinslyth’s southern suburbs. Ainsworth had thought that was what Lyria meant, that she had given them a day of separation to cool off.
But then his own instructions came. If he wanted a solo project, it would have to be the Mount Vengeance one, Lyria scribbled in a missive, and he had to gonow.Lyria would not waste resources on the planning. No team to accompany him, no travel organized in advance. Leave now, or the project would never get started. Along with the missive came a pouch of generous grant money.I have settled everything already,she had written. He realized it probably came out of her own research allowance for the year, which explained why she was so excited by the prospect of extra funding coming his way.
“Why was there no time to arrange what you needed?” Honey looked puzzled. “I would have appreciated the heads-up—and the chance to refuse you,” she added with a wink.
Somehow, her words brought forth a laugh. And following it came words he hadn’t allowed himself to speak since Lyria found him.
He told Honey what happened that night.
Everything.
By the time he was finished, they were both sitting down on the stools by the counter that Alvea favored when kneading bread. He did not remember sitting, nor did he recall the fire in the hearth reducing to a gentle, amber glow. And when did it start raining outside?
“Oh…Ains,” Honey said softly when finally, voice hoarse, he finished speaking. She placed a hand on his knee. “At least you’re rid of him now. You do not need someone like that in your life.”
Ainsworth frowned, shuffling on his stool to remove his knee from her touch. “What do you mean, rid of him? We will make amends upon my return. I am sure of it.” But the words were ash in his mouth. Did he truly believe them? Why did he even voice such thoughts aloud?
“Oh well, of course,” Honey said. Ainsworth did not want to looktoo closely at her expression. He could not stand to see the pity and empathy that would mirror Lyria’s. “Whatever you want. I just meant…you aren’t dealing with that kind of unpleasantness here, at the inn. Right?”
He nodded, looking intently at the floor. “I—suppose you are right. There is a comfort in this place. It feels…safe. Despite the terrors of the mountain just beyond it.”
He finally gained the courage to look at her, surprised by the soft smile on her face, the way she leaned in closer and almost whispered her next words. “You truly find this place to be safe? To be a comfort to you?”
“Oh well,” he replied sheepishly, feeling his face heat under the intensity of her gaze. “Of course. I mean, you all do such wonderful work here and— And how can you not feel safe, with Ashe at the door?”
She laughed, tucking a stray hair behind her pointed ear. “She is the reason we all sleep soundly at night, even though it is not clear when she herself sleeps. But I’m glad, Ainsworth. That you find it comforting here.”
“This place is as comforting as a bag of sugared spice aiknuts,” he said. The memory of such a treat had him beaming. Whenever something went wrong, it was his comfort of choice. An argument, a dead end in his research, a proposal rejection…he could always skulk to one of the markets of the city Enach would not be seen dead in and buy the biggest bag he could. The small nuts, bursting with a sweetness that coated his tongue before striking with aromatic spice a second later, never failed to bring a smile to his face no matter what happened. How he wished he had some at hand.
And then it hit him.
