“Why, yes.” She grinned. “But I’d enjoy it even more if you danced with me.”
Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed his hand and tugged with such alarming strength he practically flew out of his seat.
“Wait!” he cried, laughing, making sure his drink did not fly off the table with him. Tryll eased up slightly, then turned to hold his hand with both of hers and firmly led him to the floor. “You look like you’d be a good dancer,” she said, her cheeks and pointed ears flushed red with, presumably, the wine and the heat of the room. He tugged at his shirt a little to let in some air and was startled whenher eyes darted to his neck at the gesture.Oh Matron!He was little more than prey to her on this fine evening.
Well. He could still dance for a bit, couldn’the?
After a few weeks of revelry, he was now more accustomed to the lively, swirling dances that adventurers and tourists brought with them. Wenslykirk had its own favored tune and dance, which Ashe and Bren were adept at playing. It involved several rounds of stamping feet and clasping hands with your partner afterward, spinning for sixteen counts clockwise before returning the opposite way, then taking them by the arm and weaving in and out of the other couples.
Ainsworth ended up breathless and dizzy, his heart soaring as he spun around the room with Tryll. She was almost of a height with him and excelled in the dance of her hometown. It was delightful—more so than any formal dance he had ever attended back in Hinslyth. Here, no one cared if your hair had fallen out of place, if your clothes were a season out of date or cheaply made, or if you had a splash of ale on your shirt. The music was utterly liberating, and made Ainsworth feel like he was, somehow, home.
“My turn next!” roared Alvea from across the room when the music stopped. She strode over and snatched Ainsworth from Tryll’s grasp, as though he were a sweet grabbed from one child’s hand to another. Tryll scowled, but Ainsworth paid little attention to her. He and Alvea were firmly friends after the challenge, but he had not assumed she was so fond of him as to sweep him off his feet and onto the dance floor!
Alvea towered over Ainsworth and placed her hands on his shoulder as they moved in time to the music. “Gladsly?”
“Yes?”
“Are you stupid?”
She had swept him away from enjoyable company forthis?
“Alvea!”
“I think you are, you know.”
“What do you—?”
She twirled him around, her arms long enough that he wentunder her hand with ease—antlers and all. “Didn’t you leave something behind at your table?”
“I— My ale?” he said. “But I can surely get another!”
“Oh Matron.” She rolled her eyes at him, and in the aftermath of his own spinning it made him fretfully dizzy. “You really are dense. You sure that library of yours didn’t send you here as some sort of exile?”
He had not the faintest idea what she was talking about, but he’d had rather too much ale to counter her. “Whatever are you getting at?”
She gave him one last spin as Bren and Ashe finished the jig. “Oh, nothing of any importance, apparently. Say, could you do me a favor?”
He stood straight, gathering his senses. “Well, I suppose—despite how your words have wounded me tonight!”
She gave a snort. Around them, the dancers dispersed to get drinks and other refreshments. Tryll lingered somewhat behind Alvea, as if trying to catch his eye. He found himself suddenly keen to avoidit.
“That’s the spirit. I’ve left my favorite bracelet in my room. Here’s the key to the staff quarters; would you go fetch it? It’s on my bedside table, and my room is the second to the right.”
“Alvea! I cannot go into the staff quarters,” Ainsworth protested. For as long as he had been here, no one had invited him in there—and despite how close he was to the staff now, he respected that desire for privacy, for a degree of separation between their work life and their personal life. He felt the same with his dwellings at the library. His room in the Scholar Quarters was his own sacred sanctum. Enach was the only one of his companions who had been inside it, and, well…that was more a matter of convenience and privacy than any desire to share his personal space.
“I have to return to the kitchens and bring out the next round of appetizers. Come on, Gladsly! Just get it for me?”
He sighed and took the key she had been jabbing into his arm inher eagerness to have him take it. “Fine. But are you sure this is allowed?”
“It’s my room, isn’t it?” She took him by the shoulders, turned him around, and pushed him toward the corridor. “There’s a good lad. Thanks, Gladsly.”
Ainsworth couldn’t deny that he was curious. Head slightly spinning from the evening’s merriment, he skulked through the quiet corridor as though he were a thief in the night, passed the stairs that led to his and the other guest rooms, and headed straight for the door to the left of the kitchen. A dim glow floating from underneath it suggested residents were beyond. He had not seen Spin. Perhaps she was in her room? He hoped Alvea’s room was not too hard to find. What did she say? To the right?
Ainsworth opened the door and winced at its loud creaking. He slipped in and shut it behind him just as someone left the tavern hall and entered the corridor. He heard the thundering that suggested someone was going to retrieve something or other from upstairs. Then he heard Bren and Ashe starting up their music again. It drifted through to him—a rather upbeat tune at odds with his stealthing. He wished to return to that music and merriment quickly, and so he set off.
Tiptoeing across the floor, he identified the door from Alvea’s instructions and inserted the small, silver key attached to the large gold one that secured the corridor door.
It would not turn.
