“What’s this toast going to be then?” Graham asked.
“To the end of a pisser of a year?” Jake said.
“That’s no kind of toast,” Old Cob grumbled at him.
“To the king?” Aaron said.
“No,” the innkeeper said, his voice surprisingly firm. He held up his glass. “To old friends who deserved better than they got.”
The men on the other side of the bar nodded solemnly and tossed back their drinks.
“Lord and lady, that’s a lovely tumble,” Old Cob said respectfully, his eyes watering slightly. “You’re a gentleman, Kote. And I’m glad to know you.”
The smith’s prentice set his glass down only to have it tip onto its side and roll across the bar. He snatched it up before it skittered over the edge and turned it over, eyeing its rounded bottom suspiciously.
Jake laughed a loud farmer’s laugh at his bewilderment while Carter made a point of setting his glass on the bar topside-down. “I don’t know how they do it in Rannish,” Carter said to the boy. “But round here there’s a reason we call it a tumble.”
The smith’s prentice looked properly abashed and turned his tumble upside down to match the others on the bar. The innkeeper gave him a reassuring smile before gathering up the glasses and disappearing into the kitchen.
“Right then,” Old Cob said briskly, rubbing his hands together. “We’ll have a whole evening of this after the two of you get back from Baedn. But the weather won’t wait on me, and I don’t doubt the Orrisons are eager to be on the road.”
After they filtered out of the Waystone in a loose group, Kvothe emerged from the kitchen and returned to the table where Bast and Chronicler sat.
“I liked Shep,” Bast said quietly. “Cob might be a bit of a crusty old cuss, but he knows what he’s talking about most of the time.”
“Cob doesn’t know half of what he thinks he does,” Kvothe said. “You saved everyone last night. If not for you, it would have gone through the room like a farmer threshing wheat.”
“That just isn’t true, Reshi,” Bast said, his tone plainly offended. “You would have stopped it. That’s what you do.”
The innkeeper shrugged the comment away, unwilling to argue. Bast’s mouth formed into a hard, angry line, his eyes narrowing.
“Still,” Chronicler said softly, breaking the tension before it grew too thick. “Cob was right. It was a brave thing to do. You have to respect that.”
“No I don’t,” Kvothe said. “Cob was right about that. These aren’t good times to be brave.” He motioned for Chronicler to pick up his pen. “Still, I wish I’d been braver and Shep was home kissing his young wife, too.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wine and Blood
Eventually Wil and Sim pulled me from the warm embrace of the Archives. I struggled and cursed them, but they were firm in their convictions, and the three of us braved the chill wind on the road to Imre.
We made our way to the Eolian, claiming a table near the eastern hearth where we could watch the stage and keep our backs warm. After a drink or two I felt the book-longing fade to a dull ache. The three of us talked and played cards, and eventually I began to enjoy myself despite the fact that Denna was doubtless out there somewhere, hanging on Ambrose’s arm.
After several hours I sat slouched in my chair, drowsy and warm from the nearby fire while Wil and Sim bickered about whether the high king of Modeg was a true ruling monarch or merely a figurehead. I was nearly asleep when a heavy bottle knocked down hard onto our table followed by the delicate chime of wineglasses.
Denna stood next to our table. “Play along,” she said under her breath. “You’ve been waiting for me. I’m late and you’re upset.”
Blearily, I struggled upright in my seat and tried to blink myself awake.
Sim leaped to the challenge. “It’s been an hour,” he said, scowling fiercely. He tapped the table firmly with two fingers. “Don’t think buying me a drink is going to fix matters. I want an apology.”
“It’s not entirely my fault,” Denna said, radiating embarrassment. She turned and gestured to the bar.
I looked, worried I would see Ambrose standing there, watching me smugly in his goddamn hat. But it was only a balding Cealdish man. He made a short, odd bow toward us, halfway between acknowledgment and apology.
Sim scowled at him, then turned back to Denna and made a grudging gesture to the empty chair across from me. “Fine. So are we going to play corners or what?”
Denna sank down into the chair, sitting with her back to the room. Then leaned over to kiss Simmon on the forehead. “Perfect,” she said.
“I was scowling too,” Wilem said.
Denna slid him the bottle. “And for that, you may pour.” She set the glasses in front of each of us. “A gift from my overly persistent suitor.” She gave an irritated sigh. “They always need to give you something.” She eyed me speculatively. “You’re curiously mute.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” I said. “You caught me nearly napping.”
Wilem poured a pale pink wine then passed around the glasses while Denna examined the etching on the top of the bottle. “Cerbeor,” she mused. “I don’t even know if this is a decent vintage.”
“It’s not, actually,” Simmon said matter-of-factly as he took his glass. “Cerbeor is Aturan. Only wines from Vintas have a vintage, technically.” He took a sip.
“Really?” I asked, looking at my own glass.
Sim nodded. “It’s a common misuse of the word.”
Denna took a drink and nodded to herself. “Good wine, though,” she said. “Is he still at the bar?”
“He is,” I said without looking.
“Well then,” she smiled. “It seems you’re stuck with me.”
“Have you ever played corners?” Sim asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid not,” Denna said. “But I’m a quick study.”
Sim explained the rules with help from Wil and myself. Denna asked a few pointed questions, showing she understood the gist of it. I was glad. Since she was sitting across the table from me, she was going to be my partner.
“What do you usually play for?” she asked.
“Depends,” Wil said. “Sometimes we play by the hand. Sometimes by the set.”
“For a set of hands then,” Denna said. “How much?”
“We can do a practice set first,” Sim said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Since you’re just learning and all.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need any special treatment.” She reached into a pocket and brought a coin up onto the table. “A jot too much for you boys?”
It was too much for me, especially with a partner who had just learned the game. “Be careful with these two,” I said. “They play for blood.”
“In point of fact,” Wilem said. “I have no use for blood, and play for money instead.” He fingered through his purse until he found a jot, which he pressed firmly onto the table. “I am willing to play a practice game, but if she finds the thought insulting, I will thrash her and take whatever she is willing to lay on the table.”
Denna grinned at that. “You’re my kind of guy, Wil.”
The first hand went fairly well. Denna mislaid a trick, but we couldn’t have won anyway, as the cards were against us. But the second hand she made a mistake in the bidding. Then, when Sim corrected her, she got flustered and bid wildly. Then she accidentally led out of turn, not a huge mistake, but she led the jack of hearts, which let everyone know exactly what sort of hand she had. She realized it too, and I heard her mutter something distinctly unladylike under her breath.
True to their word, Wil and Sim moved in ruthlessly to take advantage of the situation. Given the weak cards in my hand, there wasn’t much I could do but sit and watch as they won the next two tricks and began to close on her like hungry wolves.
Except they couldn’t. She pulled a clever card force, then produced the king of hearts, which didn’t make any sense as she’d tried to lead the jack before. Then she produced the ace, too.