Chapter 5 #3
The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of song, dance, and drink.
Ainsworth had to undo the top buttons of his shirt as the dances got more lively—he would certainly not be going outside to cool down again.
At one point, Ashe disappeared and came back with a fiddle in hand and perched next to Honey, not even waiting for Honey to stop before she effortlessly leapt into the song.
Fern was a most boisterous dancer. Ainsworth reddened at the knowing looks she shot him when they came together as a pair during a dance; the invitation in her eyes was clear. When at last she tired of him not taking the hint, she whispered: “I hear the rooms next to ours are free.”
Oh, Matron! How to deny her advances without hurting her feelings? What if, denied, she scorned him and refused to participate in his research after their journey was complete?
But his hesitation was more than enough of an answer, and she tipped back her head in laughter. “Fair enough, Ainsworth. But tell me…” She raised a brow. “Do you prefer a companion more akin to my brother?”
“I do not care about the gender of my romantic partners, if that is what you’re getting at,” Ainsworth replied. “But I am…spoken for.”
She squeezed his hand and led him through the steps. “Well then, they should count themselves lucky!” Ainsworth forced a smile. Did Enach count himself lucky? Or was Enach currently accepting any offers like Fern’s that came his way, considering how they’d left things—unsaid and broken?
“Tell me, is the guard with silver-spun hair spoken for?”
Ainsworth could not restrain his laughter. “I have no clue, for the woman despises me.”
“Interesting,” Fern purred. Soon after that, she convinced Ashe to put down her fiddle and dance.
Ainsworth did not see the guard smile, but there was a look of approval sketched upon her face as Fern kept up with Honey’s increasing tempo.
Her gaze was not so hard, not so serious, which gave Ainsworth hope that he could still form an amicable relationship with her and learn more about the wildeshifters.
Sometime after midnight, Fern, Fig, and Ainsworth headed up to their room, arms slung over one another in drunken, stumbling bliss. “There could be no better way to spend our last night before such a journey. Truly, we are blessed to have such companionship!” Fig remarked as he fell onto his bed.
Ainsworth fell belly-down onto his own. He did not care to change into his nightclothes—not when his current attire was so comfortable and perfect for sleeping in, he reasoned.
The room swayed slightly in front of him.
“I cannot recall the last time I had such fun,” he said into his pillow, surprised by the admission.
“Or felt such fear,” he added, recalling the night’s unfortunate incident.
“My friend, when we reunite after we complete our travels, we will have a night to rival this one!” Fig announced—or tried to.
His voice was significantly muffled by the pillow his face was crushed into.
Fern, in the bed by the window at the other side of the room, merely snored.
“And what a tale we will have to share with you. What a tale.”
Ainsworth quickly fell into a deep sleep, wrapped in the warmth of companionship instead of his blanket, which remained trapped beneath him.
When he felt the light brush of sunlight upon his face the next morning, he opened a bleary eye. It was well past dawn.
He shot up, holding his head, as it ached with each movement.
Fig’s and Fern’s beds were empty, made neatly.
How could he have been so solidly asleep as to miss their departure?
He leapt to his feet and hurried through the door.
After he flew down the stairs, his heart soared with relief as he heard the distant sound of Fern’s laughter coming from the reception desk.
“There you are!” he cried. “I am so glad to catch you before you depart.”
Fern had been in the process of shaking Honey’s hand, and they both looked over at him when he reached Honey’s counter, panting. Honey laughed, and he knew he looked perhaps even more disheveled than he had when he’d arrived at the inn three days before.
“You were sleeping so soundly, we did not want to disturb you. And there was no rush, anyway. When we woke, we decided we’d take our time preparing to depart,” said Fern.
“Really?” Ainsworth countered. “I would have thought you’d seek the most daylight to see you on your way.”
At that moment Fig walked back into the inn, clutching a horse bridle. “Fern, Apricot will, as always, not let me near her with this thing. You’ll have to prepare her. Ah, good morning, Ainsworth!”
Ainsworth nodded as Fern rolled her eyes and took the bridle from her brother’s hands.
“Oh, Fig, let me sort out your refund for the horse’s care,” Honey said, turning her attention back to the till.
“You’ve decided to…take the horses? Over such difficult terrain?” Ainsworth asked, puzzled.
Fig gave a contented sigh and a small smile. “Yes, we are taking them. But not to Mount Vengeance. We are going home, my friend.”