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CHAPTER TWO

A Place to Burn

I practiced the Ketan early in the morning, before the sun had fully risen, then headed to the Fishery. I'd been back at the University nearly three terms, and the season was just beginning to turn. Birch and aspen, harbingers of autumn, tinted the landscape a cheerful yellow. It was the sort of day that makes one think of crisp apples and harvest dances.

I paused on the threshold of Kilvin's workshop, drinking in the stillness of the great hall. I was the only person there at that hour. I walked past a dozen ill-lit tables strewn with the bric-a-brac of metallurgists, glassblowers, and potters. My own desk was peppered with a muddled assortment of tools that another artificer might have confused for the makings of a deck lamp: steel plates and rivets, jars of acid and sheets of wax, etching needles and gravers and spindly copper wire.

I lifted a small box-like object from one of the many pockets in my cloak. Light glinted off its sharp edges as I rolled it in my palm. There was enough copper inlay in each facet to cast a jot.

I placed the box on my desk and removed my cloak, wrapping it tightly around Caesura before tucking them both out of sight. Kilvin disliked weapons of any kind, and I had no desire to test the limits of his tolerance for any of my less gentlemanly pursuits.

I settled onto a stool, picked up the slim metal graver, and pressed it against the only untouched facet of the box. I etched a delicate pattern onto the steel, then began to carve in earnest. I lost myself for a time in the rhythmic bite of the tool, the smooth pressure of the wooden handle against my calloused palm.

Students straggled in over the next several hours. I ignored all of them except Fela, who smiled so brightly at me from the doorway that I couldn't help smiling back. She threw her cloak over her arm and walked over.

"Just a second," I said absently. I finished hammering copper wire into the freshly grooved plate and set my tools down on the desk. I beamed up at Fela as I massaged the stiffness from my hands.

"You're as happy as I've ever seen you," she observed. "You must be almost finished."

"Almost," I agreed. I held the box out to her. "It works like a charm now. The rest is just details."

She took it from me. "Oooph, it's heavy. Mind if I look closer?"

I shook my head, and she grinned. I hadn't shown it to anyone yet, or even told them what it did. In truth, I hadn't even been certain that it would work. Of course, my reticence had caused a small flurry of speculation around the Fishery, and I didn't mind that either.

Kilvin only tolerated these theatrics because I had paid for the materials out of my own purse. Still, he had called me into his office one morning and made me swear, on the moon and my good right hand and much else besides, that my design was neither an implement of war, nor an aid to thieves and pirates, nor likely in any other way to reflect badly upon the University and the artificer's craft.

Fela turned the box over in her hands. "It's beautiful," she said earnestly. She held it up to study the inlay. Her fingers traced the delicate copper runes. "It's got something to do with sound," she said finally, "but I'm not sure what. This combination here reminds me of the runes on the obsidian chips in your Bloodless."

I smiled. "Exactly."

She frowned. "So it's designed to ... what? Absorb sound?"

"Something like that." I stood and pressed my hands to either side of the box. "Listen."

A chord played, then another. A song started, lilting and fragile and sweet.

Fela's eyes widened. "Is that your lute?"

I nodded proudly.

"That's ... incredible," she breathed. We listened as the song became a delicate waltz, then transitioned into a shy refrain. Eventually, it faded into silence. Fela handed the music box back to me, shaking her head in amazement. "It sounded like you were actually playing it," she said admiringly.

Her eyes flicked over the copper wire on my desk and her smile slipped slightly, her brow creasing into a tiny frown.

"What?" I said, suddenly anxious.

She bit her lip. "Well ... it's wonderful, really. But I don't know if Kilvin's going to like it. That's a lot of copper to put into something ... well ..."

"Frivolous?" I supplied. She flushed slightly, then nodded. "I've thought about that. I think it's more useful than it looks at first. Make it out of gold and it's an heirloom. Use it to record family histories, or stories, or songs. Make it out of iron and you can get an important message a long distance." I frowned. "I want to link two together so that you can pass sound between them, but I haven't figured out yet how to deal with the attenuation of the link over distance." I shrugged. "Either way, it wasn't a wasted effort."

To tell the truth, I didn't give ha'penny what Kilvin thought about my little music box. I hadn't made it for him. I had made it for Auri.

When I'd returned from Severen, I'd promised her I had come home to stay. But the road was calling me again, sweet and low, and I longed to be away. Summer term had witnessed my last dying hopes of finding any information on the Amyr or the Chandrian in the University Archives, but I still clung to the hope that there was some vital scrap of parchment hidden away in some dusty corner of the world, perhaps in some minor lord's private collection or some monastery's archives. Surely the knowledge I had sought for so long was still out there somewhere, just waiting for me to stumble upon it and shape it to purpose. That was how these things always happened in stories.

