Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground, and to keep things canon-compliant, I have borrowed some dialogue from canon in this chapter.
Chapter 23: Into the Stars
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The world… trembles. In the black that surrounds me, there is a resounding roar. And the darkness itself seems to shift and shudder, like crashing shadows against a stormy shore. Something pulls at me, digging into my arms like claws and threatening to tear me from the dark.
"Denna!"
Is it Denna again? Why is she always with me in all my darkest moments. Every time I try to leave her behind, she walks beside me still.
"...have to get up…"
The darkness is swirling, like a ship beneath storm waters. And while the words make sense in some distant corner of my mind, I don't know where up is.
I can't…
I…
And then the world explodes in light. As if my eyes have been forced open to stare directly into the sun. It burns. I twist away, but my body is leaden. Barely moving. As if they are all holding me down. Franklin. Arlen. The man with the heavy paunch and three-day-old beard that feels as rough against my cheek as his grip.
And him. Derren.
I push at the air, pulling at myself.
"Fuck off," I mumble, the words tearing from my throat to wither on my leaden lips. "Don't touch me. Get away from me. Fucking whoremonger." Get away… Sod off. Sod off. "Sod off!" I can't make out my own words, though my heart is trembling with their fury.
The sun flares out of existence, and the darkness is complete again. Darker and deeper than before. And my heart is crying in the void, the tears painfully cold. Like ice melting.
And then there is warmth again. Not sunlight this time. It doesn't cut into my shadowy realm. It's just a little — just a trace, really. But it hugs me, wrapping me like a blanket. Like the warmth of an embrace. And the shadows shift. I'm home, in the room I shared with Denna. I'm trembling, and Mother is tucking me into bed. I'm sick again, the frigid chains of winter leaving me cold and breathless. But the blanket is soft and smells of lavender, and Mother's hand on mine is warm.
"Mother," I mumble, my tongue struggling over the shape of her name. Mother…
"Denna!" The voice rings clear, pulsing with anxiety. It's not Mother. But it's familiar. Warm. It burns through the darkness, like a hearthfire blazing. And even as it fades, I see his face flicker before me.
Kvothe.
I'm fading again. Falling back into the memories that hold me. They won't let go, not until they're through. But it's all right, because the story shifts now. Everything changes. It was that spring, when I found the courage to go to Anilin at last. That perfect city, full of straight lines and sharp edges and designed greens. Not a stone out of order. It was never what I was looking for. There was nothing pleasant there, despite the manicured streets and flawless facades that whispered of order. But it was nothing unexpected either. Perhaps that was even the reason I'd held off so long. I already knew what came of hope. But it mattered little, for I'd already found what I was searching for — at least a small piece of it, before I ever stepped foot in that city.
Oh, Kvothe.
He was fire. And sunlight. And wind, too. And scared as I was to reach out and touch my hand to the flames, I couldn't resist the draw. Not then, or later, or now. The heat I sought was worth the singe marks. And now it's enough to lull me back behind the doors of sleep. The warmth of his touch — I know it will keep me safe until the denner leaves me and the memories fade. And then, yes, I will tell him. Everything. About Denna and Mother and Father. And Derren. And even Mr. Ash, for what are my promises to him now in the face of his betrayal? How can he bind me when he is nothing but air and empty wind. Kvothe is the only one I can trust. The only one who's been there. Endlessly. Unconditionally. Who's asked for nothing and given me so much in return. And who I am is all I have to give. So even if he holds his own truths too tight to speak, I will share mine. Come morning.
But the darkness is still thick and full of remembering, so I will while away the hours walking beside him in the far reaches of my mind. It's easy. These aren't memories I've locked away, but ones I carry with me always. They have no sharp edges. No hidden pitfalls. At least not compared to everything else I've known. And falling into them now is easier than drawing a breath. Especially that first day, because it changed everything.
I carry it close to my heart. It was Orden. The thirty-eighth. The day when sleeping embers were set aflame, and my heart began to burn.
Spring crept into Tarbean, stealing across its web of tangled streets and alleys. It warmed the roads until the cobblestones gleamed, and stalks of grass pushed through the frigid earth to stretch into the wind was thick with the sweet scents of daffodils and magnolias. All across Hillside, the crisp air breathed life into the slumbering city, and faces peeked out of windows thrown open to tempt the sun.
