“Geoffrey is a poet,” Denna said. “And a good one, though he’ll deny it.”
“I will,” he admitted, then his smile faded. “I have to go. I have an appointment with folk who shouldn’t be kept waiting.” He gave Denna a kiss on the cheek, shook my hand warmly, and left.
Denna watched the door close behind him. “He’s a sweet boy.”
“You say that as if you regret it,” I said.
“If he were a little less sweet, he might be able to fit two thoughts in his head at the same time. Maybe they would rub together and make a spark. Even a little smoke would be nice, then at least it would look like something was happening in there.” She sighed.
“Is he really that thick?”
She shook her head. “No. He’s just trusting. Hasn’t got a calculating bone in his body, and he’s done nothing but make bad choices since he got here a month ago.”
I reached into my cloak and brought out a pair of small, cloth-wrapped bundles: one blue, one white. “I’ve brought you a present.”
Denna reached out to take them, looking slightly puzzled.
What had seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago now seemed rather foolish. “They’re for your lungs,” I said, suddenly embarrassed. “I know you have trouble sometimes.”
She tilted her head on one side. “And how do you know that, pray tell?”
“You mentioned it when we were in Trebon,” I said. “I did some research.” I pointed. “That one you can brew in a tea: featherbite, deadnettle, lohatm. . . .” I pointed to the other. “That one you boil the leaves in some water and breathe the vapor coming off the top.”
Denna looked back and forth between the packages.
“I’ve written instructions on slips of paper inside,” I said. “The blue one is the one you’re supposed to boil and breathe the vapor,” I said. “Blue for water, you see.”
She looked up at me. “Don’t you make a tea with water, too?”
I blinked at that, then flushed and started to say something, but Denna laughed and shook her head. “I’m teasing you,” she said gently. “Thank you. This is the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me in a long while.”
Denna walked over to a chest of drawers and tucked the two bundles carefully into an ornate wooden box.
“You seem to be doing fairly well for yourself,” I said, gesturing to the well-appointed room.
Denna shrugged, looking around the room indifferently. “Kellin is doing well for himself,” she said. “I merely stand in his reflected light.”
I nodded my understanding. “I’d thought perhaps you’d found yourself a patron.”
“Nothing so formal as that. Kellin and I are walking about together, as they say in Modeg, and he is showing me my way around the harp.” She nodded to where the instrument loomed hugely in the corner.
“Care to show me what you’ve learned?” I asked.
Denna shook her head, embarrassed. Her hair slid down around her shoulders as she did so. “I’m not very good yet.”
“I will restrain my natural urge to jeer and hiss,” I said graciously.
Denna laughed. “Fine. Just a bit.” She walked behind the harp and drew up a tall stool to lean against. Then she lifted her hands to the strings, paused for a long moment, and began to play.
The melody was a variant of “Bell-Wether.” I smiled.
Her playing was slow, almost stately. Too many people think speed is the hallmark of a good musician. It’s understandable. What Marie had done at the Eolian was amazing. But how quickly you can finger notes is the smallest part of music. The real key is timing.
It’s like telling a joke. Anyone can remember the words. Anyone can repeat it. But making someone laugh requires more than that. Telling a joke faster doesn’t make it funnier. As with many things, hesitation is better than hurry.
This is why there are so few true musicians. A lot of folks can sing or saw out a tune on a fiddle. A music box can play a song flawlessly, again and again. But knowing the notes isn’t enough. You have to know how to play them. Speed comes with time and practice, but timing you are born with. You have it or you don’t.
Denna had it. She moved slowly through the song, but she wasn’t plodding. She played it slow as a luxurious kiss. Not that I knew anything of kissing at that point in my life. But as she stood with her arms around the harp, her eyes half-lidded with concentration, her lips lightly pursed, I knew I someday wanted to be kissed with that amount of slow, deliberate care.
And she was beautiful. I suppose it should come as no surprise that I have a particular fondness for women with music running through them. But as she played I saw her for the first time that day. Before I had been distracted by the difference in her hair, the cut of her dress. But as she played, all that faded from view.
I ramble. Suffice to say she was impressive, though obviously still learning. She struck a few bad notes, but didn’t flinch or cringe away from them. As they say, a jeweler knows the uncut gem. And I am. And she was. And so.
“You’re a long way past ‘Squirrel in the Thatch,’ ” I said quietly after she’d struck the final notes.
She shrugged my compliment away, not meeting my eye. “I don’t have much to do but practice,” she said. “And Kellin says I have a bit of a knack.”
“How long have you been at it?” I asked.
“Three span?” She looked thoughtful, then nodded. “A little less than three span.”
“Mother of God,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t ever tell anyone how quickly you’ve picked it up. Other musicians will hate you for it.”
“My fingers aren’t used to it yet,” she said, looking down at them. “I can’t practice nearly as long as I like.”
I reached out and took hold of one of her hands, turning it palm up so I could see her fingertips. There were fading blisters there. “You’ve . . .”
I looked up and realized how close she was standing. Her hand was cool in mine. She stared at me with huge, dark eyes. One eyebrow slightly raised. Not arch, or playful even, just gently curious. My stomach felt suddenly strange and weak.
“I’ve what?” she asked.
I realized I had no idea what I had been about to say. I thought of saying, I have no idea what I was going to say. Then I realized that would be a stupid thing to say. So I didn’t say anything.
Denna looked down and took hold of my hand, turning it over. “Your hands are soft,” she said, then touched my fingertips lightly. “I thought the calluses would be rough, but they’re not. They’re smooth.”
Once her eyes weren’t fixed on mine, I regained a small piece of my wits. “It just takes time,” I said.
Denna looked up and gave a shy smile. My mind went blank as fresh paper.
After a moment, Denna let go of my hand and moved past me to the center of the room. “Would you care for something to drink?” she asked as she settled gracefully into a chair.
“That would be very kind of you,” I said purely on reflex. I realized my hand was still hanging stupidly in midair, and I let it fall to my side.
She gestured to a nearby chair and I sat.
“Watch this.” She picked up a small silver bell from a nearby table and rang it softly. Then she held up one hand with all five fingers extended. She folded in her thumb, then her index finger, counting downward.
Before she folded in her smallest finger, there came a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Denna called, and the well-dressed porter opened the door. “I believe I would like some drinking chocolate,” she said. “And Kvothe . . .” She looked at me questioningly.
“Drinking chocolate sounds lovely,” I said.
The porter nodded and disappeared, closing the door behind him.
“Sometimes I do it just to make him run,” Denna admitted sheepishly, looking down at the bell. “I can’t imagine how he can hear it. For a while, I was convinced he was sitting in the hallway with his ear against my door.”
“Can I see the bell?” I asked.
She handed it over. It looked normal at first glance, but when I turned it upside down I saw some tiny sygaldry on the inner surface of the bell.