Chapter 14 #3
The archives, his safe space, his home, the scene of that last fight with Enach.
The toppled shelves, the cut on his shoulder, his utter inability to talk about what happened.
Lyria rushing to his side, clearing up the scene so as to not attract unwanted attention, and plying him with sweet tea until he finally confessed what had happened.
“But it— It was an accident. He meant no harm, really.”
Lyria had placed her hands atop his own around his teacup. The warmth from within and without had seemed to seep through into his very soul. “I am all too familiar with those words, Ainsworth. They came from my own mouth many years ago.”
He had balked, cursing himself as foolish. What memories had he stirred for Lyria due to the mess he found himself in? He had to pick himself up, straighten things out with Enach…
“I’m sorry, but it will be fine, I promise,” he had assured her.
“It really was just a one-off. He has never…” Ainsworth could not quite say aloud that Enach had never hurt him before.
Ainsworth could not even remember how things escalated so quickly.
They had been fighting about something trivial—an acquaintance of Enach’s whom Ainsworth did not want to spend time with—and suddenly he had been on the receiving end of a barrage of insults and cutting remarks.
I cannot understand why you do not give my friends the respect they deserve, Ainsworth. At least they have made something of themselves.
Lyria had sighed. “Well. I understand how you feel—more than you know. I will not ask you why you do not leave, but rather I ask how he could do such despicable things. I can do something about this, though. And I will.”
The following day, Enach had been sent out immediately to audit the data collection of a research project in Hinslyth’s southern suburbs. Ainsworth had thought that was what Lyria meant, that she had given them a day of separation to cool off.
But then his own instructions came. If he wanted a solo project, it would have to be the Mount Vengeance one, Lyria scribbled in a missive, and he had to go now.
Lyria would not waste resources on the planning.
No team to accompany him, no travel organized in advance.
Leave now, or the project would never get started.
Along with the missive came a pouch of generous grant money.
I have settled everything already, she had written.
He realized it probably came out of her own research allowance for the year, which explained why she was so excited by the prospect of extra funding coming his way.
“Why was there no time to arrange what you needed?” Honey looked puzzled. “I would have appreciated the heads-up—and the chance to refuse you,” she added with a wink.
Somehow, her words brought forth a laugh. And following it came words he hadn’t allowed himself to speak since Lyria found him.
He told Honey what happened that night.
Everything.
By the time he was finished, they were both sitting down on the stools by the counter that Alvea favored when kneading bread. He did not remember sitting, nor did he recall the fire in the hearth reducing to a gentle, amber glow. And when did it start raining outside?
“Oh…Ains,” Honey said softly when finally, voice hoarse, he finished speaking. She placed a hand on his knee. “At least you’re rid of him now. You do not need someone like that in your life.”
Ainsworth frowned, shuffling on his stool to remove his knee from her touch. “What do you mean, rid of him? We will make amends upon my return. I am sure of it.” But the words were ash in his mouth. Did he truly believe them? Why did he even voice such thoughts aloud?
“Oh well, of course,” Honey said. Ainsworth did not want to look too closely at her expression. He could not stand to see the pity and empathy that would mirror Lyria’s. “Whatever you want. I just meant…you aren’t dealing with that kind of unpleasantness here, at the inn. Right?”
He nodded, looking intently at the floor. “I—suppose you are right. There is a comfort in this place. It feels…safe. Despite the terrors of the mountain just beyond it.”
He finally gained the courage to look at her, surprised by the soft smile on her face, the way she leaned in closer and almost whispered her next words. “You truly find this place to be safe? To be a comfort to you?”
“Oh well,” he replied sheepishly, feeling his face heat under the intensity of her gaze. “Of course. I mean, you all do such wonderful work here and— And how can you not feel safe, with Ashe at the door?”
She laughed, tucking a stray hair behind her pointed ear. “She is the reason we all sleep soundly at night, even though it is not clear when she herself sleeps. But I’m glad, Ainsworth. That you find it comforting here.”
“This place is as comforting as a bag of sugared spice aiknuts,” he said.
The memory of such a treat had him beaming.
Whenever something went wrong, it was his comfort of choice.
An argument, a dead end in his research, a proposal rejection…
he could always skulk to one of the markets of the city Enach would not be seen dead in and buy the biggest bag he could.
The small nuts, bursting with a sweetness that coated his tongue before striking with aromatic spice a second later, never failed to bring a smile to his face no matter what happened. How he wished he had some at hand.
And then it hit him.
“I am so dense sometimes!” he cried, smacking his forehead.
Honey jumped, startled, then grinned. “Well, yes. I established that quite early on. What about it?”
“I thought, given Alvea’s profession, that I would have to impress her with something spectacular. But I think—I think something comforting, something connected with good memories, would bring that smile to her face instead.” It was so simple. How could he have missed it?
“Like something from her childhood, perhaps?” Honey offered.
“Perhaps, but it doesn’t have to be.” He racked his brain for the conversation they’d had over wine a few nights ago.
She had mentioned the simple yet delicious way of cooking meat properly—honoring the fat, not stripping it away or letting it go to waste.
But more crucially, he recalled her mentioning the community cooking.
And from his own upbringing, where people shared and cooked food together more out of necessity than community, there was one staple that could be found at almost any time of the day, with almost any meal.
“Honey!” he cried as he got to work searching the pantry for what he needed. Oats, flour, and—
“Yes?” She came up behind him.
He turned on his heel and swooped her into a hug. “Thank you.”
Honey stiffened in his grip, her face pressed against his chest. “I— Whatever for?” she asked, muffled, into his chest.
“For everything. Just—everything.”
“Oh.” They stood together for a moment longer, and Ainsworth felt her hands reach up his back to embrace him. The tips of her horns were smooth against the bottom of his chin. He had the sudden urge to plant a quick kiss atop one of them but knew that would be highly inappropriate.
“Well, you know,” Honey said, pushing herself away.
Her eyes were bright, and to Ainsworth it seemed that a trick of the low light from the dying hearth made them gently glow.
She fixed him with a knowing look. “It doesn’t matter how nice you are to me now.
You still have to pay in full for another moon’s turn when the time comes! ”