Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground, and to keep things canon-compliant, I have borrowed a bit of dialogue from canon in this chapter.

Chapter 24: Burned

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I didn't sleep.

When we returned to the inn, the sky was lightening into dawn around us, its cool light painting the forest a colorless grey. We walked beside each other the whole way, stepping carefully through the damp underbrush. But the distance between us felt like a gaping break in the earth, its edges crumbling with every footstep. It was too easy to see the facts now that the stars had gone.

He was going. To the University.

He was so far away already. And soon enough, there would be hundreds of miles between us. Just two days more, and it would all be over.

I would never see him again.

He wished me a good morning — his voice light enough to be a melody that bordered on laughter — and vanished into the stables, where Roent and Reta had secured us all beds of straw. It wasn't much, though I had slept on worse.

But I didn't follow him. Instead, I sat and watched the sun crest above the trees, until the entire forest glowed with color. Fiery. Like his hair. There would be no fire in Anilin. Not like that. I felt an odd aching in my chest and squeezed my eyes shut. But I could still see the sunlight, bleeding across my lids until my eyes burned. Until I turned away, and even then. It wasn't a surprise. I was so very tired.

We left not two hours later, and I climbed wearily into the covered wagon. I had meant to doze the morning away, but instead I found Josn. A bard, who had negotiated passage to Anilin with Roent during last night's dinner.

He was lovely. He had wavy hair the color of coffee and a fair complexion. He laughed easily and often, and when he smiled his whole face stretched with honest delight. He was pleased to find someone to share his destination, and we talked for several hours. I'm sure he would have been happy with more — he was the type for it. By which I mean he flattered me endlessly and joked about taking me as one of his wives. But these things were simple enough to brush off with a smile, and he wasn't obstinate enough to push for more. So our conversation stretched and twirled, and we said little of meaning. We said nothing.

In an odd way, he seemed the embodiment of the lifestyle I'd once told Julian I wanted, and falling into those memories was strangely cathartic. They had hurt me once. When I'd thought of Julian in those first nights, I had been filled with regret. Some days, I had lamented the easy life I'd given away for seemingly no reason. I could have been happy. Maybe. I would have been comfortable. But I'd run off, chasing some idea of love. And months had passed since then. Long days and longer nights. Last night, perhaps, the longest of them all.

So these memories didn't hurt quite so much. Touching them was like ripping plaster off a burn and finding that the wound, which had once been so ghastly, was little more than a scarring of the skin. Still wrinkled and red. Still tender. But the pain had faded. Julian was already lost to time. Now it was thoughts of Kvothe that fractured me.

After all, he never came to find me. Not for the entire day.

That night, he didn't sit next to me by the campfire, choosing a spot beside Derrik instead. It was Josn who plopped down beside me and attempted to engage in idle chatter. I gave him mindless answers, though my heart wasn't in it. My mind had drifted outside the ring of light the campfire made and was traversing shadows.

Had last night meant nothing to him? The connection between us had been so tangible it felt all but solid. My skin ached for the feel of Kvothe's hand. For the sound of his voice and the world we had made. The two of us beneath the open sky.

Had he come to the same realizations? Last night we had skirted around too many truths. I wondered if he'd sensed the heaviness I carried and wanted no part of it. Or was he done with me after taking what he pleased? No. I refused to believe that he was simply a man. Not like all the rest. I, too, had sensed the edges of the shadow that cloaked him.

And what he'd taken was something no one had touched in years. Something I hadn't realized I was ready to give.

"I think I may play," Josn said abruptly, cutting into my passing thoughts. "Wouldn't you like to hear it?"

"Sure," I agreed.

"Do you reckon Roent and Reta would like some music as well?"

"I suppose."

"Excellent," he said, and hurried off to the wagons to collect his lute. I shot a glance at Kvothe across the fire. He briefly met my eyes and looked away. I bit my lip and glanced down at my hands, twisting Mother's ring until the smokestone dug into my skin.

Tehlu. Why?

Josn returned, carrying his lute case. I watched him unpack it, my eyes momentarily getting lost in the way the fire reflected off the brass clasps. And then he played. A love song. A drinking song. Alternating between happy and sad, his voice grazing both ends of the spectrum. He was good — I'm sure he was good. In truth, my mind had wandered until the music was only noise. It might have touched my heart if I'd let it. If I had just cleared a little space. But my chest was much too full of longing.

Josn was putting the lute away when I heard the voice call out into the ring of firelight. The familiar voice, which sounded like how a smile felt when you wore it.

"Could I see that for a second?"

My head snapped up, almost involuntarily. The last time I'd heard his voice had been hours and miles away, in the strange pale light that coats the world right before the sun rises.

