“What do they do to students at the University who eavesdrop?” Bast asked curiously.“I haven’t the slightest idea. I was never caught. I think making you sit and listen to the rest of my story should be punishment enough.”

“You are an educated man. You know there are no such things as demons." Bast smiled a terrible smile. "There is only my kind." Bast leaned closer still, Chronicler smelled flowers on his breath. "You are not wise enough to fear me as I should be feared. You do not know the first note of the music that moves me.”

“What were you thinking?" Bast said with an odd mixture of confusion and concern.Coat was a long while in answering. "I tend to think too much Bast. My greatest successes tended to come when I stopped thinking and simply did what felt right, even if there was no explantion for what I did.”

“I tend to think too much, Bast. My greatest successes came from decisions I made when I stopped thinking and simply did what felt right. Even if there was no good explanation for what I did." He smiled wistfully. "Even if there were very good reasons for me not to do what I did."Bast ran a hand along the side of his face. "So you're trying to avoid second-guessing yourself?"Kote hesitated. "You could say that," he admitted. "I could say that, Reshi," Bast said smugly. "You, on the other hand, would complicate things needlessly.”

“You never do things the easy way, do you?" she said."There's an easy way?" I asked.”

“Chronicler shook his head and Bast gave a frustrated sigh. "How about plays? Have you seen The Ghost and the Goosegirl or The Ha'penny King?"Chronicler frowned. "Is that the one where the king sells his crown to an orphan boy?"Bast nodded. "And the boy becomes a better king than the original. The goosegirl dresses like a countess and everyone is stunned by her grace and charm." He hesitated, struggling to find the words he wanted. "You see, there's a fundamental connection between seeming and being. Every Fae child knows this, but you mortals never seem to see. We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be."Chronicler relaxed a bit, sensing familiar ground. "That's basic psychology. You dress a beggar in fine clothes, people treat him like a noble, and he lives up to their expectations.""That's only the smallest piece of it," Bast said. "The truth is deeper than that. It's..." Bast floundered for a moment. "It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story."Frowning, Chronicler opened his mouth, but Bast held up a hand to stop him. "No, listen. I've got it now. You meet a girl: shy, unassuming. If you tell her she's beautiful, she'll think you're sweet, but she won't believe you. She knows that beauty lies in your beholding." Bast gave a grudging shrug. "And sometimes that's enough."His eyes brightened. "But there's a better way. You show her she is beautiful. You make mirrors of your eyes, prayers of your hands against her body. It is hard, very hard, but when she truly believes you..." Bast gestured excitedly. "Suddenly the story she tells herself in her own head changes. She transforms. She isn't seen as beautiful. She is beautiful, seen.""What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Chronicler snapped. "You're just spouting nonsense now.""I'm spouting too much sense for you to understand," Bast said testily. "But you're close enough to see my point.”

“Auri hopped down from the chimney and skipped over to where I stood, her hair streaming behind her. "Hello Kvothe." She took a half-step back. "You reek."I smiled my best smile of the day. "Hello Auri," I said. "You smell like apretty young girl.""I do," she agreed happily.She stepped sideways a little, then forward again, moving lightly on the balls of her bare feet. "What did you bring me?" she asked."What did you bring me?" I countered.She grinned. "I have an apple that thinks it is a pear," she said, holding it up. "And a bun that thinks it is a cat. And a lettuce that thinks it is a lettuce.""It's a clever lettuce then.""Hardly," she said with a delicate snort. "Why would anything clever think it was a lettuce?""Even if it is a lettuce?" I asked."Especially then," she said. "Bad enough to be a lettuce. How awful to think you are a lettuce too." She shook her head sadly, her hair following the motion as if she were underwater.I unwrapped my bundle. "I brought you some potatoes, half a squash,and a bottle of beer that thinks it is a loaf of bread.""What does the squash think it is?" she asked curiously, looking down at it. She held her hands clasped behind her back"It knows it's a squash," I said. "But it's pretending to be the setting sun.""And the potatoes?" she asked."They're sleeping," I said. "And cold, I'm afraid."She looked up at me, her eyes gentle. "Don't be afraid," she said, and reached out and rested her fingers on my cheek for the space of a heartbeat, her touch lighter than the stroke of a feather. "I'm here. You're safe.”