When I left the Pendant Eagle for the last time, the day was storybook bright. Clouds streaked the dazzling blue sky like wisps of cotton smoke, and the sun bathed my skin in warmth. I carried little — my travelsack with Calia's comb and papers and my small stash of gifts unworn. Mostly jewelry. My purse was well hidden, pressed against my skin beside the knife I carried always. In my other hand, I held a larger bag, this one filled with as many dresses as I could carry. An extra pair of shoes. I had pawned everything else. For the journey, I had chosen simpler things; pants, a shirt. Clothes more fit to traveling for days and miles. They were the sort of things Denna had once favored, back when life had been a simpler sort of kind.
I had thought of her often in the past few span, picturing her round face in the mirror glass as I stared at my own. I'd run my fingers through my lengthening dark hair, struck by how much it reminded me of hers. It was as if she became less ghost the longer I held on to her. And wasn't it all right if she were my strength? For just a little longer. Until I knew what warmth felt like without her there.
She was with me when my feet took me to Drover's Lot. When I found Roent and Reta and their caravan, bound directly for Anilin. There was a seat for me. The last leg of my journey. It cost me eight jots — nearly a full talent, but the price was fair. I had spotted them immediately upon entering the square, almost as if she had guided me in their direction. I think that was why, when they asked for my name, the first one that came to my lips was hers. She would take this road with me. And then, perhaps when I finally found what I was searching for, I could finally let her go.
I still wonder if I would have ever fallen for him, had I not been wearing her name. Perhaps she had wanted to stay with me. Just a little bit longer.
"It is a long road to Anilin. Have you ever traveled so far before?"
"Yes." I smiled. "Farther."
"Hmmm." Reta contemplated me "And what takes you to the Ceald?"
"Umm," I paused, but before I could reply, Reta abruptly glanced away, her smiling demeanor shifting into a glower.
"Mind the coffee, Derrik!"
A tall Aturan man atop the nearest wagon turned at the shout and offered her an apologetic wave, simultaneously catching a burlap sack of coffee beans moments before it slid down to the ground. She glared at him.
"Family," I said firmly, and hoped it was true.
Reta turned to me again, her smile falling back into place. "That is wonderful."
I nodded, twisting my hands behind my back. My eyes absentmindedly scanned the square. Beside the covered wagon where Reta sat were three wagons being loaded with goods by no less than twenty men. It looked like they would finish loading within an hour, maybe two at the most. And then we would be off. Anilin at last.
"Don't let him scare you off, kid," I heard Derrik call out suddenly. I turned. He was standing upright atop his wagon, shouting in Roent's direction. "He's decent enough after all the growling."
Roent pointed a stern finger at him, likely scowling under his thick beard, which reminded me overwhelmingly of Charrel's. I smiled, wondering how Hana and Charrel were faring, and let my gaze follow Roent as Derrik returned to his work. I caught a flash of red.
I paused.
There was a boy. Maybe my age or a little younger. He was thin, almost painfully so. His clothes were simple homespun — cheap fabrics, though they looked fairly new. It was the sort of cloth I'd worn so often in days long past that my skin still remembered its rough feel. It was like looking in a mirror-glass, and I didn't want it at all. He wasn't ever what I searched for, nor would he have made my list of suitors. Really, my eyes would have slipped right past him, had it not been for his hair. It was red. True-red, like a hundred burning candles or a river of lava. Like fire made solid. So bright it caught my breath.
"We will leave in two hours," Reta said, and I blinked and turned back to her. The red faded. "If there is anything you have left to do, do it quickly. Roent will not wait once the wagons are packed."
"I understand. I'll be here."
"Good." Reta smiled at me. "When you are ready, you can put your things in the wagon, there. You can ride there too, there will be space enough. Though you may have to walk occasionally."
I nodded.
"You are a young girl. It will not hurt you."
"No," I agreed.
"Reta," Roent said in his heavily accented Aturan as he stepped up beside me. "Another passenger, bound for Imre."
Reta nodded, and I glanced away, not quite catching her reply. My eyes spotted that trace of red again, and for just a moment his gaze met mine. His eyes were clearly green, even across the distance of three wagons. Bright as a blooming forest in the spring. There was a lightness there — just a spark — that spoke of hope and new beginnings, and, almost unwillingly, my face broke into a smile. I wore it long after he looked away. And for much longer than I could easily explain.
Roent's small caravan rolled out of Tarbean exactly two hours later, just as the sun was cresting amidst the cloudless sky. I felt a budding bubble of excitement swell in my chest as we swept through the city gates. The horses pushed firmy ahead, pulling at their tethers and kicking up clouds of dust from the weary road. I breathed it in, the dusty air somehow sweeter than wine or chocolate. Sweeter than anything I'd ever known. A glance at the red-haired boy, tucked away in the back of the nearest goods-piled wagon, told me his relief was just as palpable. Though it was only visible for the space of a moment before his face settled back into blank unconcern. His eyes, though, remained bright as ever.
