The Name of the Wind (50 page)

“The trouble is, when you gift a girl with flowers your choice can be construed so many different ways. A man might give you a rose because he feels you are beautiful, or because he fancies their shade or shape or softness similar to your lips. Roses are expensive, and perhaps he wishes to show through a valuable gift that you are valuable to him.”

“You make a good case for roses,” she said. “The fact remains I do not like them. Pick another flower to suit me.”

“But what suits? When a man gives you a rose what you see may not be what he intends. You may think he sees you as delicate or frail. Perhaps you dislike a suitor who considers you all sweet and nothing else. Perhaps the stem is thorned, and you assume he thinks you likely to hurt a hand too quick to touch. But if he trims the thorns you might think he has no liking for a thing that can defend itself with sharpness. There's so many ways a thing can be interpreted,” I said. “What is a careful man to do?”

She cast a sidelong look to me. “If the man is you, I'd guess he would spin clever words and hope the question was forgotten.” She tilted her head. “It isn't. What flower would you pick for me?”

“Very well, let me think.” I turned to look at her, then away. “Let's run down a list. Dandelion might be good; it is bright, and there is a brightness about you. But dandelion is common, and you are not a common creature. Roses we have dealt with and discarded. Nightshade, no. Nettle…perhaps.”

She made a face of mock outrage and showed me her tongue.

I tapped a finger to my lips as if reconsidering. “You are correct, except for your tongue it doesn't suit you.”

She huffed and crossed her arms.

“Wild oat!” I exclaimed, startling a laugh from her. “It's wildness suits you, but it is a small flower, and bashful. For that as well as other,” I cleared my throat, “more obvious reasons, I think we'll pass the wild oat by.”

“Pity,” she said.

“Daisy is a good one,” I bulled ahead, not letting her distract me. “Tall and slender, willing to grow by roadsides. A hearty flower, not too delicate. Daisy is self-reliant. I think it might suit you…. But let us continue in our list. Iris? Too gaudy. Thistle, too distant. Violet, too brief. Trillium? Hmmm, there's a thing. A fair flower. Doesn't take to cultivation. The texture of the petals…” I made the boldest motion of my young life and brushed the side of her neck gently with a pair of fingers. “…smooth enough to match your skin, just barely. But it is too close to the ground.”

“This is quite a bouquet you've brought for me,” she said gently. Unconsciously, she raised a hand to the side of her neck where I had touched her, held it there a moment, then let it fall.

A good sign or a bad one? Was she wiping my touch away or pressing it close? Uncertainty filled me more strongly than before and I decided to press ahead with no more blatant risks. I stopped walking. “Selas flower.”

She stopped and turned to look at me. “All this and you pick a flower I don't know? What is a selas flower? Why?”

“It is a deep red flower that grows on a strong vine. Its leaves are dark and delicate. They grow best in shadowy places, but the flower itself finds stray sunbeams to bloom in.” I looked at her. “That suits you. There is much of you that is both shadow and light. It grows in deep forests, and is rare because only skilled folk can tend one without harming it. It has a wondrous smell and is much sought and seldom found.” I paused and made a point of examining her. “Yes, since I am forced to pick, I would choose selas.”

She looked at me. Looked away. “You think too much of me.”

I smiled. “Perhaps you think too little of yourself.”

She caught a piece of my smile and shone it back at me. “You were closer early in your list. Daisies, simple and sweet. Daisies are the way to win my heart.”

“I will remember it.” We started walking again. “What flower would you bring me?” I teased, thinking to catch her off guard.

“A willow blossom,” she said without a second's hesitation.

I thought for a long minute. “Do willows have blossoms?”

She looked up and to the side, thinking. “I don't think so.”

“A rare treat to be given one then.” I chuckled. “Why a willow blossom?”

“You remind me of a willow.” She said easily. “Strong, deep-rooted, and hidden. You move easily when the storm comes, but never farther than you wish.”

I lifted my hands as if fending off a blow. “Cease these sweet words,” I protested. “You seek to bend me to your will, but it will not work. Your flattery is naught to me but wind!”

