Chapter 7 #3
The hour or so he passed with Spin was perhaps the most pleasant of his time at the Misnich Inn so far, second only to the night spent in the joyous company of Fig and Fern.
Spin was the kind of conversational partner he adored: courteous, and possessing a burning curiosity about scholars and the work they pursued.
She also knew of the Skarrow Library, and the wider Skarrow Institution in which it resided, and Ainsworth found himself more animated in his discussion than he had been in weeks.
That it had taken him so long to find someone who truly appreciated who he was and the hard work it had taken him to get there was astounding—and a testament to the isolation of the inn.
He said as much to Spin.
“Well, you could say that,” Spin replied. “But everyone has their own priorities in life, don’t they?”
He supposed he could not deny her line of thinking, but nevertheless Ainsworth found himself talking unreservedly about his time as a student at the Skarrow Institution and the towering spires of the library, which he missed intensely.
When discussing his time as a researcher, he talked freely of his peers and colleagues—anecdotes he knew Spin would find amusing.
“It is so fascinating to hear about the inner workings of such an academy!” Spin said over her cup of tea. “You seem to have assisted many great scholars in the writing and recording of the kingdom’s history.”
“I have indeed!”
“Why are you here, then?”
Ainsworth cleared his throat. He was uncertain of Spin’s age, but perhaps her memory was faltering. “As I mentioned earlier, Spin, I’m here to compile the historical account—”
“No, no, not all that,” she said wryly. “Despite your own family mystery, you do not seem particularly passionate about this inn, this mountain. It has me wondering why you’d come all this way.”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. Ainsworth took a few moments before answering, not wishing to misrepresent his intentions or purpose.
“I may not have been passionate about this place specifically…but I am passionate about history, its preservation, and helping people realize the significance of their stories. And as I said, this is fresh ground indeed! Once my research is published—well, the things it could do for my career…!”
“Was the work you already did not enough that you have to trek all the way out here to discover something new?”
“The work I did before…” He hesitated, reflecting on the evenings spent long after the moon was up poring over old documents and manuscripts, or scribbling frantic drafts at a desk in the gently lit Skarrow Reading Room, the surrounding books crammed into the shelves the only audience to his dedication.
It was where he had been developing his research proposal that would have sent him to Inisyr Academy’s archives to study the poetry written by the city’s famed healers in the centuries after the Great Sweep.
Ainsworth would have been afforded the opportunity to travel to a new city, experience new culture, and make new networks.
And yet…
He shrugged. “I’m good at what I do, but I need to be better. I need to do something exceptional to further my career, you know?”
She gave a wide smile. “No, I don’t, really—but as long as you’re happy. You must be next in the ranks to rise, I imagine?”
Ainsworth gave a modest laugh. “Oh no, Enach will be next. He—”
He stopped suddenly. It was if the air had congealed in his chest, unwilling to come loose.
“Enach?” Spin pressed politely, in the manner of someone who was mildly irked at being given a name with no explanation.
“My, ah, friend. And colleague. Close friend.”
“Close?” She gave a knowing wink. “Oh, how exciting!”
“Exciting?”
“It sounds like you have someone waiting for you. Someone you’d like to hurry back home to. You must tell me everything.”
It was surely the wine that heated his face, Ainsworth thought.
Surely the wine that quickened his pulse and caused the stab of anxiety in his chest. Everything?
That first sweet kiss, the taunting courtship that followed?
The hazy afternoons rushing to finish their work so as to laze among the gardens together?
The insults hurled toward Ainsworth in the week prior to his departure? The shove that sent Ainsworth hurtling into a bookshelf, hiding the bruise along the back of his neck thereafter?
Ainsworth took a large sip of wine before summoning a smile. “Oh, perhaps I will—some other time.” No need to spoil the good mood by dwelling on the uncomfortable.
At that moment, an exhausted-looking figure walked through the door.
His striking white hair was tied into a sprawling, messy tail that hung past his silver neck to reach the middle of his back.
He momentarily busied himself with the removal of his cloak before turning toward the hearth and the table at which Spin and Ainsworth sat.
“Bren said he’d unload the cheese, but perhaps—”
His eyes widened as he noticed Ainsworth, and his hands began trembling slightly.
“Good evening!” Ainsworth offered in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is—”
Before he had a chance to finish, the new arrival dropped the small sack he was carrying, sending apples and pink auldfruit spinning along the polished floors, then bolted past the table and through the staff doors.
Ainsworth gaped after him as Spin laughed.
“Don’t mind him, he’s a bit shy. You don’t meet many dunelfen like Ruraidh! Now tell me about this Enach.”