"His name is Kvothe," Reta told me, when I casually asked about him later. We were sitting in the back of the covered wagon. She was organizing small bolts of cloth by length and color as she leaned against the canvas wall. "Heading up to Imre."
"It's a wonderful city," I said, evening out two spools until they lay in a neat row. "Why's he heading there? For the arts?"
She shrugged. "He did not say. You can ask him yourself."
"Hmm." I glanced back at the road stretching out behind us. Kvothe was walking alongside Roent's second wagon, his hand absently brushing the mane of one of the horses that pulled it. Reta followed my gaze.
"No funny business in my wagons," she said firmly.
I blushed, partly because I had done just such things in wagons several times. But those wagons had always belonged in some fashion to the other party involved in such funny business. I wouldn't have dreamed of getting caught in that compromising of a position on my own. And the assumption that I'd even wish to do so with Kvothe… "I would never, Reta. He's… he's not…"
She looked down at her work, nudging the fabrics into place. "You young people. Say what you will, but you fall in and out of love with each turning of the wind."
"I'm not so young as that," I muttered.
She glanced at me again, her eyes serious. "Perhaps you are not," she admitted. "There is more time than you can account for present in your eyes. Hanging over you, girl. Like a shadow."
I couldn't think of a suitable answer, so I said nothing. Reta nodded.
"And him as well." She glanced in Kvothe's direction again. "Tehlu only knows what that boy is carrying."
"It appears to be a travelsack," I said lightly. "I'd guess some clothes. Maybe a spare bit of food."
Reta eyed me for a moment before letting out a booming laugh. "You are a clever girl. Help me sort these. I will knock a penny off your fare."
"A silver penny," I insisted.
She laughed. "Optimistic as well. A copper penny. And be happy it is not iron."
"Fine," I agreed, and turned to the heap of fabrics piled up before Reta. We spent the next several hours sorting through them in pleasant conversation. We didn't speak of Kvothe again. But my thoughts drifted to him often, and I wondered if Reta was as perceptive as she appeared.
Toward the end of the day's ride, we found ourselves in the same wagon. Reta and I had long finished our work and had fallen into a comfortable silence after hours of idle chatter. The edges of the sky were just beginning to take on a golden hue when Kvothe and one of the mercenaries hopped onto the back of the wagon bed. They didn't speak, their silence falling into harmony with ours. I watched them absently for a while, my eyes drawn to the way Kvothe's hair seemed to melt into the reddening sky. As if its color had bled out to set the sky's canvas aflame. At the way his hands worked idly at a willow switch, peeling at the bark that bound it. Such delicate strokes. They reminded me of Mother somehow. Of how her fingers had looked when they held the bow of her rebec and brought it to the strings.
When I glanced at him for the third time, I caught him studying my face. His eyes seemed far enough away that it took him a moment to realize I was watching him, and when he did he said nothing, though he didn't look away. It gave me pause. I'd had more men stare at me than I could count, but it had never been difficult to read what they wanted in their eyes. Lust. Desire. It was all plainly visible. Whatever hid behind his muddled gaze wasn't nearly so clear to see.
"Penny for your thoughts?" I asked finally, brushing at a strand of hair that had come loose in the soft breeze.
It seemed to take him an age to reply, and when he did his voice was somehow both weathered and soft, like two distant edges of a broken melody. And his answer wasn't a proposition or desire stated, or anything I expected at all.
"I was wondering what you're doing here."
I opened my mouth to answer, but no words seemed to come. No words of Anilin, or family. Nothing. Why was that? I forced a smile. "Liar."
He shrugged and looked down at this willow switch, seemingly unmoved. Though I wondered if I saw a trace of something in his eyes, which flashed briefly darker. Or was it just the fading light?
But he didn't look up again.
He intrigued me, though I couldn't say why. It hadn't been a peculiar question. Reta and Roent had both asked where I was going, but neither had spoken it with such honest intensity. Neither had made me wonder if I would really… if Anilin was really...
No, neither had made me doubt what I was looking for.
We set up camp as darkness gathered in the distant reaches of the sky. I found him again, standing by the wagons. I walked softly in his direction, drawn to him. As if he were a piece of star iron. He turned, watching me approach him from the shadows. The only sounds were my soft footfalls against the moss-strewn ground, and the gentle rustling of the wind dancing in the trees above us.
"Have you figured it out yet?" I said finally, my voice nearly as soft as the wind.
"Excuse me?" He looked almost afraid. His eyes dark again.
