Kvothe nodded and stepped through the doorway behind the bar. As soon as he was out of sight, Bast leaned close to Chronicler’s ear. “Don’t ask him about it,” he hissed urgently. “Don’t mention it at all.” Chronicler looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?” “About the bottle. About the sympathy he tried to do.” “So he was trying to light that thing on fire? Why didn’t it work? What’s—” Bast tightened his grip, his thumb digging into the hollow beneath Chronicler’s collarbone. The scribe gave another startled yelp. “Don’t talk about that,” Bast hissed in his ear. “Don’t ask questions.”
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