Of course, I had no more chance of gaining access to private collections as student of the Arcanum than I'd had as a Waterside thief. Still, I had picked up a few tricks in Tarbean that I was more than willing to put to the task. I knew it was only a matter of time before I found myself walking down the road with the wind at my back, a song in my heart, and a few dangerous ideas in mind.

I knew Auri would wait for me when I left, as surely as I knew I might never return. I imagined her huddled on her blanket on the roof of Mains, impossibly alone, and my heart ached. I was reminded again of the long years after my family had died. I had wished so desperately that they'd left something of themselves behind. The sound of a voice, the strum of a chord. I couldn't leave Auri like that. So I had written her a song, and trapped it in a box.

"Kvothe? Are you okay?"

I was abruptly aware that I had been staring into the distance for some time, lost in dark thoughts. I glanced over at Fela. "I'm fine," I lied. I sat back down and rubbed my face. "Just didn't sleep enough, I guess." I smiled crookedly through my fingers. "Elodin and I went fishing last night. With our bare hands. Knee-deep in the Omethi. At midnight."

"You didn't!" she gasped. "You know, last week he made me smell every flower in the meadow next to the bridge. It took hours. I must have looked a complete fool."

We complained good-naturedly about Elodin while she cleared a space at my desk and laid out her own work, which turned out to be a collection of small, brightly colored glass animals.

We worked in silence after that. I sanded down the fresh inlay and carved another rune. She twirled a thin rod of blue glass over a bench burner, humming absently to herself. I was surprised to discover she was more than a little tone deaf. I ducked my head, trying to hide a smile.

Suddenly I frowned, cocking my head to the side. There was something oddly familiar about the song she was humming, something I couldn't quite -

I dropped the graver. It hit the spool of copper sidelong and sent it flying off the desk, spitting wire as it went.

"Where did you hear that?" I cried.

Fela glanced up and blanched at the look on my face. Without realizing it, I had leapt to my feet. I stood over her, trembling like a leaf.

"What? What's wrong?" she said. She stared around the shop, her eyes wild.

"The song," I said. "The song you were just humming. Where did you hear it?"

"What -" She shook her head as if to clear it. "Last night, at the Eolian. Denna sang it. Why?"

The world pitched around me. My skin suddenly felt clammy and chill. I staggered back to my chair and tucked my head between my legs, breathing deeply and hoping desperately that I wouldn't faint.

When the world finally reasserted itself, I saw Fela standing over me. Her long fingers were pressed against my forehead. She asked me a question, her voice full of concern, and I shook my head. I pulled back from her touch, shaky and numb but no longer in any real danger of collapsing.

Dark thoughts darted like startled harts through the fog in my mind, and I chased after them. So Denna had sung her Song of Seven Sorrows last night in the Eolian. She had sung of Lanre, just as my father had. Surely the Chandrian would come for her now. It seems odd to say it, but I was somehow certain of this, as if it were as knowable as the weight of a coin or the chords of a song.

I rose to my feet, pushing away my dizziness and fear. I focused all my attention on one single thought. I had to find Denna.

I ignored Fela's bewildered protests as I pulled my bundled cloak out from under the desk, unwrapped Caesura, and slung the sword belt around my hips.

Without thinking, I drew the sword from her scabbard. Fela gasped. The harsh white light of my desk lamp danced wickedly along the finely honed edge as I ran my hand along the flat of the blade. I sheathed the sword again without flourish, content in the knowledge that she would be in easy reach if needed, and threw my cloak over my shoulders.

There was a finality to that gesture that took me completely by surprise. I realized suddenly that I had no intention of ever returning to the University, whether I found Denna today or not.

Nostalgia gripped me then, abrupt and painful. I pulled Fela tightly to my chest. She made a soft noise of surprise as I kissed her forehead. "May all your stories be glad ones, and your roads be smooth and short," I muttered thickly. Tears pricked at the corners of my vision. I seized her hand and placed the music box in her palm. I wrapped her fingers around it. "Take this to Elodin," I said. "Tell him to take it to the roof. He'll understand."

Then I walked away, certain in the knowledge that I would never see her again.

Images came to mind unbidden as I walked towards Imre. They tumbled over one another, a torrent fed by memory and fear. Denna weeping as Cinder touched her face. Her white skin marred by ugly gashes. Her eyes wide and glassy. Her limbs splayed beneath her, like a doll thrown to the ground. Like my last memory of my mother.