"Why I'm here." I managed a gentle smile, more honest than the one I'd given him before. "I've been wondering the same thing for most of my life, you see. I thought if you had any ideas…" I trailed off. I had meant it as a joke, but once spoken the words were far more honest than I had intended. Far heavier with the weight of memory. My hand shook very slightly, though the forest's shadows concealed them.
He shook his head. "All I've been able to guess is that you're going somewhere."
"That's as much as I've guessed too." I glanced away, my eyes searching out the last traces of light that bathed us from the setting sun, and the wind flared up, catching my hair and throwing it into my face. I brushed it away.
"Do you happen to know where I'm going?" The words cost me, and the emptiness they carried threatened to break into my voice; but I held it steady, the lightness of the moment pushing my sadness away.
He smiled, slowly. Almost as if learning how to do it. "Don't you know?" As if knowing were the simplest thing in the world.
"I have suspicions. Right now I'm thinking Anilin." I paused, rocking back slightly on my feet, wondering if I could really claim this journey now when I'd already promised it to myself so many times. "But I've been wrong before."
He said nothing, simply looked at me, his eyes as dark and serious as ever. Or maybe it was only the looming twilight that stole their color as the silence stretched. I glanced down, twirling Mother's ring around my finger. I had only just met him. It was too deep for this conversation. Much too deep. He hadn't even asked for my name. It was a first — all the men had asked before. In the last few years, I'd gone through more names than I could remember. I lowered my hands.
"Where are you going?" I said, and the silence shattered.
"The University."
"So certain," I said softly, and smiled a little. "How does it feel to know where you are going?"
He watched me, silent again, as if suddenly unsure of his answer. And I realized I wanted to hear it, more than anything. I wanted to know what it felt like. To be so sure that you were going somewhere that wanted you. Home. I couldn't remember what that was like. But before he could reply, Reta's voice floated to us on the wind.
"Supper is ready! Come eat or go hungry."
He gave me a small smile and turned away, toward the warmth of the campfire where Reta and Roent sat waiting. I followed and sat beside him by the fire. It was nearly as bright as his hair. And flickered as often as his smile. And mine.
The next day was brilliant and bright. We trekked steadily north, riding through long patches of sunlight beneath a dotted bluebell sky. I saw Kvothe often in the morning, mostly in the corner of my eye as he helped Derrik hitch up the horses or carried something for Reta. In the early afternoon, he appeared beside me at last, offering to keep me company while I took a turn walking beside the wagons. We talked, our idle chatter turning to idle jokes as we kicked at loose bits of gravel and breathed in the sweet spring air. He had a sharp wit and a quick tongue; quick enough to match even mine.
As the day wore on, we climbed into one of the wagons and whiled away the hours by sharing stories and staring at the clouds. He told me of a man called Ben, who had been his tutor and prepared him for The University by teaching him of herbs and medicines, and of something called "sympathy." I, in turn, told him as much as I knew of herbs and medicines from my scattered childhood memories. It wasn't much, but bonding over Bessamy and Ramsburr kept us occupied for hours. And when our words ran dry, we searched for shapes in the clouds and laughed with the carefree spirit of the children we should have been.
That night, he drew the first shift of watch, and I drew the second. Rather than retreating to my bedroll, I wrapped my blanket round my shoulders and sat with him by the fire, chatting softly as the night wandered into its darkest hours. We didn't count the time, and when his two hours ended and mine began, we stayed beneath the stars and watched the night. Together.
I couldn't say why. Why I kept coming back to him. At the time I thought, perhaps, that he reminded me of Julian. Not in looks or status or character. There were no comparisons, really, except his quiet confidence. Just traces of it. Or the way his eyes lightened when he spoke of books or the arts, though I didn't take him for a writer. But they were worlds apart. Julian had wanted something from me. Something clear-cut and defined, and he'd been willing to pay for it. Whatever it took.
Kvothe, though, had nothing to offer, and had offered nothing. I had no idea what he wanted of me. But when he looked at me, his eyes held mine. As if, for once, I was a person and not some prize to behold. Not a duchess. Not a whore. He asked only for my company. And that was all right. I wanted his as well. I had already admitted it to myself during long hours beneath the clouds and sun and flickering firelight. It was the sort of company I hadn't had in a long time. It seemed to warm his heart as much as it warmed mine. And despite what promises I had made myself, I couldn't pull away.
In the end, perhaps it wasn't that he reminded me of Julian, but that he reminded me of myself.
We spent the next day pleasantly together. It was much like the day before, our idle chatter punctuated by long moments of a comfortable sort of quiet where we simply sat and watched the road as the miles and hours rolled by.
That evening, we stopped at an inn. It seemed a welcome departure for most. Warm meals and an evening's entertainment. A roof to sleep beneath. I hated it.
