“I imagine I could do anything,” I said easily. “If you would ask it of me.”
She laughed.
“That’s a dangerous thing to say to a woman,” Sovoy said. “Especially this one. She’ll have you off to bring her a leaf of the singing tree from the other side of the world.”
She leaned back in her chair and looked at me with dangerous eyes. “A leaf of the singing tree,” she mused. “That might be a nice thing to have. Would you bring me one?”
“I would,” I said, and was surprised to find that it was the truth.
She seemed to consider it, then shook her head playfully. “I couldn’t send you journeying so far away. I’ll have to save my favor for another day.”
I sighed. “So I am left in your debt.”
“Oh no!” she exclaimed. “Another weight upon my Savien’s heart….”
“The reason my heart is so heavy is that I fear I might never know your name. I could keep thinking of you as Felurian,” I said. “But that could lead to unfortunate confusion.”
She gave me an appraising look. “Felurian? I might like that if I didn’t think you were a liar.”
“A liar?” I said indignantly. “My first thought in seeing you was ‘Felurian! What have I done? The adulation of my peers below has been a waste of hours. Could I recall the moments I have careless cast away, I could but hope to spend them in a wiser way, and warm myself in light that rivals light of day.’”
She smiled. “A thief and a liar. You stole that from the third act of Daeonica.”
She knew Daeonica too? “Guilty,” I admitted freely. “But that doesn’t make it untrue.”
She smiled at Sovoy then turned back to me. “Flattery is fine and good, but it won’t win you my name. Sovoy mentioned you were keeping pace with him in the University. That means you meddle with dark forces better left alone. If I give you my name you would have a terrible power over me.” Her mouth was serious, but her smile showed itself around the corners of her eyes, in the tilt of her head.
“That is very true,” I said with equal seriousness. “But I will make you a bargain. I’ll give you my name in exchange. Then I will be in your power as well.”
“You’d sell me my own shirt,” she said. “Sovoy knows your name. Assuming he hasn’t told me already, I could have it from him as easy as breathing.”
“True enough,” Sovoy said, seeming relieved that we remembered he was there. He took up her hand and kissed the back of it.
“He can tell you my name,” I said, dismissively. “But he cannot give it to you—only I can do that.” I lay one hand flat on the table. “My offer stands, my name for yours. Will you take it? Or will I be forced to think of you always as an Aloine, and never as yourself?”
Her eyes danced. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll have yours first though.”
I leaned forward, and motioned for her to do the same. She let go of Sovoy’s hand and turned an ear toward me. With due solemnity I whispered my name in her ear. “Kvothe.” She smelled faintly of flowers, which I guessed was a perfume, but beneath that was her own smell, like green grass, like the open road after a light spring rain.
Then she leaned back into her seat and seemed to think of it for a while. “Kvothe,” she said eventually. “It suits you. Kvothe.” Her eyes sparkled as if she held some hidden secret. She said it slowly, as if tasting it, then nodded to herself. “What does it mean?”
“It means many things,” I said in my best Taborlin the Great voice. “But you will not distract me so easily. I have paid, and now am in your power. Would you give me your name, that I might call you by it?”
She smiled and leaned forward again, I did likewise. Turning my head to the side, I felt an errant strand of her hair brush against me. “Dianne,” her warm breath was like a feather against my ear. “Dianne.”
We both sat back in our seats. When I didn’t say anything she prompted me, “Well?”
“I have it,” I assured her. “As sure as I know my own.”
“Say it then.”
“I am saving it,” I reassured her, smiling. “Gifts like these should not be squandered.”
She looked at me.
I relented. “Dianne,” I said. “Dianne. It suits you as well.”
We looked at each other for a long moment, then I noticed that Sovoy was giving me a not-quite-subtle stare.
“I should get back downstairs,” I said, rising quickly from my seat. “I’ve got important people to meet.” I cringed inwardly at the awkwardness of the words as soon as I’d said them, but couldn’t think of a less awkward way to take them back.
Sovoy stood and shook my hand, no doubt eager to be rid of me. “Well done tonight, Kvothe. I’ll be seeing you.”
I turned to see Denna standing too. She met my eyes and smiled. “I hope to see you too.” She held out her hand.
I gave her my best smile. “There’s always hope.” I meant it to seem witty, but the words seemed to turn boorish as soon as they left my mouth. I had to leave before I made an even greater ass of myself. I shook her hand quickly. It was slightly cool to the touch. Soft, delicate, and strong. I did not kiss it, as Sovoy was my friend, and that is not the sort of thing friends do.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
All This Knowing
IN THE FULLNESS OF TIME, and with considerable help from Deoch and Wilem, I became drunk.
Thus it was that three students made their slightly erratic way back to the University. See them as they go, weaving only slightly. It is quiet, and when the belling tower strikes the late hour, it doesn’t break the silence so much as it underpins it. The crickets, too, respect the silence. Their calls are like careful stitches in its fabric, almost too small to be seen.
The night is like warm velvet around them. The stars, burning diamonds in the cloudless sky, turn the road beneath their feet a silver grey. The University and Imre are the hearts of understanding and art, the strongest of the four corners of civilization. Here on the road between the two there is nothing but old trees and long grass bending to the wind. The night is perfect in a wild way, almost terrifyingly beautiful.
The three boys, one dark, one light, and one—for lack of a better word—fiery, do not notice the night. Perhaps some part of them does, but they are young, and drunk, and busy knowing deep in their hearts that they will never grow old or die. They also know that they are friends, and they share a certain love that will never leave them. The boys know many other things, but none of them seem as important as this. Perhaps they are right.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Fortune
THE NEXT DAY I went to the admissions lottery sporting my very first hangover. Weary and vaguely nauseous, I joined the shortest line and tried to ignore the din of hundreds of students milling about, buying, selling, trading, and generally complaining about the slots they’d drawn for their exams.