Cinder didn't need to see Kvothe's eyes to tell just how much the damage to his hands bothered him though. It was painfully obvious in every line of the boy's body, the thin sheen of sweat covering him, and how he tried to prevent the rest of his hand from being vulnerable. Physical pain that matched the mental, though in a way the mental wounds required more finesse than the physical.

"Of course, I'm sure you have your reasons," he continued in that too-friendly, conversational tone. He smirked at Kvothe's fingers with a look that showed how little the defensive gesture actually meant, then turned away from the table, moving out of the boy's line of sight.

"Your parents would understand that you have more important things on your mind now." His voice floated back to where Kvothe was bound. "Just as I'm sure that girl understands... What was her name again? Denna? How is she doing?"

He returned to the table, though his hands were out of sight. "I understand that this pain you're in can't truly compare to how it must have felt, finding your family slaughtered like that." He was mockingly sympathetic and not even trying to hide it. Then the look fell away and Cinder raised a small metal club to the light, examining it in detail.

"So I'm going to have to try even harder." And then he brought it sharply down on the exposed back of Kvothe's hand.