“Damn it, Hemme,” Elxa Dal burst out. “You let the boy make a simulacrum of you, then bring him here on malfeasance?” He spluttered. “You deserve worse than you got.” “E’lir Kvothe could not have hurt him with just a candle,” Kilvin muttered. He gave his fingers a puzzled look, as if he were working something out in his head. “Not with hair and wax. Maybe blood and clay . . .”
