Free The Wise Man's Fear by Patrick Rothfuss

with enough of a Modegan accent to lend it a slight musical cant.
    Denna inclined her head in his direction. “Kellin has been showing me my way around a harp.”
    “I am here to win my pipes,” he said, his deep voice filled with certainty.
    When he spoke, women at the surrounding tables turned to look in his direction with hungry, half-lidded eyes. His voice had the opposite effect on me. To be both rich and handsome was bad enough. But to have a voice like honey over warm bread on top of that was simply inexcusable. The sound of it made me feel like a cat grabbed by the tail and rubbed backward with a wet hand.
    I glanced at his hands. “So you’re a harper?”
    “Harpist,” he corrected stiffly. “I play the Pendenhale. King of instruments.”
    I pulled in half a breath, then closed my mouth. The Modegan great harp had been the king of instruments five hundred years ago. These days it was an antique curiosity. I let it pass, avoiding the argument for Denna’s sake. “Will you be trying your luck tonight?” I asked.
    Kellin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “There will be nothing of luck involved when I play. But no. Tonight I am enjoying my lady Dinael’s company.” He lifted Denna’s hand to his lips and gave it an absentminded kiss. He looked around at the murmuring crowd in a proprietary way, as if he owned them. “I will be in worthy company here, I think.”
    I glanced at Denna, but she was avoiding my eyes. Her head tilted to the side as she toyed with an earring previously hidden in her hair, a tiny teardrop emerald that matched the pendant at her throat.
    Kellin’s eyes flickered over me again. My ill-fitting clothes. My hair, too short to be fashionable, too long to be anything other than wild. “And you are... a piper?”
    The least expensive instrument. “Pipist,” I said lightly. “But no. I favor the lute.”
    His eyebrows went up. “You play court lute?”
    My smile stiffened a bit despite my best efforts. “Trouper’s lute.”
    “Ah!” he said, laughing as if things suddenly made sense. “Folk music!”
    I let that pass as well, though less easily than before. “Do you have seats yet?” I asked brightly. “Several of us have taken a table below with a good view of the stage. You’re welcome to join us.”
    “The lady and I already have a table in the third circle.” Kellin nodded in Denna’s direction. “I much prefer the company above.”
    Outside his field of vision, Denna rolled her eyes at me.
    I kept a straight face and made another polite bow to him, barely more than a nod. “I won’t delay you then.”
    I turned to Denna. “My lady. Might I call on you some time?”
    She sighed, looking every bit the put-upon socialite, except for her eyes, which were still laughing at all the ridiculous formality of the exchange. “I’m sure you understand, Kvothe. My schedule is quite full for the next several days. But you could pay a visit near the end of the span if you wish. I’ve taken rooms at the Grey Man.”
    “You’re too kind,” I said, and gave her a much more earnest bow than the one I had given Kellin. She rolled her eyes at me this time.
    Kellin held out his arm, turning his shoulder to me in the process, and the two of them walked off into the crowd. Watching them together, moving gracefully through the throng, it would be easy to believe they owned the place, or were perhaps thinking of buying it to use as a summer home. Only old nobility move with that easy arrogance, knowing deep in their guts that everything in the world exists only to make them happy. Denna was faking it marvelously, but for Lord Kellin Brickjaw it was as natural as drawing breath.
    I watched until they were halfway up the stairs to the third circle. That’s where Denna stopped and put a hand to her head. Then she looked around at the floor, her expression anxious. The two of them spoke briefly and she pointed up the stairs. Kellin nodded and climbed out of sight.
    On a hunch, I looked down