Then, clean and sweet smelling again, I went down to the taproom.
I’d picked the inn carefully. It wasn’t fancy, but wasn’t seedy either. The taproom was low-ceilinged and intimate. It sat at the corner of two of Tarbean’s most well-traveled roads, and I could see Cealdish traders rubbing elbows with Yllish sailors and Vintish wagoneers. It was the perfect place for stories.
It wasn’t long before I was lurking at the end of the bar, listening to how I had killed the Black Beast of Trebon. I was stunned. I had actually killed a rampaging draccus in Trebon, but when Nina had come to visit me a year ago, she hadn’t known my name. My growing reputation had somehow swept through the town of Trebon and gathered up that story in its wake.
There at the bar, I learned many things. Apparently, I owned a ring of amber which could force demons to obey me. I could drink all night and never be the worse for it. Locks opened at the barest touch of my hand, and I had a cloak made all out of cobwebs and shadows.
That was also the first time I heard anyone call me Kvothe the Arcane. It was not a new name, apparently. The cluster of men listening to the story simply nodded along when they heard it.
I learned that Kvothe the Arcane knew a word that would stop arrows dead in the air. Kvothe the Arcane only bled if the knife that cut him was made of raw, untempered iron.
The young clerk was building to the dramatic finish of the story, and I was genuinely curious as to how I was going to stop the demon beast with my ring shattered and my cloak of shadows nearly burned away. But just as I forced my way into Trebon’s church, shattering the door with a magic word and a single blow of my bare hand, the door of the inn burst open, startling everyone as it banged hard against the wall.
A young couple stood there. The woman was young and beautiful, dark-haired and dark-eyed. The man was richly dressed and pale with panic. “I don’t know what’s the matter!” he cried, looking about wildly. “We were just walking and then she couldn’t breathe!”
I was at her side before anyone else in the room had time to stand. She had half-collapsed onto an empty bench, with her escort hovering over her. She had one hand pressed against her chest while the other pushed him away weakly. The man ignored it and crowded close to her, speaking in a low, urgent voice. The woman kept sliding away from him until she was at the edge of the bench.
I pushed him ungently aside. “I think she wants her space from you right now.”
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice shrill. “Are you a physician? Who is this man? Someone fetch a physician at once!” He tried to elbow me aside.
“You!” I pointed to a large sailor sitting at a table. “Take this man and put him over there.” My voice snapped like a whip and the sailor jumped to his feet, grabbed the young gentleman by the back of his neck, and scuffed him tidily away.
I turned back to the woman and watched as her perfect mouth opened. She strained and drew in only the barest rasp of a breath. Her eyes were wild and wet with fear. I moved close to her and spoke in my gentlest tones. “You will be fine. All is well,” I reassured her. “You need to look in my eyes.”
Her eyes fixed on mine, then widened in recognition, in amazement. “I need you to breathe for me.” I laid one hand against her straining chest. Her skin was flushed and hot. Her heart was thrilling like a frightened bird. I laid my other hand along her face. I looked deeply into her eyes. They were like dark pools.
I leaned close enough to kiss her. She smelled of selas flower, of green grass, of road dust. I felt her strain to breathe. I listened. I closed my eyes. I heard the whisper of a name.
I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.
There was a rush of indrawn air. I opened my eyes. The room was still enough that I could hear the velvet rush of her second desperate breath. I relaxed.
She laid her hand over mine, over her heart. “I need you to breathe for me,” she repeated. “That’s seven words.”
“It is,” I said.
“My hero,” Denna said, and drew a slow and smiling breath.
“It were powerful strange,” I heard the sailor say on the other side of the room. “There were sommat in his voice. I swear by all the salt in me, I felt like a puppet with my string pulled.”
I listened with half an ear. I guessed the deckhand simply knew to jump when a voice with the proper ring of authority told him to.
But there was no sense in telling him that. My performance with Denna, combined with my bright hair and dark cloak, had identified me as Kvothe. So it would be magic, no matter what I had to say about it. I didn’t mind. What I had done tonight was worthy of a story or two.
Because they recognized me, folk were watching us, but not coming very close. Denna’s gentleman friend had left before we thought to look for him, so the two of us enjoyed a certain privacy in our small corner of the taproom.
“I should have known I’d come across you here,” she said. “You’re always where I least expect to find you. Have you migrated away from the University at last?”
I shook my head. “I’m playing truant for a couple days.”
“Are you heading back soon?”
“Tomorrow, actually. I’ve got a fetter-cart.”
She smiled. “Would you like some company?”
I gave her a frank look. “You must know the answer to that.”
Denna blushed a little and looked away. “I suppose I do.”
When she looked down her hair cascaded off her shoulders, falling around her face. It smelled warm and rich, like sunshine and cider. “Your hair,” I said. “Lovely.”
Surprisingly, she blushed even deeper at this and shook her head without looking up at me. “That’s what we’ve come to after all this time?” she said, darting a look up at me. “Flattery?”
It was my turn to be embarrassed, and I stammered. “I . . . I wouldn’t . . . I mean, I would . . .” I took a breath before reaching out to lightly touch a narrow, intricate braid, half-hidden in her hair. “Your braid,” I clarified. “It almost says lovely.”
Her mouth made a perfect “o” of surprise, and one hand went self-consciously to her hair. “You can read it?” she said, her voice incredulous, her expression slightly horrified. “Merciful Tehlu, isn’t there anything you don’t know?”
“I’ve been learning Yllish,” I said. “Or trying to. It’s got six strands instead of four, but it’s almost like a story knot, isn’t it?”
“Almost?” she said. “It’s a damn sight more than almost.” Her fingers plucked at the piece of blue string at the end of her braid. “Even Yllish folk barely know Yllish these days,” she said under her breath, plainly irritated.
“I’m not any good,” I said. “I just know some words.”
“Even the ones that do speak it don’t bother with the knots.” She glared sideways at me. “And you’re supposed to read them with your fingers, not by looking at them.”
“I’ve mostly had to learn by looking at pictures in books,” I said.
Denna finally untied the blue string and began to unfurl the braid, her quick fingers smoothing it back into her hair.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said. “I liked it better before.”
“That’s rather the point, isn’t it?” She looked up at me, tilting her chin proudly as she shook out her hair. “There. What do you think now?”
“I think I’m afraid to give you any more compliments,” I said, not exactly sure what I’d done wrong.
Her demeanor softened a bit, her irritation fading. “It’s just embarrassing. I never expected anyone to be able to read it. How would you feel if someone saw you wearing a sign that said, ‘I am dashing and handsome’?”
There was a pause. Before it could grow uncomfortable, I said, “Am I keeping you from anything pressing?”
“Only Squire Strahota.” She made a negligent gesture toward her departed escort.