After hesitating, he popped two cups on the tray.
On his return, she was as good as her word; the door was indeed unlocked. He balanced the tray on one hand, wary of the steaming teapot and the gentle rattling of the cups due to his unsteady stance, and closed the door behind him with his hip.
“Hello,” Honey croaked.
“Hello.”
She was perched on a raised bed, and the dent she made where she sat suggested that the mattress and duvet were much, much softer than his own. She had put some of the jewelry back on her horns, he realized. He looked away quickly, not wishing to be caught staring, and then cursed inwardly at himself for not letting his gaze linger and offering her a compliment.
Matron,what was going on with him?
He tried to pull himself together. “This is a wonderful room. How many guests have been back here?”
She raised her brows. “Ainsworth! What are you implying?”
“Oh, nothing! Nothing. I—!” he stuttered, placing the tray down on her bedside table. Small clay figures of flowers were scattered across it, presumably made by the same guest who had left the ones upstairs. “I didn’t mean it like that! I only— That is, because Alveagave me the key, and I have never been asked to see the staff quarters, I wondered…Not that I would expect to be invited! I just—”
She almost doubled over laughing at the awkward excuses tumbling from his lips, and only stopped due to a sudden coughing fit. Alarmed that she might actually be quite ill, Ainsworth swallowed his embarrassment and poured her a cup of tea; it would be more potent if he let it steep longer, but she could have another, stronger cup afterward, he reasoned.
He sat on the bed on her opposite side, and Honey swayed slightly as his weight settled down. Her room was smaller than he imagined. An armchair sat in front of the large arched window he knew resided behind the closed, scarlet curtains. As in the tavern, ivy plants were in abundance in a shelf above her bed—four of them, reaching toward her pillow. Framed paintings adorned the opposite wall. One was of a city he did not recognize; another was the obvious Mount Vengeance with the inn, a white dot, in front of the looming peak. The third was a portrait of what appeared to be a dunelfen woman. She was beautiful. Her hair was silver, and her severe features framed striking green eyes. Her cheekbones were adorned with tiny stars—tattoos, perhaps?
Honey took a loud sip and caught him staring. “That’s Driana,” she said. Her voice sounded much less pained, and Ainsworth felt a brief moment of satisfaction.
“Oh. Someone who used to work here?”
Honey gave a small grimace. “Matron, no. She would have hated being stuck here. No, she was an adventurer—and my love. But she passed away on one of her…expeditions.” Honey added the last part in a small voice.
Ainsworth froze, hoping to hear more of the tale, but also because of the strange, twisting feeling that lurched in his chest. “Honey, I am so sorry. Did she—?”
Honey barked a laugh. “I know what you’re thinking. No, it wasn’t on Mount Vengeance. How tragic that would be, considering my place at the Misnich Inn. It was…a long time ago. I think ofher often, but the ache of her memory no longer makes my heart feel as though it is cold and empty. It feels more like it is gently glowing, a star in the distance, when I think of her.”
They sat in companionable silence for a time before Honey offered him a cup of tea. He accepted, and before he knew it, it was gone, and he had scuttled to the kitchen to retrieve more. When he returned, they talked about everything and anything. At some point, the music from the tavern died down and they heard the sounds of the staff returning to their adjacent rooms, but Ainsworth made no move to leave, and Honey did not ask him to. As the night wore on and the candles dotted about the room began to burn low, rain pattered gently on the window. Ainsworth wished fervently that the night would not end, that he could continue sitting in comfort and companionship with Honey until there was nothing left to discuss in the whole world. Only when she started to doze, empty teacup in hand slipping for him to catch, did Ainsworth gather up the tray and tiptoe out. By the time he got to his room, a chorus of snores greeting him, the sky was pink from the rising sun.
Chapter 18
Ainsworth wasn’t surprisedwhen the latest group of adventurers turned away from the challenge presented by Mount Vengeance in the days that followed. They had not been attracted to the inn from his marketing efforts, and had instead stumbled across it by chance as they sought the mountain. This time, however, he was not suspicious of any magic or curse at work. It was simply that they were…well…
A bunch of idiots.
One member of the party had a reptilian look about him, a huge fearsome black sword strapped to his back. He sat alone outside waiting for the rest of his group to settle up the bill. He held a small jar that contained a caterpillar, of all things, which he was gleefully showing off to Ashe. The guard was in surprisingly good humor about it all and seemed to enjoy the company.
The gargantuan fellow had arrived the previous day with his group. A blond human woman in the party—scowling and foul-tempered—had claimed to be a researcher when Ainsworth finally got a word out of her the previous evening. She had merely mumbled something about being interested in “stars” and would not elaborate further, nor give any hint as to what institution she had once studied at—it certainly was not the Skarrow Library! The young gnome that accompanied them had mostly run riot in the tavern area, trying to catch theivy that dangled from the beams on the ceiling. She then spent most of the morning rooting through the ashes of the fireplace, apparently looking for “treasure.”
The two members of the party whom Ainsworth presumed to be the leaders were currently settling the bill with Honey—a small, human sorcerer with hair of flame who didn’t talk much, and a shockingly pink-furred firfolk, who seemed to care more about the welfare of the animals she traveled with than anything else. Quiddle delighted in entertaining the two bear cubs that came with the party while Spin had let their honey badger dig up various patches of the garden to save her back. Truly, Ainsworth did not know what forces brought together such a random assortment of people, but they did not seem particularly prepared or able to tackle Mount Vengeance. He had been relieved when they unanimously decided against pursuing the mountain’s treasure. Ainsworth wished them luck, he truly did, but would be glad to see the back of them when they finally departed.
That morning, he sat in the quiet tavern room sipping a tea brewed by Alvea. He had called out the chef for her antics after his night with Honey, but she had merely raised an eyebrow at his accusations. “Must have been the drink in me. Why would I send you there? It sounds like you had a nice night, though.”
He had not spoken to her much since then, for her knowing looks made him turn a violent shade of scarlet.
Shaking his head, he returned to his work. He was writing a paragraph documenting the route to the standing stones, providing as much detail as possible so he could enlist the help of a cartographer back at the Skarrow Library to sketch out a more detailed map.
“How could you be so stupid, boy! That’s another one of my cups you’ve broken!”
Ainsworth looked up at the sound of Bren’s growl, startled.
“I’m sorry—I was just polishing it, and it— This piece snapped off!” Quiddle had his head bowed and held his hand in front of him. A shock of redness across it suggested he had hurt himself.
“You know better than to treat them like that straight out of thehot water! We don’t have many of these ones left!” Bren continued raging, throwing his hands in the air and snatching the remaining glass from Quiddle’s trembling, bleeding hand.
