The Wise Man's Fear (The Kingkiller Chronicle, #2)

by Patrick Rothfuss

Bad business last night. Chances are, that would be all Graham had to say about the death of a man he had known his whole life. These folk knew all about death. They killed their own livestock. They died from fevers, falls, or broken bones gone sour. Death was like an unpleasant neighbor. You didn’t talk about him for fear he might hear you and decide to pay a visit.

The innkeeper’s face grew a wistful smile. “My father said the beer was better, and the roads had fewer ruts.”

He turned around to face the bar while leveling an accusatory finger at the closed door. “That,” he said firmly to the room in general, “is what comes of working with iron every day.”

Bast gave a derogatory snort. “The boy is an idiot, Reshi.” “Am I supposed to feel better because I wasn’t able to persuade an idiot, Bast?”

Kote looked up. “I do not moon, Bast.”

I’d heard he had started a fistfight in one of the seedier local taverns because someone had insisted on saying the word “utilize” instead of “use.”

I was painfully aware of how light my purse was. If I were any poorer, I’d have to put a rock in it to keep it from flapping in the breeze.

“Are you finished with your flirting then?” he asked. “I wasn’t flirting,” I said. “You should have been,” he said. “What is the point of me waiting politely, not interrupting, if you waste such opportunities?”

“I don’t wonder why they talk,” I said. “I wonder what they say.”

“Hello, Auri,” I said. “You smell like a pretty young girl.” “I do,” she agreed happily.

“Especially then,” she said. “Bad enough to be a lettuce. How awful to think you are a lettuce too.”

“They’re sleeping,” I said. “And cold, I’m afraid.” She looked up at me, her eyes gentle. “Don’t be afraid,” she said, and reached out and rested her fingers on my cheek for the space of a heartbeat, her touch lighter than the stroke of a feather. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

I liked Marie. She was taller than most men, proud as a cat, and spoke at least four languages. Many of Imre’s musicians did their best to mimic the latest fashion, hoping to blend in with the nobility, but Marie wore road clothes. Pants you could do a day’s work in, boots you could use to walk twenty miles.

Manet gave a low chuckle. “That is a woman and a half,” he said. “Which means she’s five times more woman than any of you know what to do with.”

“She always looks like she’s getting ready to wrestle someone. Or go off and break a wild horse.” “She does.” Manet chuckled again. “If we were living in a better age they’d build a temple around a woman like that.”

All except her eyes. They were dark and deep, the color of coffee and chocolate. Her eyes were dancing with amusement, full of laughter.

Kellin eyed me up and down, forming his full opinion of me more quickly than you can draw a short, sharp breath.

When he spoke, women at the surrounding tables turned to look in his direction with hungry, half-lidded eyes. His voice had the opposite effect on me. To be both rich and handsome was bad enough. But to have a voice like honey over warm bread on top of that was simply inexcusable.

“So you’re Dinael now?” I asked. “For now. And for him,” she said, looking at me sideways with a small quirk of a smile. “From you I still like Denna best.”

“Skethe te retaa van,” I swore. “Lock up your sons and daughters.”

The wood was the color of dark coffee, of freshly turned earth. The curve of the bowl was perfect as a woman’s hip. It was hushed echo and bright string and thrum. My lute. My tangible soul.

Listen to me: these men know nothing of love.

As I looked up, I could see Denna’s face, clear as the moon. She smiled excitedly at me and wiggled her fingers below the level of the table where her gentleman couldn’t see.

This time the laughter came first. The same people as before, hooting and hammering at their tables twice as loudly as before. My people. The musicians.

“Good lord, boy,” Manet said. “You’re like a tiny king here.”

“Because young six-string here is so sharp he can hardly help but cut himself,” Stanchion said as he made his way over to our table.

“Marie,” he said. “You intrigue me. Is there any chance I could buy you a drink and enjoy the pleasure of your conversation at some point tonight?”

King shit

“I’m willing to lose some sleep if it comes to that. I can’t think of the last time I shared the company of a woman who speaks her mind firmly and without hesitation. Your kind are in short supply these days.”

:sunbro:

“How interested?” Wilem’s voice was slow and patient, as if he were talking to a rather dimwitted child. “Rather interested,” I said. “‘Rather’ does not indicate a degree of intensity.”

Standing there on the rooftop, feeling like I’d had twelve colors of hell beaten out of me, brought back unsettling echoes of my years in Tarbean. I watched the distant lightning for a moment and tried not to let the feeling overwhelm me. I forced myself to remember I wasn’t the same helpless starving child I’d been back then.

