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Hands firmly on the tree branch, Bast shifted his seat, taking care not to make a noise. He’d been sitting on a rather unfortunately located knot for a few minutes too long. Down below, Kvothe wielded an axe, chopping at a pile of wood. He worked to a such a deep-seated rhythm that even Bast found himself impressed – and slightly enchanted to boot.
The innkeeper was almost finished, though, which meant it was time for Bast to return. He clambered down the oak, quick like lightning. His hands always knew which branches to hold, his feet which limbs to step on. Kvothe had watched him climb a tree once and remarked on his lightness of foot, but to Bast, it was nothing. It was walking; it was breathing.
Bast walked into the forest, away from the inn, beginning his roundabout path back. This way, if Kvothe saw him approaching, it would look as though he’d come from the village. He’d claimed to be passing the afternoon there, ostensibly to read and study. After lunch, he had even started out towards the village, book in hand, with every intention to do as he’d promised – or at least to look at the pretty girls there. As always, though, he found himself drawn back to the inn. Bast was quite sure that Kvothe didn’t know about these regular returns, or he would have said something.
“There you are,” Kvothe said as Bast walked through the front door. The innkeeper’s hands were buried to the wrists in dough. “How did your reading go? And chop up the onions for tonight’s stew,” he added.
Bast obliged, bringing out a basket of onions to the counter beside Kvothe. “I thought you made bread this morning,” he said.
“I did. But there’s word of travellers in town, and it’s not unlikely they’ll want some dinner, too.” He continued kneading the dough, shaking out more flour, and kneading it again, all to the same heartbeat-rhythm as he’d chopped the wood. “So you didn’t say. How was the afternoon?”
“Very enlightening.”
“Oh?”
“Well, in the sense that I spent a great deal of time in the sunlight,” Bast amended. He took the knife to the onions. That wasn’t entirely untrue. His spot in the tree was high enough to be well-lit and only lightly dappled with shade.
Kvothe shook his head. “I should have known.”
“But it was so lovely outside today.”
“And by ‘it’ you mean the girls in the village, right?”
Bast hesitated. “Well, yes. They are so very pretty.” Another not-quite-lie. There was no shortage of beautiful girls in town, or in the outskirts. On many an occasion, Bast had indeed spent his afternoons watching them – although not from a tree.
“You really ought to pay more attention to your books, Bast,” Kvothe said. His voice betrayed only the lightest hint of disappointment.
“Yes, Reshi.” Bast stopped cold. Where had that word come from? Within seconds, his wits returned enough for him to continue chopping the onions as though nothing had happened.
“That’s a new one,” said Kvothe. “I don’t think I’ve even heard it before. What does it mean?”
Bast felt his stomach twist and tighten. He’d not meant to say that, not ever. “It’s not really translateable,” he said finally. “A mix of ‘friend’ and ‘teacher,’ I suppose. There’s no equivalent in your foul language.” The last words were the farthest thing from a lie Bast had said yet. He hated the Aturan language in all its mechanical precision. There was no room for nuance.
Kvothe shrugged, not once having stopped his kneading. “Interesting. If you’re finished with the onions, there’s more to do. Go pick the rest of the vegetables for stew.”
With a few more perfunctory chops, Bast set down the knife and hurried to the pantry. There, alone, he leaned against a wall, breathing hard. You fool, he thought. How could you? It was true that Reshi didn’t translate into Aturan – nothing in his language ever really did – but he had outright lied about its meaning. Without question, it was a term of endearment. It meant ‘lover.’
Bast’s heart pounded in his chest. There was nothing to worry about. Kvothe would never know what it meant. He stood, straightened himself out, and grabbed a handful of vegetables from the shelves. Stew time.
——
That night, after the inn was quiet, Bast sat by his window, not quite sure if he was unable to sleep or just unwilling. Reshi. It meant more than ‘lover,’ really, and was less ambiguous. In Aturan, you couldn’t always tell if the person was a romantic interest or just a sexual partner. For the Fae, it was both, and neither, and more.
