“But it isn’t over yet! Alvea, try it with butter and my preserves,” Ainsworth exclaimed. He would not give up so easily!
“Hmm, you know, I’d usually have these with crowdie instead of a preserve…”
“I know, I know,” said Ainsworth. “But I am not well versed in cheesemaking so—just try it!”
“I was about to, don’t fret.”
“Can I have one, Ainsworth?”
“Me, too?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, slightly disappointed that Honey hadn’t asked. Ruraidh and Quiddle reached for the plate, but Honey’s attention was fixed on Alvea as she spread a generous amount of golden, melting butter and sharp preserves atop the bannock and popped it in her mouth. It felt like an eternity passed, until—
Alvea shook her head, and, upon finishing, gave a roar oflaughter.
“Oh—does that count?” Quiddle asked, caught up in the challenge.
“I suppose it does? Ainsworth?” Ruraidh asked anxiously.
“I…” Ainsworth trailed off, a mix of emotions making it difficult to form a complete sentence. Yes, this was all for his research, to attract more people and hopefully adventurers to the inn, but the fact that Alvea liked this dish more than the others…
He sat down across from her and reached for a bannock. “You know, I do think these are my best work.”
“Even better than all your academic scribblings?” Alvea asked, smiling, as she reached for another.
Smiling, for sure.
Ainsworth returned her smile. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Ainsworth and Ruraidh spent that evening and then the following day adding Alvea’s position at the inn, and her renowned food, onto the flyers and posters they had designed. They spread their materials across the largest table in the tavern room, with the other staff members occasionally coming over to assist. Honey had even joined them for an hour or so after breakfast, and Ainsworth still marveled over the stunning calligraphy that adorned the few flyers she had produced. He wondered if he might pester her to pen the chapter headings of his book, imagining that perhaps they would catch the eye of the printing team at the Skarrow Library, and they would then extend an invite for her to contribute to more manuscript productions…
Ainsworth cursed as he almost overturned an ink pot in the midst of his daydream.
“Are you sure your boss will be fine with using your supplies like this?” Ruraidh asked as he sliced another section off the enchanted parchment scroll, which produced page after blank page when and as you neededit.
“Well, yes,” said Ainsworth, wiping ink from his fingers. “I havewritten in my report all the materials used as I embarked on my research—I believe, if I am audited, I have the relevant trail to justify my actions. And besides, the cost of the spell was paid for many research projects ago. I am one of many scholars who have used this particular stack of parchment.”
“Fascinating,” Ruraidh mused, dipping his quill in ink to illustrate a small auldfruit pie next to Alvea’s name on the flyer. “In all my years here, I haven’t seen an enchantment like it.”
“How longhaveyou been here, Ruraidh?” Ainsworth asked, rather suddenly. He had not yet wanted to formally interview Ruraidh, who was so skittish and flighty, the process felt invasive rather than curious. But over the past few weeks, Ainsworth had come to consider him a friend, and now he genuinely wished to know.
“Oh, about…eight years, I think?”
“Eight!” Ainsworth exclaimed. Invasiveness be damned. “But you— Ruraidh, forgive the rudeness of this question and you do not have to answer if you’d rather not, but…How old are you? You look younger than I am!”
Ruraidh gave a shy smile, brushing some of his white hair away from his silver eyes. “Well, since you asked so nicely…We have similar life spans to elves. I’ll turn forty this year.”
Forty!“Goodness, Ruraidh! We should make sure to organize sufficient birthday celebrations for you.”
His silver cheeks flushed somewhat. “Th-that won’t be necessary but…thank you.”
They continued for some moments in silence before Ainsworth decided to press on. “So…why did you come to the Misnich Inn? Why did you stay?”
“Um, well…I’m from a dunelfen dwelling that sticks to our roots—you know, living in and around mountain ranges.”
Ainsworth nodded. Many dunelfen did so in the Saltquart Kingdom, but he also knew a few who resided in Hinslyth. The dunelfen who made their dwellings in deep mountain ranges often faced prejudice regarding their ability to live in such close proximity to dark magical beast territory, and were thus said to have an affinity for thesame kind of magic. The termdark magicprimarily referred to that which drained and ended the essence of life, although the categorization of magic and its origins was constantly up for scholarly debate. Ainsworth subscribed to the fairly common belief that magical ley lines infused the land, strengthening and weakening at spots, changing in what they offered. There were others who firmly believed in the spiritual origins of magic: that the Matron Above gifted magic, and dark magic was the result of a soul corrupting the gift. Some, like Ainsworth’s grandmother, instead argued the Matron Below enhanced the land beneath their feet to be channeled and used. But whether it was spiritual or environmental in origin, none of it changed the fact that Ainsworth wasn’t particularly good at usingit!
Ruraidh continued. “What you call the Dubhrach mountain range is vast, but my community dwelled closer to the Saltquart side, near Mount Vengeance.”