I started to run. I ran all the way from the University to the inn where Denna had been staying since her return from Anilin. By the time I barreled into the taproom of the stout two-story building, I had a stitch in my side and no breath left to speak of.

I slumped against the bar, drawing great lungfuls of air. My face was flushed with heat, my hair sticking up in all directions. I must have also been a little wild around the eyes, for the innkeeper got one good look at me and took a hasty step back. The movement sent bits of chopped carrot and raw onion flying off the bar.

"The woman who is staying here," I managed between gasps. "Dinnah, Dinae, whatever she's calling herself now. Beautiful, dark hair and eyes. Voice like a song. Where is she?"

The innkeeper brandished a kitchen knife at me. "See here," he started. His voice was sharp and clipped. "You can't just march into my inn and demand things like that. I don't keep track of my guests -"

I took another deep breath and a step back. "I'm sorry," I said. "That was rude. But please, is there anything you can tell me? It's important."

His lips pursed, but his eyes were thoughtful. Eventually, he nodded. "Beautiful, eh? You must be looking for the one that has suitors calling on her all hours of the night." He shook his head wonderingly. "If I'd half her luck with men ..." he trailed off, then glanced up at me suspiciously. "You're not looking to give her trouble, are you? I won't have it said there's been trouble on my account."

"She's already in trouble," I said, exasperated, "I'm trying to get to her out of it."

He nodded slowly. "Aye, maybe she is at that. I caught her sneaking out the window not an hour ago, cloak and travel case in hand. It's a good thing she paid up front, otherwise I'd have pulled her down by her ankles and sat on her until she settled her debts."

I stared at him. "She was running? Do you know why?"

He shrugged. "Two men came by this morning. Not much like her usual suitors, to tell it true. Most of them are twice your age and half as pretty, and wearing twice your weight in coin." He looked me up and down and smiled suddenly. "No offense."

I flushed slightly. "None taken. How were these men different?"

"Armor-clad." He snorted. "In Imre, of all places. As if there's trouble to be found hereabout. Swords at their hips, and monstrous bleeding slabs of iron they were, too. Looked like mercenaries, maybe. One of them had shifty eyes. Smiled to easy. The kind of smile that rubs you the wrong way, you know?"

I nodded absently. Could the Chandrian have sent scouts? It didn't seem likely. Perhaps the men were Chandrian themselves, hiding their signs. I recalled what the Cthaeh had said of Cinder: "You'd think a man with coal-black eyes would make an impression when he stops to buy a drink."

"Did they say what they wanted?" I asked.

"Same as all of you want, I imagine. A piece of her. I told them she was out. She'd said she didn't want to be disturbed."

I frowned. "Which way did she go? Once she was out the window?"

He shrugged. "Can't be sure. But she was headed towards the square, last I looked."

"Thank you," I said. I dug in my purse and placed a few coins on the bar, then gave him a small but earnest bow. "Sorry about the trouble."

The coins disappeared with a practiced flick of his wrist. He grinned and winked at me. "Aye, come back any time."

I started to jog towards the main square but consigned myself to a miserable shuffle when the stitch in my side returned. I felt raw, hollow and heavy, like someone had scraped out my insides and filled them with lead.

The sounds of the city changed as I walked. At first, I only heard the usual city bustle - hawkers pushing their wares, the clap of horseshoes on packed dirt, the clamor of two dozen voices all talking at once. But the voices ahead of me were growing louder. I limped forward, straining to hear. "Fire," I heard, and "Tehlu protect us!" I stepped out into the main square and froze in place.

The Eolian was on fire. The flames licking up the sides of the worn wooden facade were the clean, cold blue of purified gas.

The fire was clearly fresh, as the shouting in the streets had only just begun. Still, the flames were spreading faster than any I'd ever seen. The fire had already turned the facade of the first story to char. A gust of wind churned up a column of thick black smoke and swept it across the cobbles like a storm cloud, driving onlookers into alleyways and side streets.

Someone spoke just behind me, and I leapt nearly a foot in the air. "God blackened damn," the voice said in low, admiring tones. "I canna think o' a worse place for a row."

I glanced sidelong at the man who'd spoken. He was squatting on a crate near my knees, a bottle of spirits tucked between his thighs. He eyed my puzzled expression and gave me a lazy smile that lacked a few essential teeth. "The window," he clarified, pointing up at the burning building.

I glanced back towards the music hall and promptly forgot to breath. Deoch and Marie were perched on the wide sill of a second story window, clinging to the frame and screaming bloody murder at one another. A bad place for a row, indeed.