There had only been one being in his life before with whom he’d used the term. She was tall and fierce, with sharp eyes and sharper red hair. Bast let out a short, barking laugh at the thought. Two redheads. Who would have thought? She had been his Reshi many decades ago, before he left the Faen Courts – and he had been hers. They had parted as amicably as possible when Bast departed. He’d missed her for years, but time had soothed his wounds.
And now there was Kvothe. A man so much more than he appeared, so much greater than he admitted. A man. Bast had never even considered loving a human, and yet here he was, calling one Reshi.
He wondered briefly if he should come clean. Would Kvothe – no, he couldn’t. The Fae placed no boundaries on gender or attraction, but he knew that humans did. And that was just the beginning of the issues. What would happen if he told the truth? On the very, very, tremendously enormous chance that Kvothe did not reciprocate his feelings, everything would be strained. He’d have to leave. Bast hated leaving.
The wind blew in through the open window, wrapping around his shoulders, and Bast swung his legs over the sill. Staying inside wasn’t doing him any good. He slid out through the windowframe, landing lightly on the soft dirt.
Unfortunately, the next few hours spent walking through the woods didn’t bring the peace Bast had been hoping for. There was always the consolation that Kvothe would never know the truth if Bast didn’t share it. That was the only consolation, though, and it wasn’t enough. Bast felt his blood coursing fast, not sure if it was from the stress or the desire. He’d managed to ignore this up to the present, but it didn’t seem to be an option anymore.
“Kist,” he swore aloud, then rolled his eyes at himself. If he ever needed proof of his own foolish infatuation, adopting Reshi’s lingual tics was definitely sufficient. When Bast realized he’d thought of Kvothe as Reshi, he swore again, this time a long string of Fae curses that danced off his tongue.
Fine, then. He’d tell Reshi tomorrow.
——
Despite his promise to himself, Bast kept quiet at breakfast, speaking only when he had to and taking particular care not to let the word “Reshi” escape his lips. Throughout the morning, he and Kvothe kept separately busy. Bast worked at near-double speed, nervous energy coursing through him. Less than half an hour after lunch was over, the room was swept and the dishes clean. He sat down on a stool, legs jittery, then stood up again within seconds.
“If you’d like to go out, Bast, of course you may,” Kvothe said as he wiped the bar down a final time. “I don’t have anything else I need you for right now.”
“I lied to you.” The words fell from Bast’s lips, and he flared his nostrils in irritation. There, now he’d done it.
“Oh?” Kvothe continued passing the cloth over the bar even though there was no longer any need. “What about?”
Bast walked to the other side of the room, turned on his heel, then returned to sit down on the stool in front of the inkeeper.
“Reshi doesn’t mean what I said it means.”
Kvothe nodded. “Is it an insult, then? You weren’t pleased at the time, I believe.”
“No!” Bast leaned forward emphatically. “No, it’s not.”
Now Kvothe stopped wiping. The cloth was left on the bar, and Kvothe looked Bast in the eye. “What, then?”
Bast’s face hardened slightly, trying to shield himself from what was to come. “It’s still complicated, but… it means ‘lover.’” Ignoring every instinct in his body, Bast kept his eyes on Kvothe. He had to know.
The innkeeper blinked twice, then nodded slowly. “Seems simple enough to me.”
Now it was Bast’s turn to blink in surprise. “Well, not really. It doesn’t really…”
“Translate,” Kvothe supplied. “I know. But it’s not a very good word in Aturan either. It’s always more complex than the word allows.” He smiled gently. “I’m afraid I’m not being fair to you here. This is not the time for a linguistic discussion. This is, if I know my stories – and I do – the part where I kiss you.”
Kvothe leaned across the bar and kissed Bast softly on the lips. When he pulled back, Bast was staring at him, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.
“It’s a nice name, Reshi,” said Kvothe. “I’m rather partial to it.”
Bast took a deep breath. “May I kiss you again, Reshi?”
“You may.” They both smiled.