The streets of Hinslyth were heavy with the evening’s chill, and people ventured out bundled in hats, thick scarves, and coats. Ainsworth could not focus on the chatter Jess, Mal, and Enach idly shared as they walked toward their destination—a rare occurrence in itself, because Enach had not had time to book a carriage in advance.
It seemed like an eternity had passed since Ainsworth had ventured into a fine dining establishment. He felt more than saw the eyes of all the other diners and patrons upon them as they entered—each taking stock of who was in the room, wondering what they might have done to deserve a place in it, and desperately searching for any misstep, any misconduct, that would provide much-needed gossip they’d feast on the following day even more avidly than on their meal tonight. Enach had taken Ainsworth’s arm and escorted him to his seat—a gesture so unlike him it made Ainsworth again recall the dragon’s question, its scrutiny.
What do you want?
“What will it be, sir?” asked the server, as she approached moments later.
Ainsworth blinked. “I’m not…” He had not been listening to her recital of the drinks. The conversation among Jess, Mal, and Enach had washed over him, too.
“He has spent so long in the country, drinking filth, that he is overwhelmed by the choice in front of him!” Enach remarked, and Jess and Mal made no effort to hide their laughter. Jess in particular seemed to laugh a little too hard, and Ainsworth noted the hand she placed on Enach’s arm. Ainsworth also noticed Enach doing nothing to shrug it off.
Ah. Perhaps therehadbeen someone for Enach in Ainsworth’s absence, then.
“That’s not quite true,” Ainsworth began, but before he knew it Enach had ordered two bottles of wine for them to share, and ordered their food, too.
As Ainsworth sipped a smoky red wine and nibbled on the shellfish-stuffed vegetables, he admitted that, yes, he did like these things. But they did not, as he had once assumed, make him truly happy. No, it was more the act of sharing food and drink in jovial company that made it a pleasure. Even enjoying a solitary moment with the fine food he so savored was much better when he was content, happy. Like Honey’s orradan cakes, enjoyed under the stars by the fire while Ashe slept on. On those nights, he had been certain of the path he was following, and of the company he was keeping.
“Hello? Ainsworth? What is with you tonight?” Mal said, nudging his elbow. “We’ve been discussing Enach’s latest publication, and you have yet to say a peep!”
“Oh, apologies, what did you say?” Ainsworth replied. “I was just— I am still worn from my time away.”
“Of course you are, my dear!” Enach said, reaching across the table to clasp Ainsworth’s hand. “You poor thing, living in such uncivilized surroundings for so long.”
Ainsworth took his hand back, using the pretense of covering his mouth as he cleared his throat. “Well, I would not say ‘uncivilized’…”
“Yes, tell us about it, Ainsworth, we are just dying to know!” Jess said. “The funding you have potentially attracted from the council is more than double what I could ever hope to achieve.”
Ainsworth was briefly unarmed by her seemingly genuine compliment.
“Well, that’s what happens when you come across previously undocumented legends and heritage,” Enach said, leaning back in his chair to take a drink. “But why anyone would want to read about that run-down inn and the common muck who operate it is beyond me. Especially since you’ve failed to secure any actual accounts of journeys across the mountain. And yet, who am I to dictate what the council deems necessary contributions to knowledge?”
Mal and Jess laughed as if on cue, clearly gleeful at being witness to this show of domestic tension. Once, Ainsworth would havewithdrawn from it, submitted. Anything to not make a scene, to not be the subject of gossip the following day.
But he found he did not care about such things any longer.
“Enach,” he chided, and the tone of his voice shut Jess and Mal up. “That is no way to speak of those fine people.”
“Yes, yes,” Enach said, rolling his eyes. “I suppose they were very accommodating for your research, and so they are therefore good for something.”
Ainsworth took a deep breath. “That is not what I mean. I mean they are good people in themselves, leading good, honest, fulfilling lives—”
“Pah! Fulfilling?” Enach exclaimed, one fist pounding the table. Ainsworth was vaguely aware of nearby diners pausing in their conversation to listen. “What is so fulfilling about moldering in a backwater inn?”
Ainsworth felt a rush of anger, and it felt sogood.It felt good to fight back, to let it out. He could almost picture the dragon in his mind, approval radiating from it.So this is what you want.
“There is so much more to people than that! We are so much more than what our money can buy, what our education provides, and the achievements we have, Enach. We don’tneedthose things—”
“You needed them,” Enach snapped. “You, who grew up in the mud, crawling here from your little village in Breggen, arriving at Skarrow with your scholarship that wasn’t even enough to fill your belly.”
“Oh, Ainsworth!” Jess gasped. “I did not know! How awful.”
While Jess looked positively giddy at this revelation, Mal seemed mortified at the escalation and became intent on withdrawing as far as he could into his chair.
Enach continued, relentless. “Without all thosethingsyou so disparage now, Ainsworth—withoutme—you’d be nothing.”
Ainsworth took a second to take it all in. His past, which he so rarely shared with anyone, had been thrown at him like a weapon infront of an audience. He realized then, when the expected waves of embarrassment failed to rise, that it was these people’s esteem that had made him feel ashamed of his past. But there was nothing shameful about it. No, the only shameful thing was the people who sought to keep their knowledge, their culture, their security, and their stability for people like themselves—never opening the door for anyone who had little but might be deserving of a place.
And Ainsworth had bought into it, and into the mindset that accompanied it. Laughed at those who failed, considered people beneath him if they did not have the kind of education or experiences he did. As he looked at Enach, at the note of triumph on that handsome face, he briefly saw the person he had been.