She watched me for a moment, as if to make sure my tirade was complete. “Beyond all other trees,” she said with a curl of a smile on her elegant mouth, “the willow moves to the wind's desire.”

 

The stars told me five hours had passed. But it seemed hardly any time at all before we came to the Oaken Oar where she was staying in Imre. At the doorway there was a moment that lasted for an hour as I considered kissing her. I had been tempted by the thought a dozen times on the road as we talked: when we paused on Stonebridge to watch the river in the moonlight, underneath a linden tree in one of Imre's parks….

At those times I felt a tension building between us, something almost tangible. When she looked sideways at me with her secret smile, the tilt of her head, the way she almost faced me made me think she must be hoping for me to do…something. Put my arm around her? Kiss her? How did one know? How could I be certain?

I couldn't. So I resisted the pull of her. I did not want to presume too much, did not want to offend her or embarrass myself. What's more, Deoch's warning had made me uncertain. Perhaps what I felt was nothing more than Denna's natural charm, her charisma.

Like all boys of my age, I was an idiot when it came to women. The difference between me and the others is that I was painfully aware of my ignorance, while others like Simmon bumbled around, making asses of themselves with their clumsy courting. I could think of nothing worse than making some unwelcome advance toward Denna and having her laugh at the awkwardness of my attempt. I hate nothing more than doing things badly.

So I made my good-byes and watched her enter the side door of the Oaken Oar. I took a deep breath and could hardly keep from laughing or dancing about. I was so full of her, the smell of the wind through her hair, the sound of her voice, the way the moonlight cast shadows across her face.

Then, slowly, my feet settled to the ground. Before I had taken six steps I sagged like a sail when the wind fades. As I walked back through the town, past sleeping houses and dark inns, my mood swung from elation to doubt in the space of three brief breaths.

I had ruined everything. All the things I had said, things that seemed so clever at the time, were in fact the worst things a fool could say. Even now she was inside, breathing a sigh of relief to finally be rid of me.

But she had smiled. Had laughed.

She hadn't remembered our first meeting on the road from Tarbean. I couldn't have made that much of an impression on her.

Steal me,
she had said.

I should have been bolder and kissed her at the end. I should have been more cautious. I had talked too much. I had said too little.

W
ILEM AND SIMMON WERE already well into their lunches when I arrived at our usual spot in the courtyard. “Sorry,” I said as I set my lute on the cobblestones near the bench. “Got caught up haggling.”

I had been on the other side of the river buying a dram of quicksilver and a pouch of sea salt. The last had cost me dearly, but for once I wasn't concerned about money. If fortune smiled on me, I would be moving up the ranks in the Fishery soon, and that meant my money troubles would soon be over.

While shopping in Imre, I had also, quite by coincidence, wandered past the inn where Denna was staying, but she hadn't been there, or at the Eolian, or in the park where we'd stopped to talk last night. All the same, I was in a fine mood.

I tipped my lute case onto its side and flipped it open so the sun could warm the new strings, helping them stretch. Then I settled onto the stone bench under the pennant pole next to my two friends.

“So where were you last night?” Simmon asked too casually.

It was only then I remembered that the three of us had planned to meet up with Fenton and play corners last night. Seeing Denna had completely driven the plan from my mind. “Oh God, I'm sorry Sim. How long did you wait for me?”

He gave me a look.

“I'm sorry,” I repeated, hoping I looked as guilty as I felt. “I forgot.”

Sim grinned, shrugging it off. “It's not a big deal. When we figured out you weren't going to show, we went to the Library to drink and look at girls.”

“Was Fenton mad?”

“Furious,” Wilem said calmly, finally entering the conversation. “Said he was going to box your ears next time he saw you.”

Sim's grin widened. “He called you a fluff-headed E'lir with no respect for his betters.”

“Made claims about your parentage and sexual tendency toward animals,” Wilem said with a straight face.

“‘…in the Tehlin's cassock!'” Simmon sang with his mouth full. Then he laughed and started to choke. I pounded him on the back.

“Where were you?” Wilem asked while Sim tried to get his breath back. “Anker said you left early.”

For some reason, I found myself reluctant to talk about Denna. “I met someone.”

“Someone more important than us?” Wilem asked in a flat tone that could be taken for dry humor or criticism.

