I WAS A POOR SORT OF FUGITIVE. My legs trembled beneath me and my hands still twitched from that damnable potion. Less than before, though. Small blessings. The Haven shift I wore was torn at the shoulder from my escape, pale linen smudged with stone dust.
The walk from Haven across the University grounds was not long. The moon hung fat and bright above me, just shy of full, and its light made the familiar paths feel exposed. A cold wind cut through my thin shift, and I kept to the shadows where I could. I climbed the stairs to the third floor and stood before Sim’s door, shivering and small.
I thought of the last time I’d been here, helping him haul books and alchemical equipment up these stairs while Fela directed and Sim complained theatrically about his delicate constitution. That felt like something that had happened to a different person.
I knocked twice. It was a feeble sound.
A pause. Then footsteps, careful across the floorboards. The door cracked open, a sliver of lamplight cutting the dark. Sim’s eye peered through, cautious. The chain on the door kept him half-shuttered, but I saw the worry anyway. His gaze moved over me. He took in the torn shift hanging loose on my frame, the shadows under my eyes, the way my hands wouldn’t stop their trembling. He hesitated. That small hesitation cut worse than any slammed door.
He unlatched the chain and opened the door wider. “Kvothe,” he said, unsure. For a moment, I thought he would turn me away. Then he stepped back and pulled the door open fully. “Come in.”
The firelight spilled across the room, its warmth almost painful after Haven’s cold. Sim’s quarters looked just as they had on moving day, only more so. Books stacked on every surface. The bitter smell of alchemical residue. A half-eaten apple browning on the desk. I wanted to believe this was normal. I wanted to believe I was simply visiting an old friend. But then it all came down at once. Sleepless nights. The echoes of Haven. Having nowhere to turn. My legs buckled and I nearly fell, catching myself against the doorframe with shaking hands.
“Sit,” Sim said quickly, gesturing toward a chair by the fire. His tone was steady, but his brow furrowed as he shut the door behind me.
I sank into the nearest seat, my legs going limp, as though they’d finally been given permission to fail. Sim remained standing, hands fidgeting, his face drawn. But he didn’t speak.
“I made a mess, Sim.” I could not meet his eyes. “I’ve done things.” I tried to say more, but nothing else would follow. For a while, there was only the quiet between us.
I looked up only when I could bear it no longer. Then I began to speak, because Teccam was right that the only path past a wall is over it.
I told him about the deal with Devi, how it had only been a favor. A spice of life, as she called it. The warnings I let slip past. The mistakes that followed, and how everything unraveled. I explained the pantograph, how I used it to steal from the Archives.
Then I told him about Haven. That I’d cracked. That Elodin had tried to reach me while I was there, though my fractured mind could barely hold his words. That he’d been trying to tell me a girl was gone.
“A girl?” Sim asked.
I turned Auri’s ring over on my finger, still grounded by the cool weight of it. “Do you remember that night on the rooftop? When Elodin brought Lorren up to talk about my ban from the Archives?”
Sim frowned, searching. “Vaguely. Was that the girl? Small. She ran off before I got a proper look at her.”
“Her name is Auri.” I stopped. The rest stuck in my throat. “There’s more to her than what you saw that night. Much more. And I should have told you a long time ago.”
Sim waited.
“She used to be a student, I think. But she cracked, the way some students do. Except instead of Haven, she found her own place. Down in the Underthing.” I looked at my hands. “I was so afraid someone would find out about her and drag her off. So I kept her secret. The rooftop, the gifts, all of it. Even from you and Wil.”
“All this time,” Sim said softly. Not a question.
I nodded. The weight of that mistake pressed down on me. I had thought I was protecting her. Instead I had made sure that when she needed help, no one knew she existed.
“She’s small and thin,” I said. “Pale gold hair that floats around her head. She moves carefully. Skittish around anyone she doesn’t know.” I tried to think of what else might help. “She won’t wear used clothing. And she’s terrified of Haven. She won’t even look at the building if she can help it.”
Sim nodded slowly, the way he did when committing something to memory. “And Elodin said she was taken?”
“That’s what he was trying to tell me. Over and over, while I was too broken to hear it.” My hands clenched in my lap, and I felt the ring press hard against my finger. “I need to find out what happened to her, Sim. I need to know where she is.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “You look like you could fall apart at the slightest push. Rest. I’ll see what I can find.” He paused at the door, glancing back. “We’ll figure this out, Kvothe. We will.”
