trial has given the University a great shining black eye. It’s reminded folk that while
“Some students aren’t too pleased either,” Wil added darkly.
“It isn’t my fault there was a trial!” I protested, then backed up a bit. “Not entirely. Ambrose stirred this up. He was backstage during the whole thing, laughing up his sleeve.”
“Even so,” Wil said. “Ambrose is sensible enough to avoid admissions this term.”
“What?” I asked, surprised. “He’s not going through admissions?”
“He is not,” Wilem said. “He left for home two days ago.”
“But there was nothing to connect him to the trial,” I said. “Why would he leave?”
“Because the masters are not idiots,” Manet said. “The two of you have been snapping at each other like mad dogs since you first met.” He tapped his lips thoughtfully, his expression full of exaggerated innocence. “Say, that reminds me. Whatever were you doing at the Golden Pony the night Ambrose’s room caught fire?”
“Playing cards,” I said.
“Of course you were,” Manet said, his tone thick with sarcasm. “The two of you have been throwing rocks at each other for a full year, and one of them has finally hit the hornet’s nest. The only sensible thing to do is run off to a safe distance and wait ’til the buzzing stops.”
Simmon cleared his throat timidly. “I hate to join the chorus,” he said apologetically. “But rumor has gotten around you were seen having lunch with Sleat.” He grimaced. “And Fela told me she’d heard you were . . . um . . . courting Devi.”
“You know that’s not true about Devi,” I said. “I’ve just been visiting her in order to keep the peace. She was half an inch away from wanting to eat my liver for a while there. And I only had one conversation with Sleat. It was barely fifteen minutes long.”
“Devi?” Manet exclaimed with dismay. “Devi and Sleat? One expelled and the other the next best thing?” He threw down his cards. “Why would you be seen with those people? Why am I even being seen with you?”
“Oh come now.” I looked back and forth between Wil and Sim. “It’s that bad?”
Wilem set down his cards. “I predict,” he said calmly, “that if you go through admissions, you will receive a tuition of at least thirty-five talents.” He looked back and forth between Sim and Manet. “I will wager a full gold mark to this effect. Does anyone care to take my bet?”
Neither of them took him up on his offer.
I felt a desperate sinking in my stomach. “But this can’t . . .” I said. “This . . .”
Sim put his cards down as well, the grim expression out of place on his friendly face. “Kvothe,” he said formally. “I am telling you three times. Take a term away.”
Eventually I realized my friends were telling me the truth. Unfortunately, this left me entirely at loose ends. I had no exams to study for, and starting another project in the Fishery would be nothing but foolishness. Even the thought of searching the Archives for information on the Chandrian or the Amyr had little appeal. I had searched so long and found so little.
I toyed with the idea of searching elsewhere. There are other libraries, of course. Every noble house has at least a modest collection containing household accounts and histories of their lands and family. Most churches had extensive records going back hundreds of years, detailing trials, marriages, and dispositions. The same was true of any sizable city. The Amyr couldn’t have destroyed every trace of their existence.
The research itself wouldn’t be the hard part. The hard part would be gaining access to the libraries in the first place. I could hardly show up in Renere dressed in rags and road dust, asking to thumb through the palace archives.
This was another instance in which a patron would have been invaluable. A patron could write me a letter of introduction that would open all manner of doors for me. What’s more, with a patron’s backing, I could make a decent living for myself as I traveled. Many small towns wouldn’t even let you play at the local inn without a writ of patronage.
The University had been the center of my life for a solid year. Now, confronted with the necessity of leaving, I was utterly at sea, with no idea of what I could do with myself.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Chasing the Wind
I gave my admissions tile to Fela, telling her I hoped it brought her luck. And so the winter term came to an end.
Suddenly three-quarters of my life simply disappeared. I had no classes to occupy my time, no shifts in the Medica to fill. I could no longer check out materials from Stocks, use tools in the Fishery, or enter the Archives.
At first it wasn’t so bad. The midwinter pageantry was wonderfully distracting, and without the worry of work and study I was free to enjoy myself and spend time in the company of my friends.
Then spring term started. My friends were still there, but they were busy with their own studies. I found myself crossing the river more and more. Denna was still nowhere to be found, but Deoch and Stanchion were always willing to share a drink and some idle gossip.
Threpe was there too, and while he occasionally pressed me to attend a dinner at his house, I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. My trial hadn’t pleased people on this side of the river either, and they were still telling stories about it. I wouldn’t be welcome in any respectable social circle for a great long time, if ever.
I toyed with the idea of leaving the University. I knew people would forget about the trial more quickly if I wasn’t around. But where would I go? The only thought that came to mind was heading off to Yll with the vain hope of finding Denna. But I knew that was nothing but foolishness.
Since I didn’t need to save money for tuition, I went to repay Devi. But for the first time ever, I wasn’t able to find her. Over the course of several days I grew increasingly nervous. I even slid several apologetic notes under her door until I heard from Mola that she was taking a holiday and would be returning soon.
Days passed. And I sat idle as winter slowly withdrew from the University. Frost left the corners of windowpanes, drifts of snow dwindled, and trees began to show their first greening buds. Eventually Simmon caught his first glimpse of bare leg beneath a flowing dress and declared spring had officially arrived.
One afternoon as I sat drinking metheglin with Stanchion, Threpe came through the door practically bubbling with excitement. He whisked me off to a private table on the second tier, looking ready to burst with whatever news he was carrying.
Threpe folded his hands on the tabletop. “Since we haven’t had much luck finding you a local patron, I started casting my nets farther afield. It’s nice to have a local patron. But if you have the support of a properly influential lord, it hardly matters where he lives.”
I nodded. My troupe had ranged all over the four corners under the protection of Lord Greyfallow’s name.
Threpe grinned. “Have you ever been to Vintas?”
“Possibly,” I said. Then seeing his puzzled look, I explained, “I traveled quite a bit when I was young. I can’t remember if we ever made it that far east.”
He nodded. “Do you know who the Maer Alveron is?”
I did, but I could tell Threpe was bursting to tell me himself. “I seem to remember something . . .” I said vaguely.
Threpe grinned. “You know the expression ‘rich as the King of Vint?’ ”
I nodded.
“Well, that’s him. His great-great-grandfathers