“A girl,” I admitted.

One of his eyebrows went up. “The one you've been chasing around?”

“I haven't been
chasing
anyone,” I protested. “She found me, at Anker's.”

“Good sign,” Wilem said.

Simmon nodded wisely then looked up with a playful glint in his eye. “So did you make any music?” He nudged me with an elbow and wagged his eyebrows up and down. “A little duet?”

He looked too ridiculous for me to be offended. “No music. She just wanted someone to walk her home.”

“Walk her home?” He said suggestively, wagging his eyebrows again.

I found it less amusing this time. “It was dark out,” I said seriously. “I just escorted her back to Imre.”

“Oh,” Sim said, disappointed.

“You left Anker's early,” Wil said slowly. “And we waited for an hour. Does it take you two hours to walk to Imre and back?”

“It was a long walk,” I admitted.

“How long is long?” Simmon asked.

“A few hours.” I looked away. “Six.”

“Six hours?” Sim asked. “Come on, I think I'm entitled to a few details after listening to you ramble on about her for the last two span.”

I began to bristle. “I don't ramble. We just walked,” I said. “Talked.”

Sim looked doubtful. “Oh come
on.
For six hours?”

Wilem tapped Simmon's shoulder. “He's telling the truth.”

Simmon glanced over at him. “Why do you say that?”

“He sounds more sincere than that when he lies.”

“If the two of you will be quiet for a minute or so I'll tell you the whole of it. Fair?” They nodded. I looked down at my hands, trying to collect my thoughts, but they wouldn't fall into any sort of orderly pattern. “We took the long way back to Imre, stopped on Stonebridge for a while. Went to a park outside town. Sat by the river. We talked about…nothing really. Places we've been. Songs…” I realized I was rambling and shut my mouth. I picked my next words carefully. “I thought about doing more than walking and talking but—” I stopped. I had no idea what to say.

They were both silent for a moment. “I'll be,” Wilem marveled. “The mighty Kvothe, brought low by a woman.”

“If I didn't know you, I'd think you were scared,” Simmon said not quite seriously.

“You're damn right I'm scared,” I said in a low voice, wiping my hands nervously against my pants. “You'd be too if you'd ever met her. It's all I can do to sit here instead of running off to Imre, hoping to see her through a store window, or pass her crossing the street.” I gave a shaky smile.

“Go then.” Simmon smiled and gave me a little push. “Godspeed. If I knew a woman like that I wouldn't be here eating lunch with the likes of you two.” He brushed his hair away from his eyes and gave me another push with his free hand. “Go on.”

I stayed where I was. “It's not that easy.”

“Nothing's ever easy with you,” Wilem muttered.

“Of course it's that easy,” Simmon laughed. “Go tell her some of what you just told us.”

“Right,” I said with dark sarcasm. “As if it were simple as singing. Besides, I don't know if she would want to hear it. She's something special…. What would she want with me?”

Simmon gave me a frank stare, “She came looking for you. She obviously wants something.”

There was a moment of silence and I hurried to change the subject while I had the chance. “Manet's given me permission to start my journeyman project.”

“Already?” Sim gave me an anxious look. “Will Kilvin go along with it? He's not a big one for cutting corners.”

“I didn't cut any corners,” I said. “I just pick things up quickly.”

Wilem gave an amused snort and Sim spoke up before the two of us started to bicker. “What are you doing for your project? Sympathy lamp?”

“Everyone does a lamp,” Wilem said.

I nodded. “I wanted to do something different, maybe a gearwin, but Manet told me to stick to the lamp.” The belling tower struck four. I got to my feet and gathered up my lute case, ready to head to class.

“You should tell her,” Simmon said. “If you like a girl you have to let her know.”

“How's that working out for you so far?” I said, irritated that Sim of all people would presume to give me relationship advice. “Statistically speaking, how often has that strategy paid off, in your vast experience?”

Wilem made a point of looking elsewhere while Sim and I glared at each other. I looked away first, feeling guilty.

“Besides, there's nothing to tell,” I muttered. “I like spending time with her, and now I know where she's staying. That means I can find her when I go looking.”