I woke to the sound of soft movement. Grey light filtered through the window. Hours had passed, then. Sim sat nearby, silhouetted by the dying fire, unmistakably weary. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hands were still. That stillness worried me more than anything. Sim’s hands were never still.
He looked at me for a long moment before speaking.
“I talked to Elodin,” he began, his voice low. “Or rather, he found me.” Sim shook his head, a humorless laugh escaping him. “I was asking around, trying to be careful about it. Didn’t want to draw attention to you. But he just appeared. You know how he is.”
I did know. Elodin had a way of being exactly where he shouldn’t be, knowing exactly what he shouldn’t know.
“He wouldn’t ask about you,” Sim continued. “Made a point of it, actually. But he made sure to tell me about the girl.” Sim’s voice caught slightly. “He said I needed to know.”
The fire had burned down to a faint orange glow. The room was cooling fast.
I sat up, every muscle aching. “Know what?”
Sim hesitated. “The University is sending her away. To Renere.”
“Why would they do that?”
“She’s someone, Kvothe.” He shook his head. “Elodin wouldn’t say more than that. But the University wants her gone. Quietly. And Ambrose is escorting her.”
“Ambrose.”
Sim nodded. His jaw tightened. “His family is withdrawing their collection from the Archives. They’re not the only ones. After everything that’s happened.” He trailed off, but I understood. After what I’d done. After the hidden room was discovered. The University couldn’t guarantee the safety of books anymore, and the great families were pulling their treasures home.
I thought of the Archives. Centuries of careful gathering, slipping away like sand through a cracked hourglass. Because of me.
“Someone saw the carriage leaving,” Sim continued. His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. “A girl matching her description. She was crying, Kvothe. Struggling.” He looked away. “She didn’t want to go.”
Somewhere outside, a shutter banged in the wind. Neither of us flinched.
I leaned forward, resting my head in my hands. Auri. Frightened and trapped in a carriage bearing Ambrose’s seal.
“If it’s him,” I whispered, but couldn’t finish the thought.
Sim leaned closer, his voice firm. “You can’t rush this. You’re already half a step from expulsion. With the Masters, with everything. He could be baiting you. This could be exactly what he wants.”
He was right, of course. “I’ll handle it,” I said, more evenly than I felt. “I can’t just sit here doing nothing.”
Sim studied me carefully. “Then promise me you’ll be smart about this, Kvothe. Don’t rush into his trap.”
“Smart,” I repeated. The word tasted like ash. “I’ll try.”
Sim nodded, but his hands had started fidgeting again. He didn’t believe me. I didn’t entirely believe myself.
The clothes Sim lent me hung awkwardly, loose in the waist and tight in the shoulders, yet they were dry. They didn’t smell of Haven’s damp rot, and that was enough.
I had no plans to return to Sim’s low firelight. He’d have tried to stop me, I think, or at least slowed me down. He was a good friend, perhaps too good. His worry was something I couldn’t afford right now.
Instead, I went to my apartment above Anker’s. Getting there was a risk. If Ambrose suspected I had come back, his lackeys might have already gone through it. But I was not about to leave without my lute. I could not do that again, especially with what I still had to face.
I kept to the back ways, ducking under grain chutes and sliding over walls slick with frost. The moon had shifted westward but still lit the streets with pale silver, making shadows sharp and hiding places scarce. From below, my apartment above the inn looked dark. Still, my skin prickled at the thought of some trap I couldn’t see.
I scaled the stone carefully, pausing at the window’s edge. The air inside smelled faintly of wax and wood smoke, as if I had only stepped out for a drink. Nothing stirred. I pulled myself inside, and no traps sprang.
The lute hung on its peg, waiting. Its weight settled into my hands the way it always did, and I ran my fingers along the worn case before placing it in my bag. If I had been wiser, I would have set it down and gone back to Sim’s fire. But I have never been wise when it mattered most.
The rest of my belongings took only a moment to gather: a few coins, spare strings, my last clean shirt.
The room felt too quiet. Too empty. This was the last of my stability, and I was leaving it behind.
My bag heavy against my shoulder, I made my way back to the open window. If the room was trapped, whatever teeth it bore had missed their chance.
Ambrose had her. Auri.
I would follow that thread to the end. Through cold, through darkness, all the way to Renere if I had to. Holding my lute close, I slipped into the night and left behind what little I did not carry.
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