The Wise Man's Fear tkc-2, page 120
part #2 of The Kingkiller Chronicle Series
She took her hand away, and I turned to face her. “How did you get them?” she asked.
“I caused some trouble at the University,” I said somewhat sheepishly.
“They whipped you?” she said, incredulous.
“Twice,” I said.
“And you stay there?” she asked as if she still couldn’t believe it. “After they did this to you?”
I shrugged it away. “There are worse things than whipping,” I said. “There’s nowhere else I can learn the things they teach here. When I want a thing it takes more than a little blood to . . .”
It was only then I realized what I was saying. The masters whipped me. Her patron beat her. And we both stayed. How could I convince her my situation was different? How could I convince her to leave?
Denna looked at me curiously, her head tilted to the side. “What happens when you want a thing?”
I shrugged. “I was just saying I’m not easily chased away.”
“I’ve heard that about you,” Denna said, giving me a knowing look. “A lot of girls in Imre say you’re not easily chaste.” She sat upright and began to slide toward the edge of the stone. Her white shift twisted and slid slowly up her legs as she moved.
I was about to comment on her scar, hoping I might still bring the conversation around to her patron when I noticed Denna had stopped moving and was watching me as I stared at her bare legs.
“What do they say, exactly?” I asked, more for something to say than from any curiosity.
She shrugged. “Some think you’re trying to decimate Imre’s female population.” She edged closer to the lip of the stone. Her shift shifted distractingly.
“Decimate would imply one in ten,” I said, trying to turn it into a joke. “That’s slightly ambitious even for me.”
“How reassuring,” she said. “Do you bring all of them h—” She made a little gasp as she slipped down the side of the stone. She caught herself just as I was reaching out to help her.
“Bring them what?” I asked.
“Roses, fool,” she said sharply. “Or have you turned that page already?”
“Would you like me to carry you?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. But before I could reach for her, she slid the rest of the way into the water, her shift gathering to a scandalous height before she slipped free into the stream. The water rose to her knee, just dampening the hem.
We made our way back to the greystone and silently worked our way into our now-dry clothes. Denna fretted at the wetness at the hem of her shift.
“You know, I could have carried you,” I said softly.
Denna pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Another seven words, I swoon.” She fanned herself with her other hand. “What should a woman do?”
“Love me.” I had intended to say it in my best flippant tone. Teasing. Making a joke of it. But I made the mistake of looking into her eyes as I spoke. They distracted me, and when the words left my mouth, they ended up sounding nothing at all the way I had intended.
For a fleet second she held my eyes with intent tenderness. Then a rueful smile quirked up the corner of her mouth. “Oh no,” she said. “Not that trap for me. I’ll not be one of the many.”
I clenched my teeth, stuck somewhere between confusion, embarrassment, and fear. I’d been too bold and made a mess of things, just as I’d always feared. When had the conversation managed to run away from me?
“I beg your pardon?” I said stupidly.
“You should.” Denna straightened her clothes, moving with an uncharacteristic stiffness, and ran her hands through her hair, twisting it into a thick plait. Her fingers knitted the strands together and for a second I could read it, clear as day: “Don’t speak to me.”
I might be thick, but even I can read a sign that obvious. I closed my mouth, biting off the next thing I’d been about to say.
Then Denna saw me eyeing her hair and pulled her hands away self-consciously without tying off the braid. Her hair quickly spun free to fall loose around her shoulders. She brought her hands in front of her and twisted one of her rings nervously.
“Hold a moment,” I said. “I’d almost forgotten.” I reached into the inner pocket of my vest. “I have a present for you.”
Her mouth made a thin line as she looked at my outstretched hand. “You too?” she asked. “I honestly thought you were different.”
“I hope I am,” I said, and opened my hand. I’d polished it, and the sun caught the edges of the pale blue stone.
“Oh!” Denna’s hands went to her mouth, her eyes suddenly brimming. “Is it really?” She reached out with both hands to take it.
“It is,” I said.
She turned it over in her hands, then removed one of her other rings and slid it onto her finger. “It is,” she said in amazement, a few tears spilling over. “How did you ever . . . ?”
“I got it from Ambrose,” I said.
“Oh,” she said. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and I felt the silence loom up between us again.
“It wasn’t much trouble,” I said. “I’m just sorry it took so long.”
“I can’t thank you enough for this.” Denna reached out and took my hand between hers.
You would think that would have helped. That a gift and clasped hands would make things right between us. But the silence was back now, stronger than before. Thick enough that you could spread it on your bread and eat it. There are some silences that even words cannot drive away. And while Denna was touching my hand, she wasn’t holding it. There is a world of difference.
Denna looked up at the sky. “The weather’s turning,” she said. “We should probably head back before it rains.”
I nodded and we left. Clouds cast their shadows across the field behind us as we went.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-NINE
Tangled
Anker’s was deserted except for Sim and Fela sitting at one of the back tables. I made my way toward them and sat with my back to the wall.
“So?” Sim asked as I slumped into my seat. “How did yesterday go?”
I ignored the question, not really wanting to discuss it.
