Chapter 14
Ainsworth could not help but hold his breath as he watched Alvea consider the dish in front of her.
Tender chunks of wild boar, marinated in a luscious and warming sauce, swam in rich broth.
Alongside the meat floated sliced spritshrooms, interspersed with trails of shredded leafy greens from Spin’s garden.
It was, thought Ainsworth, his best work ever in the kitchen.
He might not possess the finesse that Enach did when it came to presentation, and perhaps he was a bit heavy-handed with such a rich dish…
but still, it looked and smelled wonderful.
Indeed, even Spin, who was usually last to serve herself at dinner, was eyeing the bread basket, eager to tuck into her own bowl.
No matter. Ainsworth only cared what Alvea thought. She gave a sigh of what he thought was satisfaction before she plunged her spoon into the dish and took a mouthful.
“Oh, Ainsworth, this is magnificent!” came a voice from the other end of the table.
Okay, perhaps there was one other person Ainsworth had hoped would enjoy the meal.
Honey gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Really, I didn’t think you had it in you!”
“Thanks,” he replied sheepishly, his own plate untouched as his stomach swirled with nerves.
“I— It really is quite good, Ainsworth,” Ruraidh murmured from behind his spoon. Bren and Quiddle were equally impressed, with the young lad already inquiring about seconds before he had barely finished his third spoonful.
“Well?” Ainsworth finally asked Alvea as she continued to make her way through the bowl.
She stared at it as though it were a text to be studied. “This is very well done, Gladsly. Very well done indeed.”
Ainsworth’s hands shot to his mouth in glee, and Quiddle gave a small, triumphant whoop in celebration.
“But I did not ask that you cook well. I asked that you make me smile.” Alvea looked at him as his heart, previously up in his throat, sank. Hard. “This, as wondrous as it is—and a testament to your attention to detail—does not bring a smile to my face.”
“Oh, Alvea,” Honey sighed, waving her spoon in resignation. Small flecks of stew hit Quiddle in the face, who looked delighted by this addition to his meal. “Surely, by default, a meal well cooked makes you smile?”
“Not necessarily,” said Alvea, leaning back in her chair.
“I agree with Alvea. It’s great, but it doesn’t bring a smile to my face, either,” said Ashe, sitting across from Ainsworth.
“Well, not much does,” Ainsworth huffed.
“Oh? I suppose I’ll keep the good news to myself, then,” Ashe said as she folded her arms.
“I— What?” Ainsworth asked. The disappointment had started to settle heavily over him, darkening his mood. He reminded himself he must not take it out on others, however. “Sorry, Ashe. I was just— I was happy with the meal, and I thought…”
The guard, to his chagrin, chuckled. “I just wanted to say that I accept your assignment. The winds have already eased, and I can fly swiftly through the dark. After the meal, I will depart for the Post Server’s office with your request.”
“I— Really? Oh, Ashe, how marvelous. Thank you! But shouldn’t you rest first? Taking off in the morning would be perfectly fine,” he said, his mood suddenly soaring.
Ashe stared at him for a moment, and something in her face lightened before she responded: “That’s very considerate of you. But the sooner I leave, the sooner I return.”
“What made you change your mind?” Quiddle asked over the scraping sounds of spoon against bowl.
Ainsworth realized that although he had sampled his meal throughout the cooking, he had yet to eat any of it.
Even he was delighted by the rich, salty broth, the tender meat, and the melt-in-the-mouth mushrooms. It brought a smile to his own face, at the very least.
Ashe shrugged. “Honey said it would please her. So I’ll do it.”
Ah, so she would do it for Honey but not him. Extremely fair, he thought. Ashe was not his biggest fan, and for good reason. Still, he gave a sincere nod toward the wildeshifter. “Thank you greatly, Ashe.”
“Besides,” Honey interjected quickly, “even if it does not bring more guests, it would be so convenient for us! The Transportation Circle would stay even after your work is finished, right, Ainsworth?”
He nodded. “Most likely, yes. Once it is set into the land by a sorcerer, it will remain unless there is evidence of another magic-user tampering with it, or if the Skarrow Institution decides to make significant changes to the network.”
“What happens if the sorcerer who made it dies?” Quiddle asked.
“I…” Ainsworth trailed off. “You know, I— I don’t know.”
“Well, there’s a first,” Bren mumbled. The group roared with laughter, with Ruraidh looking rather guilty about it but nevertheless unable to resist. Despite himself, Ainsworth joined in, too.
His attempt at breakfast the following morning did not merit a smile from Alvea, either.
