Soon Freckle was followed by a stoic Ashe. “I’ve decided I’m not stupid enough to take on the entire mountain with someone as inexperienced as you,” she said casually as she passed Ainsworth’s table to resume her post outside before he could reply. Ruraidh was a lot more difficult to face. Blushing furiously, close to tears, he stated that actually he did not wish to go back to territory so close to his home, where he might be seen by his Dwelling.
“Of course, Ruraidh. Please stop apologizing,” Ainsworth said, giving his friend’s hand a squeeze. He felt guilty that Ruraidh had suffered so under Honey’s magic—and he caught Honey giving him a regretful glance as Ruraidh uttered yet more apologies.
After breakfast, Bren beckoned Ainsworth out into the garden. It was a glorious day, with only the slightest sting of chill in the air—for now. He sat down at the outdoor table, with Spin across from him, shelling a basket of peas she had just harvested.
“We heard you’ll still be heading out to the mountain today,” said Bren.
“That’s right.”
He stroked his beard as he spoke. “Honey told you, then. I just wanted a chance to explain why I may have been…off with you. With everyone. I knew how important all this was to her,” he said, gesturing to the inn. “The inn was quiet for a time, and I was hopeful she could rest alongside us. Her values are what saved us all, in the end. All of us who call the inn home, anyway. And I feared you were undoing that, bringing so many folk here.”
“Well, I disagree,” Spin chimed in. “I like having the extra company.”
Bren rolled his eyes. “Easy for you to say, out here in the garden where no one is pestering you for refills. But…I think Honey is happy with the changes, too. And she’s happy with you. That’s all that matters to me.” Bren held out his hand—a peace offering?
Ainsworth shook it and enjoyed an amicable breakfast with the pair of them.
By midmorning, Honey hadfinallyseen the rest of the guests off. “We probably should have left at dawn. I’m sorry,” she said.
“No problem,” said Ainsworth. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”
She considered him. He carried just one single pack, his bow and arrows abandoned, and only a loose shirt and trousers. “Aren’t you…a little unprepared? We will be gone for weeks if you wish to see—”
“Oh, you’re right,” he said, and he knelt under the table to retrieve a picnic basket Alvea had helped him put together. “Lunch. I almost forgot it.”
She hesitated. “Ainsworth…”
“This was all we needed the last time we hiked to the standing stones, was it not?”
Her eyes were glassy and she gave a tight-lipped nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
“And presumably, if any other creatures give us hassle, you can…take care of them?”
Honey looked toward the door. “Yes, I won’t have to hide my strength from you now, and Ashe…Well, she certainly won’t be heading anywhere near the mountain today.”
Ainsworth had decided during their talk that he would not set out to do what he initially planned—partly because there was little point, now that the final mystery was unlocked, and partly because he no longer knew what he was going to do with the book, or with his project as a whole.
He had spent the morning going over and over Honey’s words in his mind—confidences he had promised not to divulge. He still wanted to share the Misnich Inn’s story with the world, but how could he when so much was tied up with Honey’s personal story, which he could not reveal? Yet if he did not submit the book to Skarrow, what would this mean about his future?
He had taken on the Misnich Inn project because Lyria had promised it would secure his reputation as an esteemed scholar of heritage and history. And he truly loved research and scholarship. It was in his blood, his bones, the way that the forest had been in his father’s. Yet if he failed at this—a project that had caught the imagination of most of the Skarrow Library—could he even call himself a scholar still? Or would be he removed from their ranks forever?
Ainsworth was not quite sure what to make of it all yet. But he hoped a brisk, short(ish) walk would clear his mind. At the very least, there was a satisfaction and sense of accomplishment that so many of his questions (and more) about the mountain, about its dragon, had been answered.
“Ready,” Honey said finally, her own pack slung over her shoulder. “I’ll take the basket. You arefartoo clumsy up there.”
For the first hour or so of their walk, the gentle ascent was invigorating. Ainsworth felt the sun against his skin, the chill of the air skimming the hairs on the back of his arms and nestling deep into his lungs. He found his stride quickly—“You really have changed these past few weeks!” Honey huffed alongside him—and took pleasure in the small joys of the landscape.
“Despite the dangers this terrain possesses, you do love this mountain,” said Ainsworth when they paused for water. “It is your home, and you yourself have tried to show me the beauty of it.”
“Well, of course.”
“The path is long and difficult, but if someone wishes to try and walk it, should not we let them?”
“Ainsworth,” she objected. “They don’t need to conquer the mountain, conquer dragons, to be good people. To be heroes—”
“I know that,” Ainsworth replied. “Well, I know thatnow.But if people do insist on trying to take that path, shouldn’t we support them? Prepare them for the journey as best we can, with knowledge and supplies and encouragement? Let them know it’s all right to turn back if they need to, or if they can’t quite make it? Let them experience the wonders of the climb, to look back and see the view, see how far they reach? As someone once told me, you do not need to reach the summit to have climbed a mountain.”
Honey pursed her lips. “Yes, well. I suppose that person was very clever.”
