Chapter 22
Ainsworth did not know what to take in first.
Honey’s expression had transformed from one of warmth to one of cold horror, shifting as fast as the weather around Mount Vengeance.
Enach was, as ever, a vision of aspiration.
No one could look at him and his perfection without critiquing their own appearance and life, as he seemed so firmly put together.
Sophistication radiated from his fine features and from his clothes; it followed in the wake of the rich perfume that seemed to drift after him.
And Ainsworth fell into that trap as always—comparing his own appearance with Enach’s, measuring the ways in which they had both changed since their last encounter.
Enach had cropped his hair; it no longer lay in a long silver braid dangling over his shoulder.
Instead, it was sheared at the sides, but the top remained full and draped effortlessly across his brow.
His skin was pale, with steel-blue whorls that ran from his ears to his cheekbones, marking his elven heritage and the prestigious family from which he descended—a family whose name could be found emblazoned across the Skarrow Institution, from classrooms named in their honor to the abundance of donated research materials that filled out the library’s shelves.
“Oh, Ainsworth, my love. What has happened to you?” Enach moved toward him, then halted, arms open as if to draw him into an embrace—but one Ainsworth would have to step into.
“ ‘My love’?” Quiddle repeated, puzzled. The lad still stood behind him, and Ainsworth realized Ashe remained rooted to the spot, too.
“I—” Ainsworth began, but could not complete his thought. Enach could be referring to any manner of things—such as Ainsworth’s unkempt, sodden hair or torn clothes; the dirt beneath his fingernails; the smell of damp and musk and outdoors that clung to him after his expedition.
Yes. There were certainly many things wrong with Ainsworth at that moment.
But he managed to articulate the most pressing thing. “I was attacked by a beast. It only got my ankle,” he spluttered out. Of all the things he thought he’d say to Enach when he first saw him again, those words were not even close to what he’d envisioned.
But it was Honey’s voice that seemed to snap him to this world—this reality—again.
“You were attacked? Sorcerer Morrowsil, if you please, I must tend to his wounds.” All traces of laughter were gone from Honey’s voice as she matter-of-factly put the tray on the table and strode toward Ainsworth.
She shoved past Enach on her way, and Ainsworth’s heart shot into his throat.
Don’t make him angry!
“Ainsworth?” Honey’s voice was laced with anxiety, and he knew it was for more than his ankle.
But he could not bring himself to look at her.
Instead his eyes were transfixed on the scowl Enach directed toward the back of her head as he smoothed the sleeve she had ruffled in her passing.
That interaction, that moment, would dictate Enach’s future interactions with the inn folk.
Ainsworth knew it, and he had to—somehow—smooth it over.
But how?
He missed his chance. Ashe placed a hand on his back and addressed Honey, utterly ignoring Enach. “A gnycht got him—not for long, and I administered my blood, but…”
Honey straightened. “I can get erstnettle from Spin’s garden to make the appropriate poultice.
I’ll put Alvea on a tea of ginger and honey to assist his healing, and Quiddle—fetch my box of wound dressings from my room, would you?
It’s in the cabinet under Driana’s portrait.
Ashe, can you find Ruraidh? He’s encountered more wounds like this than I have.
Ainsworth, come sit by the fire until we get you what you need.
Finish my wine. If you’ve the strength, I’m sure you’d appreciate the chance to catch up with your colleague in private.
But,” she added with a tight squeeze of his arm, “I am only a shout away.”
“Thank you,” he said in a small voice, realizing that perhaps all but Honey thought he was stunned and dazed due to pain and overexertion.
Then suddenly the room belonged to only Ainsworth and Enach.
Ainsworth closed his eyes and let the heat of the fire wash over him, desperately wishing it would also dry his damp hair and clothes and obliterate the smell of his garments that made him cringe with embarrassment.
“My love. You are shaking.”
Enach put down the goblets of wine on the table, and Ainsworth sensed the sorcerer kneel in front of him. Then, before he knew it, Enach wrapped his arms around him and held him tight.
It was a shock on top of too many shocks that had occurred in the last forty-eight hours, and Ainsworth found himself trembling and weeping against Enach’s shoulder.
Despite everything—despite all he had reflected on in the past few weeks—Enach’s acceptance, Enach’s desire to be close to him, was the kind of validation and gratification Ainsworth realized he still craved.
