Chapter 27: The Maer’s Summons

THE LETTER ARRIVED three days after my confrontation with Denna.

It bore the Maer’s seal—silver and sapphire. The messenger was road-worn and impatient, clearly under orders to wait for a reply.

I broke the seal in my room at Anker’s. My hands were steadier than my heart.

To Kvothe, called the Arcane, called the Bloodless:

Your presence is required at Severen with all possible haste. Matters of grave importance have arisen—matters that concern your unique talents and your discretion.

Come prepared for extended stay. Trust no one with the contents of this letter.

Alveron

Beneath the formal script, a postscript in a different hand:

The situation is worse than he admits. Please hurry. —Stapes

I read it twice. Three times. The words remained the same, but their meaning shifted with each reading.

The Maer was in trouble. Serious trouble, if Stapes felt the need to add his own warning. And whatever that trouble was, Alveron believed I was the one who could help.

Part of me wanted to ignore it. I had my own problems—Denna, Cinder, the song that was slowly changing the world. The last thing I needed was to get tangled up in courtly politics again.

But another part of me recognized the opportunity. Severen meant access to the Lackless family. To Meluan, who hated me for my Ruh blood but who held secrets that might be the key to everything. To doors that had been closed for three thousand years.

And if the Cthaeh’s words were true—if the Maer was “close to the Amyr’s door”—then perhaps Severen was exactly where I needed to be.

I found Simmon and Wilem in the Taps that evening.

“I have to leave,” I said, sliding into the seat across from them. “Tomorrow, probably. The Maer has summoned me.”

Wil’s eyebrows rose. “The Maer Alveron? The most powerful noble in Vintas?”

“That Maer, yes.”

“And you’re just… going to go?” Simmon’s voice was skeptical. “After everything that’s happening here? After Denna, and the song, and—”

“I don’t have a choice.” I kept my voice low. “Stapes added a note. Whatever’s happening in Severen, it’s urgent.”

“It could be a trap,” Wil said. “Ambrose’s family has connections to the Vintish court. If they wanted to get you away from the University, away from witnesses—”

“Then they’d have to deal with me on their own ground.” I smiled, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve survived the Maer’s court before. I can do it again.”

“That’s not the point.” Simmon leaned forward. “The point is, you’re running away. Again. Every time things get complicated, you disappear to somewhere else.”

“I’m not running away. I’m—”

“You’re avoiding.” His voice was sharp. “Denna is here. The answers you’re looking for are here. But the moment things get difficult, you find an excuse to leave.”

The words stung because they were true.

“The Maer’s summons isn’t an excuse,” I said carefully. “It’s a lead. Severen has connections to the Lackless family, to doors that have been sealed for millennia, to secrets that might explain everything.”

“Or it’s a distraction.” Wil’s voice was quiet. “The Cthaeh told you things designed to make you act. What if this is part of that? What if running to Severen is exactly what it wants you to do?”

I had no answer for that. Because the truth was, I didn’t know. Every choice I made might be playing into the Cthaeh’s design. Every decision might be leading me closer to the disaster it had foreseen.

But I couldn’t simply freeze. Couldn’t refuse to act because any action might be wrong.

“I have to try something,” I said finally. “Sitting here, waiting for Denna’s song to finish its work, waiting for Cinder to make his next move—that’s not a plan. That’s surrender.”

Simmon and Wil exchanged glances.

“Then we’re coming with you,” Simmon said.

“No.” The word came out harder than I intended, but I didn’t soften it. “I need you here.”

“Kvothe—”

“Listen to me.” I leaned forward. “Denna’s song is spreading. Every day it reaches more people, changes more minds. Someone needs to track it. Someone needs to be in the Archives, watching for how far it’s gone, documenting where the story is taking hold.”

Wil’s expression shifted. He understood strategic value. “You want us to monitor the song’s spread.”

“More than that. I want you in the restricted stacks. Anything about the Lackless family, about sealed doors, about the Amyr—I need it waiting for me when I get back. Lorren won’t let me past the scriv desk without a fight, but you’ve both got clean records.”

“My record’s not entirely clean,” Simmon said.

“Cleaner than mine. And Sim—if the song changes, if it accelerates, if Denna adds verses or shifts the emphasis, you’re the one who’ll notice. You’ve got the ear for it.”

Simmon was quiet for a moment. He wanted to argue. I could see it in his jaw, the way it worked against words he was swallowing.

“And if you get yourself killed in Severen?” he asked finally.

“Then you’ll know, because I’ll stop sending letters.” I tried for a smile. “This isn’t goodbye. I’ll be back in a few spans. But someone has to stay. Someone has to keep watch on this end of things.”

Wil finished his drink and set down the mug. His face was unreadable—but then, Wil’s face was usually unreadable. That was part of his value.

“Be careful,” he said. Which, from Wil, was practically a sonnet.

“I will.”

“No, you won’t.” Simmon stood, and for a moment I thought he was going to walk out. Instead, he gripped my shoulder. “Come back, Kvothe. Whatever you find there, come back.”

I left at dawn. Alone.

The road south stretched empty ahead of me, and the University grew small behind. It was the first time in months I’d traveled without Sim and Wil, and the absence sat strangely on me—a missing weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying until it was gone.

But they were needed where they were. And I was needed somewhere else.