Deoch gave a sudden, garbled shout and fell heavily from the window. His hands grasped useless at the air for a second, then he hit the ground with a decisive thud.

I cringed, but the fall didn't seem to have done any real damage. He groaned and rolled over, then stumbled to his knees. He glared up at the window, spitting curses at the tall, long-haired woman that had clearly just pushed him out of it. Marie stared back down at him, her mouth set in a grim line. She tucked her skirts around her and jumped after him.

Her leg snapped when she hit the cobblestones. She screamed and bent double, her face draining of color. Deoch stumbled to his feet and charged past her, barreling back towards the building with murder in his eyes. Relentless, Marie dove forward on her good leg and seized him by his ankle. He fell to the ground again, cursing. She swayed but managed to keep her grip on him.

"Stop, you damned fool!" she shouted. "You've no chance at all! You'll only get yourself killed!" She gritted her teeth and yanked at his shirt, trying to pull him out of the path of falling debris.

Deoch rose to his knees once more, but this time he didn't try to stand. It seemed Marie had finally gotten through to him. He stared at the building, his eyes hollow. He screamed a single word, over and over again. Stanchion.

Stanchion was still inside the building. No wonder Deoch was so desperate to throw himself into the flames. I should have felt sorrow then, or at least fear. Instead, I only felt numb. A cold fury built in my chest, turning my heart to ice. Another good man would die today, for no other reason than that he had crossed the path of the Chandrian.

Rage seared away the fog in my mind, and I burst into action. I sucked in a lungful of clean air and dashed forward through the smoke. A maelstrom of charred rubbish rebounded off my cloak and tumbled to the earth as I reached the front door. I wrapped a hand in my cloak and seized the loose corner of the lintel. I drew my dagger from my pocket and used it to pry the wood free from the wall.

The wood broke away too easily. It had rotted through. If I'd had any lingering doubts about the Chandrian's involvement in the fire, the sight of that rotten wood would have quenched them. I lunged for the fountain at the center of the square, shouted a binding, and slammed the plank into the water.

Nothing happened. The fire continued to burn, violent and blue.

I stood frozen for a moment, stupefied. Then I dropped the plank to the cobblestones and stepped back. The fire was too hot, too strange. There was nothing I could do.

Marie met my eyes. I shook my head, and her hopeful expression faded. She nodded her understanding and turned back to Deoch. He wept openly into his hands as he watched the building burn.

I felt empty, burned out and hollow. I closed my eyes for a moment, the afterimage of the fire glowing orange against my closed lids. When I opened them, I realized abruptly that many of the townsfolk were now watching me. Their stares were frank and curious. Some seemed hopeful, others suspicious. With a shock, I realized they were waiting to see what I would do. They had recognized me as Kvothe the Arcane. Now they expected me to do something extraordinary, something worthy of a story.

I turned my back on their stares, feeling nauseous and bitter and cold. No one would believe my presence here was a coincidence. If I could not put out the fire, they would likely say I'd set it myself. I only hoped Deoch would have the good sense not to believe it.

A stallion snorted and danced at the end of its lead rope, ears pricked and neck outstretched. I jogged over to him, thankful for a distraction from the staring crowd.

The stallion was pure white. He was the finest creature I'd ever seen, finer than I could ever hope to afford. A Vaulder, strong and long-legged and built for running. I patted his neck and murmured soothingly in his ear. "Hush, hush. All's well. Let's get you away from this fire, eh?"

My hand froze mid-stroke as my eye caught on his saddle. It was dark leather, heavily embroidered, and it bore the crest of Baron Jakis. I shook my head. The poor creature deserved better than to be ridden by Ambrose until he died. I wondered darkly if the bastard whipped his horses with as much enthusiasm as I'd heard he beat his whores.

I untied the Vaulder from the hitching post and lead him towards the opposite side of the square. He caught a whiff of smoke and danced nervously to one side. His unrest echoed my own. I could still feel the crowd watching me. I could hear their unspoken question. Why doesn't he do something?

I pushed them from my mind. The crowd didn't matter. The Eolian didn't matter. All that mattered was that I needed to get to Denna, and I needed to get there fast.

In other words, I needed a horse. I looked up at the great beast at my side, and I smiled.

I didn't stop to think. I simply stepped into a stirrup and slung my leg over the stallion's back. Adrenaline spiked through me and I laughed, a single harsh bark. I heard several of the townsfolk gasp.

Ambrose emerged from a side street as I settled into his finely tooled saddle. His impotent screams were lost to the wind as I charged down the great road towards Severen.