"Just for a second?" Kvothe added. His voice was idle, bordering on unconcerned. But he had asked twice. And I suddenly wondered why it felt like the seemingly innocent question meant more to him than air.

Josn agreed. It almost surprised me that he would hand his lute away, though he surely thrived on pleasing others. But in truth, I don't really remember a thing about him or his demeanor. My eyes were only for Kvothe.

He turned the lute over in his hands. Gently. Softly. He cradled it to his chest. Like a mother holding a newborn. His eyes were downcast, but the lines of his face twisted into something that felt familiar. Bitterness, maybe?

"It's beautiful," he whispered, and his voice seemed to crack, the edges fraying.

No, it wasn't bitterness. Just pain.

I felt something ache deep in my chest as he began to play. His fingers on the strings were light, as if the lute were fragile and he was scared to startle it into breaking. He moved slowly, his hands brushing across the neck as he sounded each string. Each note quietly fading into the night. And then the disparate pieces of melody fell together in song. Light at first, simple, as if he were unsure of his fingerings. Had he picked up a lute many times before? And then he bowed his head into the shadows and music poured into the night.

It sounded… Oh, it sounded like the hurt my heart had always known. It was aching. Intricate. It cut deep into me, each strand cloaked in nearly too much pain to hold. Gathering around me, like shadow made solid. Stealing my breath. Until my whole frame seemed to vibrate with the resounding song.

It was his song. His heart laid bare before us to flash in the firelight. And I remembered, then, a different heart. A different song that had carried pain sharper even than this one. Mother. And I saw slivers of empty rooms and sheets stained red. Snow on freshly turned earth. The last warm winter.

The music fell away, abruptly. Suddenly. Startling itself into silence before the end came. Until there was only the night, and the flickering firelight. The few of us frozen around the fire. And in the stillness that remained, I lowered my face into my hands and began to cry in quiet, hopeless sobs.

Much like all else in my life, it ended. I had expected as much, but when he said his goodbyes, it hurt just the same.

"You could come to Anilin with us," I suggested, my eyes holding his in the early evening twilight. The words felt empty even before I spoke them. He wouldn't come. The slight shake of his head only confirmed it. He looked downcast in his refusal, but he refused all the same. Behind us, the clamor of Roent's crew unpacking grew louder. Between us was only silence.

"Don't look like that," I chided him, managing a smile. You're the one who's going, aren't you? "I'll be there for a while, if things don't work out for you here…" The offer's there. I've never asked anyone to stay with me before. Not anyone.

But there had never been anyone before whose heart felt like a mirror.

He said nothing, but I could see the uncertainty flit across his face. For a moment, he looked almost lost. And I knew then that even if he followed me to Anilin, he would never find me. It was a vast city, larger even than Tarbean.

"I guess I'll just have to come looking for you, then," I said, offering him a playful smile. But how could I? All my hopes were pinned on Anilin. Though it was hard to go just then. I would have abandoned it, had he asked. But he hadn't. He'd spoken sweetly beneath the stars, but in the light of day he didn't want me. Not enough. The same way I hadn't wanted Julian.

It was suddenly much too hard to look him in the eyes.

"I had better go. Watch for me," I managed, my smile as present as ever. And then I turned and hurried away before my face could slip.

"I will," he called after me. "I'll see you where the roads meet."

I glanced back, hesitating. But he said nothing else, and I waved and turned away, walking steadily further from Kvothe and into the lengthening night. I spent it curled beneath my old cloak, and the hours were dark and long. And empty.

I wish I had been braver, then. I wish I'd had the courage to call out his name instead of walking away. Truly, I wish I'd stayed in Imre, or followed him to The University. I could have studied poetry; or music, if they taught such things. Perhaps I could have even learned a bit about magic.

Magic. Dark forces better left alone. Best not to be meddled with. That's what Father had always called it, though Mother had been tight-lipped on the subject. But Tehlu knows, after last night I've certainly meddled enough. And I will not soon forget these marks. Perhaps Father had been right all along.

Still, I wish I never went to Anilin. I wish I didn't have to learn the lessons that it taught me, even though they shaped who I became. I would have managed just as well without them. I'm not so strong as that. I don't know how many times more I can watch the world burn down around me, though Tehlu knows it's happened so often that I can no longer feel the flames.

But I found him again. I came back, when everything in Anilin fell apart. There was nowhere to go, so I went to Imre. I'd been there many times before. I knew Deoch and Stanchion at the Eolian. I'd formed relationships with half a dozen pawn shops. It was a logical place to go, but it wasn't the reason I went. Even then, I was searching for him. I spent time with Sovoy, and the men before him, because I had to survive. I had always survived. But also because many of them studied at the vast complex that made up The University. And I had to find him. To see him again.

