The Wise Man's Fear

lock her door.

“Merciful Tehlu,” she said, once we were inside, looking around frantically. “That’s a first.”

Looking around, I saw that little had changed in her rooms since I’d last seen them, though her second set of bookshelves was almost half full. I looked over the titles as Devi searched the other rooms to make sure nothing was missing.

“Anything you’d like to borrow?” she asked, as she came back into the room.

“Actually,” I said, “I have something for you.”

I set my travelsack on her desk and rooted around until I found a flat rectangular package wrapped in oilskin and tied with twine. I moved my travelsack onto the floor and put the package on the desk, nudging it toward her.

Devi approached the desk wearing a dubious expression, then sat down and unwrapped the parcel. Inside was the copy of Celum Tinture I’d stolen from Caudicus’ library. Not a particularly rare book, but a useful resource for an alchemist exiled from the Archives. Not that I knew anything about alchemy, of course.

Devi looked down at it. “And what’s this for?” she asked.

I laughed. “It’s a present.”

She eyed me narrowly. “If you think this will get you an extension on your loan. . . .”

I shook my head. “I just thought you’d like it,” I said. “As for the loan . . .” I brought out my purse and counted nine thick talents onto her desk.

“Well then,” Devi said, mildly surprised. “It looks like someone had a profitable trip.” She looked up at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until after you’ve paid tuition?”

“Already taken care of,” I said.

Devi made no move to take the money. “I wouldn’t want to leave you penniless at the start of the new term,” she said.

I hefted my purse in one hand. It clinked with a delightful fullness that was almost musical.

Devi brought out a key and unlocked a drawer at the bottom of her desk. One by one she brought out my copy of Rhetoric and Logic, my talent pipes, my sympathy lamp, and Denna’s ring.

She piled them neatly on her desk, but still didn’t reach for the coins. “You still have two months before your year and a day is up,” she said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to wait?”

Puzzled, I looked down at the money on the table, then around at Devi’s rooms. Realization came to me like a flower unfurling in my head. “This isn’t about the money at all, is it?” I said, amazed it had taken me this long to figure it out.

Devi cocked her head to the side.

I gestured at the bookshelves, the large velvet-curtained bed, at Devi herself. I’d never noticed before, but while her clothes weren’t fancy, the cut and cloth were fine as any noble’s.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with money,” I repeated. I looked at her books. Her collection had to be worth five hundred talents if it was worth a penny. “You use the money as bait. You lend it out to desperate folks who might be useful to you, then hope they can’t pay you back. Your real business is favors.”

Devi chuckled a bit. “Money is nice,” she said, her eyes glittering. “But the world is full of things that people would never sell. Favors and obligation are worth far, far more.”

I looked down at the nine talents gleaming on her desk. “You don’t have a minimum loan amount, do you?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “You just told me that so I’d be forced to borrow more. You were hoping I’d dig myself a hole too deep and not be able to pay you back.”

Devi smiled brightly. “Welcome to the game,” she said as she began to pick up the coins. “Thanks for playing.”

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-FOUR Sword and Shaed

With my purse full to bursting and Alveron’s letter of credit assuring my tuition, my winter term was carefree as a walk in the garden.

It was strange not having to live like a miser. I had clothes that fit me and could afford to have them laundered. I could have coffee or chocolate whenever I wanted. I no longer needed to toil endlessly in the Fishery and could spend time tinkering simply to satisfy my curiosity or pursue projects simply for the joy of it.

After almost a year away, it took me a while to settle back into the University. It felt odd not wearing a sword after all this time. But such things were frowned on here, and I knew it would cause more trouble than it was worth.

At first I left Caesura in my rooms. But I knew better than anyone how easy it would be to break in and steal it. The drop bar would only keep away a very genteel thief. A more pragmatic one could simply break my window and be gone in less than a minute. Since the sword was quite literally irreplaceable, and I’d made promises to keep it safe, it wasn’t long before I moved it to a hiding place in the Underthing.

My shaed was easier to keep at hand, as I was able to change its shape with a little work. These days it only rarely billowed on its own. More commonly it refused to move as much as the gusting wind seemed to demand. You’d think people would notice such things, but they didn’t. Even Wilem and Simmon, who teased me about my fondness for it, never marked my cloak as anything more than an exceptionally versatile piece of clothing.

In fact, Elodin was the only one to notice anything out of the ordinary about it. “What’s this?” he exclaimed when we crossed paths in a small courtyard outside Mains. “How did you come to be enshaedn?”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked.

“Your cloak, boy. Your turning cape. How in God’s sweet grace did you tumble onto a shaed?” He mistook my surprise for ignorance. “Don’t you know what you’re wearing?”

“I know what it is,” I said. “I’m just surprised that you do.”

He gave me an insulted look. “I wouldn’t be much of a namer if I couldn’t spot a faerie cloak a dozen feet away.” He took a corner of it between his fingers. “Oh, that’s just lovely. Here’s a piece of old magic man rarely lays a finger on.”

“It’s new magic, actually,” I said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

When it became obvious my explanation involved a long story, Elodin led us into a small, cozy pub I’d never seen before. I hesitate to call it a pub at all, actually. It wasn’t full of chattering students and the smell of beer. It was dim and quiet with a low ceiling and scattered clusters of deep, comfortable chairs. It smelled of leather and old wine.

We sat near a warm radiator and sipped mulled cider while I told him the whole story of my unintentional trip into the Fae. It was a wonderful relief. I hadn’t been able to tell anyone yet for fear of being laughed out of the University.

Elodin proved to be a surprisingly attentive audience and was especially interested in the fight Felurian and I had had when she had tried to bend me to her will. After I’d finished the story, he peppered me with questions. Could I remember what I’d said to call the wind? How had it felt? The strange wakefulness I described, was it more like being drunk, or more like going into shock?

I answered as best I could, and eventually he leaned back in his chair, nodding to himself. “It’s a good sign when a student goes chasing the wind and catches it,” he said approvingly. “That’s twice you’ve called it now. It can only get easier.”

“Three times, actually,” I said. “I found it again when I was off in Ademre.”

He laughed. “You chased it to the edge of the map!” he said, making a broad motion with his splayed left hand. Stunned, I realized it was Adem hand-talk for amazed respect. “How did it feel? Do you think you could find its name again if you had need of it?”

I concentrated, trying to nudge my mind into Spinning Leaf. It had been a month and a thousand miles since I’d tried, and it was hard to tip my mind into that strange, tumbling emptiness.

Eventually I managed it. I looked around the small room, hoping to see the name of the wind like a familiar