“Stapes,” I said as gently as I could. “Look at me. Smell me. I’ve come three hundred miles in the last span of days. I’m not going to go strolling in the garden covered in road dust and reeking like a barbarian.”
Stapes’ mouth firmed into a frown. “I’ll tell him you’re otherwise occupied.”
More steaming buckets arrived. “Tell him the truth, Stapes,” I said as I began to unbutton my shirt. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
After I was scrubbed, brushed, and properly dressed, I sent the Maer my golden ring and a card that said, “Private conversation at your earliest convenience.”
Within an hour a runner returned with a card from the Maer saying, “Await my summons.”
I waited. I sent a runner to fetch dinner, then waited the rest of the evening. The following day passed without any further message. And, because I didn’t know when Alveron’s summons might come, I was effectively trapped in my rooms again, waiting for his ring.
It was nice to have time to catch up on my sleep and have a second bath. But I was worried about the news from Levinshir catching up with me. The fact that I couldn’t make my way down to Severen-Low to look for Denna was a vast irritation as well.
It was the sort of silent rebuke all too common in courtly settings. The Maer’s message was clear: When I call, you come. My terms or not at all.
It was childish in the way only the nobility can be. Still, there was nothing to be done. So I sent my silver ring to Bredon. He arrived in time to share supper with me and caught me up on the season’s worth of gossip I’d missed. Court rumor can be terribly insipid stuff, but Bredon skimmed the cream off the top for me.
Most of it centered around the Maer’s whirlwind courtship and marriage to the Lackless heir. They were besotted with each other, apparently. Many suspected a child might already be on the way. The royal court in Renere was busy too. The Prince Regent Alaitis had been killed in a duel, sending much of the southern farrel into chaos as various nobility did their best to capitalize on the death of such a highly ranked member of the court.
There were rumors too. The Maer’s men had taken care of some bandits off in a remote piece of the Eld. They’d been waylaying tax collectors, apparently. There was grumbling in the north, where folk had to suffer a second visit from the Maer’s collectors. But at least the roads were clear again, and those responsible were dead.
Bredon also mentioned an interesting rumor of a young man who had gone to visit Felurian and come back more or less intact, though slightly fae around the edges. It wasn’t a court rumor, exactly. More the sort of thing you heard in a taproom. A low sort of rumor no highborn person would ever deign to lend an ear to. His dark, owlish eyes glittered merrily as he spoke.
I agreed that such stories were indeed quite low, and beneath the notice of fine persons such as ourselves. My cloak? It was rather fine, was it not? I couldn’t remember where exactly I’d had it tailored. Somewhere exotic. By the way, I’d heard quite an interesting song the other day on the subject of Felurian. Would he like to hear it?
We also played tak, of course. Despite the fact that I had spent a long time away from the board, Bredon said my playing was much improved. It seemed I was learning how to play a beautiful game.
Needless to say, when Alveron sent his next summons, I came. I was tempted to arrive a few minutes late, but I resisted, knowing no good could come of it.
The Maer was walking about on his own when I met him in the garden. He stood straight and tall, looking for all the world as if he’d never needed to lean on my arm or use a walking stick.
“Kvothe,” he smiled warmly. “I’m glad you could find time to visit me.”
“Always my pleasure, your grace.”
“Shall we walk?” he asked. “The view is pleasant from the south bridge this time of day.”
I fell into step beside him, and we began to wind our way among the carefully tended hedges.
“I could not help but notice that you are armed,” he remarked, disapproval heavy on his voice.
My hand went unconsciously to Caesura. It was at my hip now, rather than over my shoulder. “Is there aught amiss with that, your grace? I have understood that all men keep the right to gird themselves in Vintas.”
“It is hardly proper.” He stressed the word.
“I understand that in the king’s court in Renere, there’s not a gentleman would dare be seen without a sword.”
“Well-spoken as you are, you are no gentleman,” Alveron pointed out coolly, “as you would do well to remember.”
I said nothing.
“Besides, it is a barbarian custom, and one that will bring the king to grief in time. No matter what the custom in Renere, in my city, my house, and my garden, you will not come before me armed.” He turned to look at me with hard eyes.
“I apologize if I have given any offense, your grace.” I stopped and offered him a more earnest bow than the one I’d given before.
My show of submission seemed to appease him. He smiled and laid a hand on my shoulder. “There’s no need for all that. Come, look at the mourningfire. The leaves will be turning soon.”
We walked for a piece of an hour, chatting amiably about small nothings. I was unfailingly polite and Alveron’s mood continued to improve. If catering to his ego kept me in his good graces, it was a small price to pay for his patronage.
“I must say that marriage suits your grace.”
“Thank you.” He nodded graciously. “I have found it much to my liking.”
“And your health continues well?” I asked, pressing the boundaries of public conversation.
“Exceeding well,” he said. “Another benefit of married life, no doubt.” He gave me a look that told me he would not appreciate further inquiry, at least not in so public a place as this.
We continued our walk, nodding to the nobles we passed. The Maer chatted on about trivialities, rumors in the court. I played along, filling my part in the conversation. But the truth was, I needed to have done with this so we could have an earnest conversation in private.
But I also knew Alveron could not be rushed into a discussion. Our talks had a ritual pattern. If I violated that, I would do nothing but annoy him. So I bided my time, smelled the flowers, and pretended interest in the gossip of the court.
After a quarter hour, there was a characteristic pause in the conversation. Next we would engage in an argument. After that we could go somewhere private enough to speak of important matters.
“I have always thought,” Alveron said at last, introducing the topic of our discussion, “that everyone has a question that rests in the center of who they are.”
“How do you mean, your grace?”
“I believe everyone has some question that drives them. A question that keeps them awake nights. A question they worry like a dog with an old bone. If you understand a man’s question, it brings you closer to understanding the man himself.” He looked sideways at me, half-smiling. “Or so I have always believed.”
I thought on it for a moment. “I would have to agree with you, your grace.”
Alveron raised an eyebrow at this. “As easy as that?” He sounded slightly disappointed. “I was expecting a bit of a struggle from you.”
I shook my head, glad for the easy opportunity to introduce a topic of my own. “I’ve been worrying at a question for some years now, and I expect I will worry it some few years more. So what you say makes a perfect sense to me.”
“Really?” he said hungrily. “What is it?”
I considered telling him the truth. About my search for the Chandrian and the death of my troupe. But there was no real chance of that. That secret still sat in my heart, heavy as a great smooth stone. It was too personal a thing to tell someone as clever as the Maer. What’s more, it would reveal my Edema Ruh blood, something I had not made public knowledge in the Maer’s court. The Maer knew I wasn’t nobility, but he didn’t know my blood was quite so low as that.