It was cruel. But I am… cruel. And foolish. But honest, at least with myself. And with him, Kvothe. I haven't told him every truth, but I've told him no lies either, except for her name. And how much of a lie is it, really? Is it so wrong to keep holding on to her? She was the one who knew of love, who understood it, even as it took her away. But maybe I'm foolish for that too — for thinking I can do better. Maybe that's why I've been so afraid to tell him the truth.

He is fire, endlessly ablaze. Warm beside me. But if I get too close, can I stand the heat of the flames? I already know how they can scorch. Just the memory of her is proof enough. But his light and warmth still pulls at me. I can't keep dancing away. I want to give him something too, for all he's given me. Our favors have been uneven. His pipes… for my life? No, it isn't enough. And all I have left to give him is my truth. And my heart.

Just a few more hours till morning now. I can feel it in the way my darkness lightens. In the way the night weighs less around me and this strange, sharp dream begins to fade.

Anilin. It was the next stop on my journey. The long-awaited golden city. I can still see it. The perfect streets. The beautiful facades. But the dark rooms they hid are full of shadows now. Harder to decipher. So while I still see the outline of Uncle Allard's thin face, the details are harder to remember. If I focus, I can make out the curves of his graying goatee. The steely glint of his eyes, which I had once mistaken for welcome before I saw its true face. Greed.

And why? Why should I remember it? Haven't I felt pain enough without living it all again? Why should I dwell on how he and Aunt Flora welcomed me into their modest home after I spent span tracking them down. They had been full of smiles and kind words then. Uncle Allard hadn't seen Mother since she'd left for Renere with her rebec and the family ring, but when I told them of her fate, they shared in my grief. They were exactly what I had been searching for. A family. At least on the surface. Their daughter, Dara, had been colder. She was a chubby girl with horribly bushy eyebrows and a crooked nose, and her greeting was little more than silence, which had festered to anger over time. But Aunt Flora wrung her hands and called her a rude and bitter girl, and I ignored her at my detriment. Too carried away in the sudden happiness of belonging.

It was a blissful few span. The days that passed were full of the nothings of a simple life. The sort of life I'd once known. Chores. Meals together. Laugher at the table. It was the life I'd dreamed of beneath tattered bedspreads in cold attics. Beneath warm blankets and silks in the finest inns. The normalcy I had lost. So I helped Aunt Flora around the house. I came by the tailor shop that had once belonged to my grandfather, and it was empty enough for Uncle Allard to give me a tour. I cooked meals in their kitchen, and brought drinks when guests were visiting. Uncle Allard introduced me as his niece and I glowed with pride. And ignored Dara's dark looks. I was a part of this family, after all. Just as she. Hadn't Uncle Allard's and Aunt Flora's generous hospitality proved as much?

I should have known it was too good to be true. Just like everything else. I know who I am. And Tehlu knows, there is no one in this world willing to throw me a loaf, unless it's burnt. Or laced with poison. And Uncle Allard and Aunt Flora… they offered the latter.

Hell, I nearly baked it myself.

"Come in here, girl. Sit with us." It was Uncle Allard's voice, booming through the house and into the kitchen, where I stood pouring drinks. They were entertaining — a merchant friend of theirs. He had visited several times in the last few span and I had seen him in passing, though they usually did not invite me to visit with their guests. I lifted the glasses and carried them into the sitting room, setting them carefully on the small table before perching on the edge of the lounging couch.

"My niece, you know," Uncle Allard said by way of introduction. "And this is Heldon."

I nodded politely, though Uncle Allard had made these introductions once before, when I first met Heldon several span ago. He was an older gentleman, well into his third score of years if his lined face and wild graying hair were any indication. He shifted forward in his chair to look me over, the buttons of his fine coat stretching across his considerable girth, and smiled from beneath his mustache. It really needed a trim.

"It's lovely to see you, Heldon. I've brought wine," I said, my voice tuned to the perfect shade of polite. As much as I didn't want to spend the evening entertaining their guest, it was the least I could do for the last piece of family I had found in all the four corners. They had been kind enough to take me in when I had nothing to offer in return. My time was the least of it, even if doing so reminded me of countless such evenings which I'd rather forget. But they knew nothing of that piece of my life, and that would remain.

Uncle Allard reached for a glass and sipped it appreciatively. "I thank you, hon. A lovely girl."

Aunt Flora nodded, beaming at me. "She is a perfect hostess. She cooks, too. It's been such a pleasure having her with us."