Ainsworth had jumped up at dawn, hurried Quiddle and Alvea out the kitchen, and made a delightful baked egg dish, with gently roasted tomatoes and mushrooms. “Another commendable effort—up to the standards of any apprentice of mine for sure,” Alvea said after she polished off her plate.
But again, that face was as neutral as ever.
“Oh, come on, Alvea!” Ainsworth exclaimed. “I do have a book to write, you know.”
Alvea shrugged. “Well then, just leave me off whatever it is you want to do.”
Ainsworth frowned, thinking of the pile of flyers and posters he, Ruraidh, and Honey had started to design the previous night to draw people to the inn.
He had left just enough space on some of the posters to add Alvea’s name and advertise her food.
Ruraidh had drawn a very tasteful, small auldfruit pie under each banner that would hold the text.
It would do no good to let that artistic talent go to waste!
“Need a hand with the dishes?” Quiddle asked, leaping to his feet after polishing off his plate.
“No, thank you. You may as well enjoy the full morning off,” Ainsworth replied, but the lad nevertheless followed him into the kitchen.
Ainsworth dropped a pot into the large copper basin, flinching as it sent a wave splashing across his shirt. “Oh, Matron. Perhaps this challenge is above me. I feel like Elspeth trying to rally kelpies from the Etivon.”
Behind him, Honey snorted as she brought through her own plate. “Now, that’s a bit dramatic. Or are you really comparing Alvea to a herd of untamable, beastly water horses?”
Ainsworth sighed. “Yes, I’m being dramatic. But the kelpies were actually tamable, and were a great asset in one of the final battles of Hinslyth to end the Great Sweep—according to the song, anyway. Right, Quiddle?”
The boy, who had been quietly following their conversation, frowned. “Er, aye. I think so. During the Great Sweet, yeah. Can I go enjoy my morning off now?”
Ainsworth shared a quick glance with Honey. He chose his next words carefully. “Wait one moment, Quiddle. Do you actually know what I’m talking about? Have you heard the song ‘Elspeth Over the Water’?” And had the lad said…the Great Sweet?
Quiddle thought for a moment. “Um, bits of it, I guess. Most of the songs I know came from the ones I heard in the tavern where I picked up shifts in the evenings. My da wasn’t much for the songs himself.”
Ainsworth wiped his hands dry, finishing the dishes. “Ah, I see. Well then, probably not. It’s more of a song you’d gather around a bard delivering a performance to hear. Do you— Do you have any favorite songs about the members of the Saltquart Party?”
“Not really, no. I don’t— I don’t really know what you’re talking about.” The boy fiddled with the sleeve on his shirt, then looked up at them, eyes flaring with a sudden defiance. “But I’m not stupid, it’s just—”
“Oh, Quiddle,” said Honey. “It’s all right. We don’t think you’re stupid at all, and I haven’t performed many of these songs for our guests, either.”
“Aye, well. You might not think I’m stupid, but…”
Ainsworth felt a jolt as the boy’s eyes met his. He had thought he was on good terms with Quiddle, but of course, with his arrogant arrival at the inn…what did he expect?
“I do not think that at all, Quiddle. And I’m sorry if I’ve ever given you that impression.
” Ainsworth paused. “It is not an issue for you, but it says a lot about education in this kingdom. You know how to read and write, and I know a city the size of Cawle would have some communal education spaces…” There had been something of the sort in his own village—he and the other children had gathered in their small, local Hall of the Matron, sitting on the stone floor and learning from their neighbors (and sometimes from passing adventurers) how to read and write, and hear historical tales that ignited in Ainsworth a lifelong passion to discover more.
“Da taught me how to read and write. Then he taught me how to serve tables and clean shoes. There wasn’t time to go with the other children to those talks.
And…” He went red and looked to the floor.
“It cost a copper a day to go. Why would I spend coin to spend a day somewhere, when I could earn coin instead?”
“I cannot argue with that, Quiddle.” Ainsworth rubbed the bridge of his nose. The erratic way education was delivered in this kingdom…! It was a problem for someone well above his station to tackle, but he still could not help the unease in his stomach at the thought of it.
Honey raised a brow, grinning. “Well then, Quiddle, you’re in luck. You have a morning off, and you”—she poked Ainsworth in the chest—“need a break from cooking and doing dishes. Why not give him a history lesson?”
Ainsworth held back a laugh at the battle raging across Quiddle’s face—horror at the prospect of a morning of schooling, and trying to look grateful at the offer in the name of politeness.