It was loud and rowdy and full of men, and simultaneously reminded me of the taproom at the Mare and some of the taverns I'd frequented in South Renere. There was a pervasive stench of alcohol, so ingrained in the fabric of the room that it seemed like the floorboards and tables had been soaked in it. It clashed with the rank smells of sweat and smoke that infused the air. And most of the patrons were men. There were several women working their way around the room with brittle smiles and eyes that were just a little too bright. Seeing them left my mind swirling with painful memories, and I yearned for the dark sky and the night's gentle quiet. When Kvothe was finished with his food, I pushed my barely touched plate aside and turned to him.
"Want to take a walk? The night is perfect."
He nodded and followed me as I wended my way through a mess of drunk men and cluttered tables, until we finally burst out into the cool night. The first sweet breath of air was a relief. I hadn't realized how tight my chest had been or how hard my heart had been pounding against my chest until we stood there in the sudden quiet. I breathed it in, letting the night's calm steal over me until the tightness in my chest felt smaller. More manageable. And then we set off into the dark.
The inn stood at the edge of a wood, and we stepped into it, picking our way slowly through the trees. As we walked, Kvothe's eyes swept across the forest and he spoke lightly of woodcraft. Of what it would take to survive in these wilds. For a span. Longer.
"I grew up in a city," I admitted, sharing a tiny shred of my past. "I don't know the first thing about getting by in the woods."
"It's easy enough come summer. There are plants you can eat. Bark you can use for medicine…" He pointed out several bits of foliage and spoke their names, though the details have faded to time. I was more curious with the way his eyes flitted across the shadowy landscape of trees towering above us and never quite met mine. "You could live in a place like this for months. If you wanted to."
"It sounds lonely," I said, glancing up into what was left of the sky. The pieces visible through the dense branches were scattered with stars, giving us just enough light to walk by.
"I suppose you're right."
He walked in silence for a bit, his eyes downcast, until I briefly took hold of his hand and pulled him along. He glanced my way and smiled, and then we stepped out into a clearing and the forest was forgotten.
It was beautiful. The open sky glowed with stars, giving the grass before us a silvery sheen. A pond lay at the center, the water black as a mirror and reflecting the sky. We walked to its edge and climbed out onto a rock shelf that extended into the water. He called it a waystone, and I liked the sound of that. It somehow felt safe, magical. Or maybe it was simply the warmth of Kvothe beside me as we sat together and looked up into the sky. It was above and below us, as if I were standing within my map. But in that moment I couldn't find Anilin in the constellations. There was only us. Only me, and Kvothe, and a perfect windless night. And as we talked softly for hours of stars and stories, and the sort of impossible things that can only be spoken aloud in the safety of the dark, I wondered if Anilin wasn't the end of the map after all. In that moment I felt like everything — everything — lay in Kvothe's eyes.
Silver in the starlight.
I lost myself in them, foolishly imagining a future that could never be. A future that seemed to exist solely in this clearing, on this stone. Beneath this boundless sky.
I should have known it then, that these hours of studying each other, of sitting so close that I could feel the heat of him beside me and painting a lifetime in the stars would never leave this place. For we weren't honest, neither of us. I had told him her name… but not her story. Nor mine. For all the words we shared, we hadn't said enough. And not once did our hands touch.
There was a moment, as his eyes studied mine shortly before the dawn, where I thought he felt it too — how tangible this future could be. A moment where he opened his mouth, as if to speak, and I thought a world could exist with just the two of us. Together. And if he only voiced the desire, then I would leave what little I had. I would run with him, chase him into the wind. Grab on to that warmth he carried.
Was that what love was?
This feeling bursting through me, almost too vast to contain. It was warm, like a fire flaring to life from buried embers. But then he turned away and looked out across the water. And he said nothing. And the silence stretched.
I followed his gaze, but this time the stars and water were only that. Only stars. Water. And Kvothe beside me, with his mouth firmly shut.
And I wondered then how the few inches between us were wide enough for the entire world to break.
.
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A/N: And so, D's met Kvothe at last! I think I've been waiting for this moment since I wrote chapter one. I only hope I've done it justice. This and some of the following chapters were a bit difficult in that it was important to me to keep this story canon-compliant, but I was also concerned about rehashing too much dialogue and canon events. But K and D's interactions are, after all, quite relevant to her story. And while we don't know how reliable of a narrator Kvothe is, his words are all we have to go on. So anything I may have borrowed while putting it through the lens of D's perspective, I hope you guys can forgive. Thank you so much for sticking with this story! Any reviews are always appreciated!
Rina