I smiled and glanced away, my cheeks burning. "It's the least I can do, Aunt Flora. After you've been so welcoming."

"And do you cook well, my dear?" Heldon asked in light accented Aturan, eyeing me with interest.

"Oh, yes," Aunt Flora said, before I could answer. "Wonderful meals. Cakes, too. It's all Vintish fare. She was raised in Vintas, wasn't she?"

"Where in Vintas?" Heldon asked.

I paused for a fraction of a second. "Renere."

"Ahh, the capital. And how is the king's city these days?" Heldon asked with enthusiasm. "It's been like a second home, but that was years ago, of course." He laughed, patting his overlarge belly. "Time to leave the running around to the youngins, eh?"

"It… it's all right." I reached for my own glass of wine and hastily took a sip.

"Oh, don't question the poor girl about that," Aunt Flora cut in. "She lost her whole family there. Horrible tragedy. That's why she's come to us."

"Of course, of course," Heldon said quickly, and let aunt Flora steer the conversation to happier topics, such as his upcoming retirement. I learned, over the course of the evening, that he had traveled the four corners with his merchant caravan. But at fifty-five, he was finally ready to pass on the reigns. His nephew would be taking over the business. Heldon, meanwhile, had purchased a mansion house here in Anilin — a city he praised as being "much too generous" in all his years of passing through it. He had little choice but to settle down and reap its rewards.

He drank freely, with Uncle Allard easily keeping pace while Aunt Flora and I refilled the glasses. They laughed and spoke of business and women and family in that free way that only men could speak. Until even Aunt Flora sat silent beside me. And Dara was nowhere to be found.

It was hours before I was able to slip away. I left them down below, in the flickering brightness of oil lamps and candles, and stole through the shadows that cloaked the upper floors. It was quiet, the voices from below murmuring out into silence. Just the creaking of the stairs now. The quiet humming of a well-worn house.

I don't know why, but somehow I remember the walk most of all.

I found Dara in the small room beneath the attic that Aunt Flora and Uncle Allard had been kind enough to let me use when I showed up on their doorstep. She was sitting on my bed, one foot bouncing against her ankle. Her face was set, the thin line of her mouth almost sculpted into place in the moonlight filtering in through the window glass.

I set down my candle on the table beside the door. "What are you doing here?"

It took her a moment to respond, but the look she gave me was hard. Sharp around the edges. "It's my house, isn't it?"

"Still." I stepped inside and let the door fall closed behind me with a soft creak. "This is my room."

"Not for long now." She folded her arms across her chest.

"What do you mean?"

She gave me a pitying look. "Tiny gods. You have no idea, do you? You don't know. You haven't a clue. You idiot."

I could feel the heat of her anger from across the room. It was more words than she had spoken to me since I'd arrived.

"What do you want, Dara?"

She stood, shaking her head until her frizzy curls fell into an untamable tangle. They hid her face in the pale candlelight, like shadows gathered. "It's gone on too long, you know?" she said softly. "I was going to tell you. You'll know soon enough anyway. Even you have a right. But how? How could you not see it? You can't be so thick as that. So you must be a liar."

"If you're just here to insult me, get the fuck out of my room," I snapped, my patience worn threadbare. I was exhausted. Heldon was exhausting, and Uncle Allard drunk was exhausting too. In that moment, I didn't care anymore that she was my cousin. That she was Uncle Allard's daughter and I was a guest in her home. I was tired of her angry glares and bitter silences. Of the way she threw sharp words at Aunt Flora and stalked out of the room when she saw me approach. The way Aunt Flora and Uncle Allard excused her behavior. Her clear disrespect. And this tirade — it served her no better. And I'd had wine enough to speak my mind.

"Fine," she spat, and I saw her hands curl into angry fists. She pushed past me roughly on her way to the door. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

I sat wearily on the bed, watching her stalk out of the room. The very walls seemed to vibrate with the anger of her heavy footfalls. But she would be gone soon enough, back in her room down below, and I would have peace at last. But she stopped on the landing. Abruptly. Her back still to me. And then she spoke, almost as if she couldn't contain the words. As if they were a fire, bursting out of her. And I didn't expect them at all.

"They're going to have you marry him, you know."

"Who?" I said blankly.

"Who?" she repeated, and her tone was mocking. "Heldon."

"Heldon?"

"Heldon," she said slowly, stressing his name. "The man you just spent four hours entertaining. He's paying my parents a pretty penny for you."

I stared at her blankly, my mouth dropping open. I felt numb. Burnt.

"What..."

"You don't believe me?" She let out a short and bitter laugh. "You should. I would know, wouldn't I? It was supposed to be me."