“What was yesterday?” Fela asked curiously.
“He spent the day with Denna,” Sim supplied. “The whole day.”
I shrugged.
Sim lost some of his buoyant manner. “Not so well?” he said carefully.
“Not particularly,” I said. I looked behind the bar, caught Laurel’s eye, and gestured for her to bring me some of whatever was in the pot.
“Care for a lady’s perspective?” Fela asked gently.
“I’d settle for yours.”
Simmon burst out laughing, and Fela made a face. “I’ll help you in spite of that,” she said. “Tell Auntie Fela all about it.”
So I told her the bones of it. I tried my best to paint a picture of the situation, but the heart of it seemed to defy explication. It sounded foolish when I tried to put it into words.
“That’s all,” I said after several minutes of fumbling around the subject. “Or at least that’s enough of my talking about it. She confuses me like no other thing in the world.” I picked at a splinter in the tabletop with my finger. “I hate not understanding a thing.”
Laurel brought me warm bread and a bowl of potato soup. “Anything else?” she asked.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I smiled at her, then observed her rear aspect as she made her way back to the bar.
“All right then,” Fela said in a businesslike manner. “Let’s start with your good points. You’re charming, handsome, and perfectly courteous to women.”
Sim laughed. “Didn’t you see how he looked at Lauren just now? He’s the world’s first lecher. He looks at more women than I could if I had two heads with necks that spun like an owl’s.”
“I do,” I admitted.
“There’s looking and there’s looking,” Fela said to Simmon. “When some men look at you it’s a greasy thing. It makes you want to have a bath. With other men it’s nice. It helps you know you’re beautiful.” She ran a hand absently through her hair.
“You hardly need to be reminded,” Simmon said.
“Everyone needs to be reminded,” she said. “But with Kvothe it’s different. He’s so serious about it. When he looks at you, you can tell his whole attention is focused on you.” She laughed at my uncomfortable expression. “It’s one of the things I liked about you when we met.”
Simmon’s expression darkened, and I tried to look as nonthreatening as possible.
“But since you came back it’s almost physical,” Fela said. “Now when you look at me, there’s something happening behind your eyes. Something all sweet fruit, shadows, and lamplight. Something wild that faerie maidens run from underneath a violet sky. It’s a terrible thing, really. I like it.” As she said the last, she squirmed slightly in her seat, a wicked glitter in her eye.
It was too much for Simmon. He pushed his chair away from the table and started to get to his feet, making inarticulate gestures. “Fine then . . . I’ll just . . . fine.”
“Oh sweetling,” Fela said, laying a hand on his arm. “Hush. It’s not like that.”
“Don’t hush me,” he snapped, but he stayed in his chair.
Fela ran her hand through the hair on the back of Sim’s neck. “It’s nothing you need to worry over.” She laughed as if the thought was ridiculous. “You have me tied to you more tightly than you know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a little flattery from time to time.”
Sim glowered.
“Should I cloister myself then?” Fela asked. Irritation crept into her voice, bringing with it the barest lilt of her Modegan accent. “You know how you feel when Mola takes the time to flirt with you?” Simmon gaped and looked as if he were trying to go pale and blush at the same time. Fela laughed at his bewilderment. “Tiny Gods, Sim. Do you think I’m blind? It’s a sweet thing, and it makes you feel good. What’s the harm in it?”
There was a pause. “Nothing, I suppose,” Sim said finally. Looking up, he gave me a shaky grin and brushed his hair back from his eyes. “Just don’t ever give me the look she mentioned, okay?” His grin widened, became more genuine. “I don’t know if I could handle it.”
I grinned back at him without thinking of it. Sim could always make me smile.
“Besides,” Fela said to him. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” She kissed his ear as if to put the seal on his improving mood, then turned back to me. “On the other hand, you couldn’t pay me enough to get tangled up with you,” she said flatly.
“What do you mean?” I demanded. “What about my look? My dark faerie whateverness?”
“Oh, you’re fascinating. But a girl wants more than that. She wants a man devoted to her.”
I shook my head. “I refuse to throw myself at her like every other man she’s ever met. She hates it. I’ve seen what happens.”
“Have you ever thought she might feel the same way?” Fela asked. “You do have something of a reputation with the ladies.”
“Should I cloister myself then?” I said, repeating what she’d said to Sim, though it came out sharper than I’d intended. “Blackened body of God, I’ve seen her on the arms often dozen men! Suddenly it’s offensive to her if I take another woman out to see a play?”
Fela gave me a frank look. “You’ve been doing more than going for carriage rides. Women talk.”
“Wonderful. And what do they say?” I asked bitterly, looking down at my soup.
“That you’re charming,” she said easily. “And polite. You don’t have wandering hands, which is actually a source of frustration in some cases, apparently.” She smiled a little.
I looked up, curious. “Who?”
Fela hesitated. “Meradin,” she said. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”
“She didn’t say twenty words to me over dinner,” I said, shaking my head. “And she’s disappointed I didn’t grope her afterward? I thought she hated me.”