There was another flicker of lightning, and I saw her standing closer. She pointed at me, grinning delightedly. “You look like an Amyr,” she said. “Kvothe is one of the Ciridae.”

:eyes:

I was so surprised by her reference that I forgot the first thing I’d learned about Auri. I forgot to be careful and asked her a question, “Auri, how do you know about the Ciridae?” There was no response. The next flicker of lightning showed me nothing but an empty rooftop and an unforgiving sky.

“I don’t like telling,” she said softly, her voice thick with tears. Of all the awful things I’d been part of these last couple days, this was unquestionably the worst of it.

“What was in the lightning?” I asked softly. “Galvanic ionization,” she said. Then, after a pause, she added, “And river-ice. And the sway a cattail makes.”

My heart began to thaw a bit. “I was looking for a place to put my blood,” I said. “Most people keep that inside,” she said. “It’s easier.”

It was the first time I’d ever seen Auri dirty. Her eyes were darker than normal, and her nose was red. Auri sniffed and rubbed her blotchy face. “You,” she said gravely, “are a dreadful mess.”

Then she gave a tiny, brave smile. “I didn’t run so far this time,” she said tilting her chin proudly.

Devi looked past me and her expression softened. “Little Fela!” She brushed past me and gave Fela a hug. “You’re all grown up!” She stepped back and held Fela at arm’s length, looking her over appreciatively. “My lord, you look like a ten-stripe Modegan whore! He’ll love it.”

“Good lord, woman. If I had tits like yours I’d own half the world by now.”

“Dark Laurian, Arliden’s wife, Has a face like the blade of a knife Has a voice like a pricklebrown burr But can tally a sum like a moneylender. My sweet Tally cannot cook But she keeps a tidy ledger-book. For all her faults, I do confess It’s worth my life To make my wife Not tally a lot less …”

“You would rather be close to her heart,” Wilem said without any particular inflection. “You would rather be joyfully held in the circle of her arms. But you fear she will reject you. You fear she would laugh and you would look the fool.” Wilem shrugged easily. “You are hardly the first to feel this way. There is no shame in it.”

I’m tired of trying so hard.” He gave a weary sigh, still flat on his back. “All I want is someone who likes me.”

“They say the Ruh know all the stories in the world,” Simmon said after a while. “Probably true,” I admitted.

“There is a place not many folk have seen. A strange place called Faeriniel. If you believe the stories, there are two things that make Faeriniel unique. First, it is where all the roads in the world meet. Second, it is not a place any man has ever found by searching. It is not a place you travel to, it is the place you pass through while on your way to somewhere else.

The Adem are called the silent folk, and they speak only rarely. The old man knew many stories of the Adem. He’d heard that they possessed a secret craft called the Lethani. This let them wear their quiet like an armor that would turn a blade or stop an arrow in the air. This is why they seldom spoke. They saved their words, keeping them inside like coals in the belly of a furnace. Those hoarded words filled them with so much restless energy that they could never be completely still, which is why they were always twitching and fidgeting about. Then when they fought, they used their secret craft to burn those words like fuel inside themselves. This made them strong as bears and fast as snakes.

But years ago in Modeg, he had seen an Adem woman fight the city guard. The soldiers were armed and armored, thick of arm and chest. They had demanded to see the woman’s sword in the king’s name, and though hesitant, she presented it to them. As soon as they held it in their hands, they had leered and pawed at her, making lewd suggestions about what she could do to get it back. They were tall men with bright armor and their swords were sharp. They fell like autumn wheat before her. She killed three of them, breaking their bones with her hands.

Terris smiled and laid a hand on the old man’s back. “Would you really like to pay?” “I cannot. I have nothing to give you.” Terris’s smile widened. “Sceop. We are the Edema Ruh. The thing we value most is something everyone possesses.” One by one, Sceop saw the faces around the fire look up at him expectantly. Terris said, “You could tell us your story.”

The beggar shook his head. “My blood is not yours. I am not a part of your family.” “What does that have to do with the price of butter?” Terris asked. “We Ruh decide who is a part of our family and who is not. You belong with us. Look around and see if I am lying.” Sceop looked up at the circle of faces and saw what Terris said was true.

I tugged at the front of my shirt. “But the Edema were especially prized. They hunted us like foxes. For a hundred years Ruh-hunt was a favorite pastime among the Aturan upper crust.” A profound silence fell. My throat hurt, and I realized I’d been shouting.

“If you ever accept the hospitality of a traveling troupe, and they offer you wine before anything else, they are Edema Ruh. That part of the story is true.” I held up a finger to caution them. “But don’t take the wine.” “But I like wine,” Simmon said piteously.