“I paid good coin for your hospitality, innkeeper, and I expect that to include manners as well.”
A stunned silence followed his words.
Ainsworth should say something, he knew. He should leap to Honey’s defense, and curse Enach for his rudeness. How dare he talk to her like that!
“Enach, please. Enough!” He meant for it to come out assertive, for his words to cast a protective net over himself and—although she certainly did not need it with that glare, which was still glowing as strong as ever—Honey.
Sadly, it was more of a feeble croak.
Nevertheless, it won him a triumphant look from Honey, whose molten gaze was starting to fade back toward normal, and rolled eyes from Enach. Ainsworth cleared his throat and continued tentatively onward. “It is you who should be courteous to the people who have welcomed me into their home without question.”
Well, Ashe and perhaps Bren excluded.
The look in Enach’s eye was initially all too familiar—a deep, burning fury. But, unusually, he blinked, and all traces of anger were banished. “Very well, then. Excuse my tone, innkeeper. It has been…an emotional day.” He sat down on the opposite armchairand picked up his wine. “Perhaps a night of rest is in order. And then we can get you to a healer tomorrow, Ainsworth.”
Ainsworth did not have the energy to do anything other than nod. But Honey gave his knee a quick squeeze, and before she could move her hand away, he gently placed his on top of hers and squeezed back.
Chapter 23
For the rest of that evening,Ainsworth felt as though he were a victim of one of those tragic Transportation Circle accidents—stuck in a frozen state and yet torn mercilessly into two halves by opposing forces.
Enach was here.Here.Lavishing Ainsworth with the kind of affection he had never exhibited back in Hinslyth. However, he was sadly not offering the same kind of warmth to the people who had treated Ainsworth so generously. Although Ainsworth had to admit, Enach had not behaved nearly as badly as he could have.
Once Honey had gently and thoroughly tended to Ainsworth’s wound—with Ashe and Quiddle floating around nervously and Enach lounging with a drink in the corner—Alvea announced that all Ainsworth needed was some good, hearty food to set him right. While he longed to sleep, his stomach also ached with hunger, and he realized some of his shakiness could be attributed to the fact he had not eaten since morning. He and Enach then worked on the Transportation Circle paperwork while the rest of the staff went about their business. It involved Enach administrating a spell here at the inn that would link up to the Transportation Circle he had newly set in Wenslykirk. Anyone who paid the fee and filled in the forms supplied by Honey on this end would be granted access to the circle. Honey would be expected to send a cut of the profits tothe Skarrow Institution annually. “Does the innkeeper organize her bookkeeping well?” Enach asked as he finished the work.
“Well, she does now,” Ainsworth said softly, thinking of the attic.
“What?”
“Er, yes.”
Ainsworth did not know where Honey had ducked away to, but Spin and Bren came to sit by the fire and ask about his expedition with Ashe.
Enach, sitting behind them, made disbelieving faces at their responses and questions. He made these gestures in a way that suggested he expected Ainsworth to join in, to mock the pair for their earnest questions about how the spell worked, or for Ainsworth to explain the signs of magic he was looking for as though they were simpletons as opposed to people who simply had other cares and knowledge and interests in life. It was as though the breath was snatched from Ainsworth when he registered that—primarily because he realized he had joined in such mockery not long ago and sometimes had been the one to instigateit.
At dinner, Quiddle pelted Enach with questions about Skarrow, and Ainsworth held his breath as Enach gave short, clipped, but thankfully amicable answers. Ashe joined them at the table but did not eat much, instead sending curious glances Enach’s way. Spin seemed completely oblivious that they had a new guest, and Ruraidh was several times more skittish than usual, even going so far as to knock over Alvea’s glass of wine. When Enach gave a sarcastic clap, Ruraidh reddened, and Ainsworth had to hold his hands together tightly under the table to stop them trembling.
Honey arrived to the table late, but when she did, she walked over to Bren—sitting to Ainsworth’s left and muttering all he knew about dark beast wounds until Ainsworth was convinced he must be turning a shade of green—and asked him to move one seatup.
“You’d ask an old dwarf to move his bones?” Bren asked with a wink, and in the tone of voice he only reserved for Honey. Ainsworth tried very hard to look like he wasn’t listening, and insteadnibbled on a piece of bread Alvea had laid out while the stew finished simmering.
“I would. I’d like to give Ainsworth a once-over, check he has no sign of infection.”
“Oh, you have done so much for him already. Please, relax and enjoy your meal,” Enach, to Ainsworth’s right, said with what Ainsworth knew to be a false laugh and forced smile.
“Ah, but just to be sure…Bren—shift it!”
Bren did indeed shift it, and in less than a second Honey had descended next to Ainsworth and placed a hand on his forehead. “Doesn’t feel like you’re burning up anymore. You feeling all right?” she asked brightly.
“He’s fine, aren’t you, Ains?” Enach said from his other side.
Honey’s eyebrow twitched, and Ainsworth quickly replied: “I am indeed. But thank you, Honey.”
The look she gave seemed to convey what lay heavy and unspoken between them—the conversation in Alvea’s kitchen, all he had told and the feelings he had spilled. He remembered, too, suddenly, the way she let her tail fall across his lap when they both sat cross-legged on her bed chatting the night away. He recalled the way he had sometimes accidentally-on-purpose brushed it with his hand when he reached for his tea, and how she flushed the first time he didso.
“Actually, you do feel a bit warm,” Honey remarked. Ainsworth gently batted her hand away, grateful for his slightly feverish state that would conceal the true source of his heated face.
Alvea soon dished up a whitefish stew, buttery and loaded with carrots and other root vegetables from Spin’s garden.