Before he could say anything, Enach pressed a kiss to his brow and murmured into his forehead: “I am so sorry. For what happened the night before you left.”
Ainsworth felt the vibration of those words against his skin. “What are you doing here, Enach?”
Enach pulled back, frowning as he stroked Ainsworth’s unkempt hair. “Well, when I found out you had left I was…upset. Angry. I knew the best course of action would be to throw myself into my work, so I finished the research proposal for the project at Inisyr Academy. It was swiftly granted.”
Ainsworth waited for the bitterness to stir within him at the fact Enach had so thoughtlessly pursued their previously joint dream project alone, but it did not.
It did not seem important to him now—like how, when you grew older, you realized the trinkets you cherished as a child had no importance to the wider world you inhabited.
“It started out as a bit of a disaster. One of the most esteemed Inisyr healers of the past seventy years who had contributed to the poetry is now residing on the Vaniha Islands, and the scholar who received me insisted I head there first to interview them before I got access to the institution’s main archives.
A round trip would have taken weeks,” Enach groaned, “as the Vaniha Islands had no established Transportation Circle. It irked me, and I decided the quickest way to sort this would be to create one there myself. It’s easy work for me, and you know how Skarrow is always chasing its sorcerers to volunteer with this stuff, as if our existing workload isn’t enough!
Regardless, I filled in the relevant paperwork in Inisyr and offered my services to Skarrow for implementing more circles across the land if needs be.
I was then authorized to create Transportation Circles to a Post Server’s office on the main island when I arrived.
It was approved quickly, since it would have wider benefit to the community—blah blah blah and all that.
Anyway, I spent over a moon’s turn on the project, conducting interviews and scouring their archives for everything I needed and writing up my initial plans.
I returned after that, thinking you might be home by then. You were not.”
Those last three words were clipped, heavy with accusation. Ainsworth inwardly flinched with the feeling of wrongdoing.
“But when I returned, there was a bit of buzz surrounding your topic.” He paused and gave a wry grin.
Ainsworth knew he was then expected to elaborate. “Ah, yes, the funding council seemed to be excited at the prospect. It was Lyria who—”
“Yes, you ought to watch that one. She seems very protective of this project, Ainsworth. Like she might snatch credit.” A slither of Ainsworth seemed to jerk awake at those words—a sudden need to scoff, to point out the irony of that considering what Enach had done with their joint project!
But the rest of him knew better than to react that way, and he swiftly smothered the instinct.
“Would you believe I was not informed of the meeting she held with the funding council to discuss the Transportation Circle allocation here? Such decisions do require the input of all senior members of the department, you recall? And I was newly qualified, to boot!”
“Of course,” Ainsworth said weakly. Enach reached behind him for wine, and he placed a goblet in Ainsworth’s hands. As Ainsworth sipped, he wondered if he was drinking from the one that belonged to Enach or Honey, then wondered why such a thought occurred to him in the first place.
“But thankfully, I am on great terms with the head grant officer, and so I was able to secure a place at the table. When your application was approved, I offered my services to carry out the work at Wenslykirk and the Misnich Inn—I knew I had to do it, Ainsworth,” he said, removing the goblet from Ainsworth’s hands even though he was not finished.
“I had to see you immediately. I missed you so, and I needed to make what had happened between us right.” He placed a kiss on Ainsworth’s clasped hands, now held within his own.
Enach had slim yet strong hands, his smooth skin silky against Ainsworth’s.
Since when had Ainsworth’s own become so rough?
But Enach did not notice. He kept his head down for a few moments longer.
Ainsworth was suddenly bone-weary. The past week was catching up with him, his injury sapping his body’s resources, and now this confrontation with Enach when he was utterly unprepared…
He wished for nothing more than to tip his head back and sleep, but he had to deal with this.
“Enach,” he began. Enach lifted his head and looked at Ainsworth with an intensity that had him blushing. “You…You hurt me. Before I left.”
Enach’s brows furrowed with sorrow. “My love, I know. I know, and I am sorry. I do not deserve you, nor do I deserve your forgiveness. But please, let us end this quarrel. Let me make it up to you and take you home. Let me look after you. Just what has happened to you out here?”