Chapter 17 #3
“I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, then,” she said, slipping behind it.
Something in her voice made him think she had perhaps uttered those words here, in this very corridor, before, and the implications made him feel rather flustered.
Nevertheless, Ainsworth felt inclined to ransack the kitchen, for he was suddenly overcome with the desire to provide Honey with whatever remedy he could get his hands on.
He knew if he were in Hinslyth, he would have torn down the streets visiting herb stores and grocers to find the soothing syrups and roots needed to brew an effective tea.
Alas, he had only what Alvea had on hand.
Ginger and, fittingly, honey. He boiled water, mixed the ingredients together with a pinch of ground, dried auldfruit leaves, and filled a pot with it.
After hesitating, he popped two cups on the tray.
On his return, she was as good as her word; the door was indeed unlocked. He balanced the tray on one hand, wary of the steaming teapot and the gentle rattling of the cups due to his unsteady stance, and closed the door behind him with his hip.
“Hello,” Honey croaked.
“Hello.”
She was perched on a raised bed, and the dent she made where she sat suggested that the mattress and duvet were much, much softer than his own.
She had put some of the jewelry back on her horns, he realized.
He looked away quickly, not wishing to be caught staring, and then cursed inwardly at himself for not letting his gaze linger and offering her a compliment.
Matron, what was going on with him?
He tried to pull himself together. “This is a wonderful room. How many guests have been back here?”
She raised her brows. “Ainsworth! What are you implying?”
“Oh, nothing! Nothing. I—!” he stuttered, placing the tray down on her bedside table.
Small clay figures of flowers were scattered across it, presumably made by the same guest who had left the ones upstairs.
“I didn’t mean it like that! I only— That is, because Alvea gave me the key, and I have never been asked to see the staff quarters, I wondered…
Not that I would expect to be invited! I just—”
She almost doubled over laughing at the awkward excuses tumbling from his lips, and only stopped due to a sudden coughing fit.
Alarmed that she might actually be quite ill, Ainsworth swallowed his embarrassment and poured her a cup of tea; it would be more potent if he let it steep longer, but she could have another, stronger cup afterward, he reasoned.
He sat on the bed on her opposite side, and Honey swayed slightly as his weight settled down.
Her room was smaller than he imagined. An armchair sat in front of the large arched window he knew resided behind the closed, scarlet curtains.
As in the tavern, ivy plants were in abundance in a shelf above her bed—four of them, reaching toward her pillow.
Framed paintings adorned the opposite wall.
One was of a city he did not recognize; another was the obvious Mount Vengeance with the inn, a white dot, in front of the looming peak.
The third was a portrait of what appeared to be a dunelfen woman.
She was beautiful. Her hair was silver, and her severe features framed striking green eyes.
Her cheekbones were adorned with tiny stars—tattoos, perhaps?
Honey took a loud sip and caught him staring. “That’s Driana,” she said. Her voice sounded much less pained, and Ainsworth felt a brief moment of satisfaction.
“Oh. Someone who used to work here?”
Honey gave a small grimace. “Matron, no. She would have hated being stuck here. No, she was an adventurer—and my love. But she passed away on one of her…expeditions.” Honey added the last part in a small voice.
Ainsworth froze, hoping to hear more of the tale, but also because of the strange, twisting feeling that lurched in his chest. “Honey, I am so sorry. Did she—?”
Honey barked a laugh. “I know what you’re thinking.
No, it wasn’t on Mount Vengeance. How tragic that would be, considering my place at the Misnich Inn.
It was…a long time ago. I think of her often, but the ache of her memory no longer makes my heart feel as though it is cold and empty.
It feels more like it is gently glowing, a star in the distance, when I think of her. ”
They sat in companionable silence for a time before Honey offered him a cup of tea.
He accepted, and before he knew it, it was gone, and he had scuttled to the kitchen to retrieve more.
When he returned, they talked about everything and anything.
At some point, the music from the tavern died down and they heard the sounds of the staff returning to their adjacent rooms, but Ainsworth made no move to leave, and Honey did not ask him to.
As the night wore on and the candles dotted about the room began to burn low, rain pattered gently on the window.
Ainsworth wished fervently that the night would not end, that he could continue sitting in comfort and companionship with Honey until there was nothing left to discuss in the whole world.
Only when she started to doze, empty teacup in hand slipping for him to catch, did Ainsworth gather up the tray and tiptoe out.
By the time he got to his room, a chorus of snores greeting him, the sky was pink from the rising sun.