“We’re a long way from Modeg,” Fela said. “People aren’t sensible about sex in this part of the world. Some women don’t know how to deal with a man that doesn’t make bold moves.”
“Fine,” I said. “What else do they say?”
“Nothing terribly surprising,” she said. “While you might not be grabby, it’s certainly no challenge to trip you either. You’re generous, witty, and . . .” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
“Go ahead,” I said.
Fela sighed and added, “Distant.”
It wasn’t the crushing blow I’d expected. “Distant?”
“Sometimes all you’re looking for is dinner,” Fela said. “Or company. Or conversation. Or for someone to have a friendly grope at you. But mostly you want a man to . . .” She frowned and started over. “When you’re with a man . . .” She trailed off again.
I leaned forward. “Say what you mean.”
Fela shrugged and looked away. “If we were together, I’d expect you to leave me. Not right away. Not with any malice or meanness. But I know you would. You don’t seem like the sort who will settle down with a girl forever. Eventually you’d move on to something more important than me.”
I prodded idly at a bit of potato in my soup, not sure of what to think.
“There’s got to be more to it than just devotion,” Sim said. “Kvothe would turn the world upside down for this girl. You can see that, can’t you?”
Fela gave me a long look. “I suppose I can,” she said softly.
“If you can see it, then Denna must be able to,” Simmon pointed out sensibly.
Fela shook her head. “It’s only easy to see because I’m far enough away.”
“Love is blind?” Sim laughed. “That’s the advice you have to offer?” He rolled his eyes. “Please.”
“I never said I was in love,” I interjected. “I never said that. She confuses me, and I’m fond of her. But it doesn’t go further than that. How could it? I don’t know her well enough to make any earnest claim of love. How can I love something I don’t understand?”
They looked at me in silence for a moment. Then Sim burst out in his boyish laugh as if I’d just said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He took hold of Fela’s hand and kissed it squarely on her multifaceted ring of stone. “You win,” he said to her. “Love is blind, and a deaf-mute too. I’ll never doubt your wisdom again.”
Still feeling out of sorts, I went looking for Master Elodin, eventually finding him sitting under a tree in a small garden next to the Mews.
“Kvothe!” He waved lazily. “Come. Sit.” He nudged a bowl toward me with his foot. “Have some grapes.”
I took a few. Fresh fruit wasn’t a rarity for me these days, but the grapes were lovely nonetheless, just on the verge of being overripe. I chewed pensively, my mind still tangled with thoughts of Denna.
“Master Elodin,” I asked slowly. “What would you think of someone who kept changing their own name?”
“What?” He sat up suddenly, his eyes wild and panicked. “What have you done?”
His reaction startled me, and I held up my hands defensively. “Nothing!” I insisted. “It’s not me. It’s a girl I know.”
Elodin’s face grew ashen. “Fela?” he said. “Oh no. No. She wouldn’t do something like that. She’s too smart for that.” It sounded as if he were desperately trying to convince himself.
“I’m not talking about Fela,” I said. “I’m talking about a young girl I know. Every time I turn around she’s picked another name for herself.”
“Oh,” Elodin said, relaxing. He leaned back against the tree, laughing softly. “Calling names,” he said with tangible relief. “God’s bones, boy, I thought . . .” He broke off, shaking his head.
“You thought what?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said dismissively. “Now. What’s this about a girl?”
I shrugged, beginning to regret bringing it up in the first place. “I was just wondering what you’d say about a girl who keeps changing her name. Every time I turn around she’s picked a different one. Dianah. Donna. Dyane.”
“I’m assuming she’s not some fugitive?” Elodin asked, smiling. “Hunted. Doing her best to evade the iron law of Atur. That sort of thing?”
“Not to the best of my knowledge,” I said with a faint smile of my own.
“It could indicate she doesn’t know who she is,” he said. “Or that she does know, and doesn’t like it.” He looked up and rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “It could indicate restlessness and dissatisfaction. It could mean her nature is changeable and she shifts her name to fit it. Or it could mean she changes her name with the hope it might help her be a different person.”
“That’s a lot of nothing,” I said testily. “It’s like saying you know your soup is either hot or cold. That an apple is either sweet or sour.” I gave him a frown. “It’s just a complicated way of saying you don’t know anything.”
“You didn’t ask me what I knew of such a girl,” he pointed out. “You asked me what I would say of such a girl.”
I shrugged, tiring of the subject. We ate grapes in silence as we watched the students come and go.
“I called the wind again,” I said, realizing I hadn’t told him yet. “Down in Tarbean.”
He perked up at that. “Did you now?” he said, turning to look at me expectantly. “Let’s hear it then. All the details.”
Elodin was everything you could want in an audience, attentive and enthusiastic. I related the entire story, not sparing a few dramatic flourishes. By the end of it, I found my mood much improved.
“That’s three times this term,” Elodin said approvingly. “Sought and found when you had need of it. And not just a breeze but a breath. That’s subtle stuff.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye, giving me a sly smile. “How long do you think it will be before you can make yourself a ring of air?”
I lifted up my naked left hand, fingers spread. “Who’s to say I’m not already wearing it?”
