The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

“Ham and the others respect me.”

  Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.

  “They do!”

  “What do they call you?”

  Elend shrugged. “They’re my friends. They use my name.”

  “Or a close approximation of it. Right, ‘El’?”

  Elend flushed, setting one final book on the stack. “You’d have me force my friends to address me by my title?”

  “Yes,” Tindwyl said. “Especially in public. You should be addressed as ‘Your Majesty,’ or at least as ‘my lord.’”

  “I doubt Ham would deal well with that,” Elend said. “He has some issues with authority.”

  “He will get over them,” Tindwyl said, wiping her finger along a bookcase. She didn’t need to hold it up for Elend to know there would be dust on its tip.

  “What about you?” Elend challenged.

  “Me?”

  “You call me ‘Elend Venture,’ not ‘Your Majesty.’”

  “I am different,” Tindwyl said.

  “Well, I don’t see why you should be. You can call me ‘Your Majesty’ from now on.”

  Tindwyl smiled slyly. “Very well, Your Majesty. You can unclench your fists now. You’re going to have to work on that—a statesman should not give visual clues of his nervousness.”

  Elend glanced down, relaxing his hands. “All right.”

  “In addition,” Tindwyl continued, “you still hedge too much in your language. It makes you seem timid and hesitant.”

  “I’m working on that.”

  “Don’t apologize unless you really mean it,” Tindwyl said. “And don’t make excuses. You don’t need them. A leader is often judged by how well he bears responsibility. As king, everything that happens in your kingdom—regardless of who commits the act—is your fault. You are even responsible for unavoidable events such as earthquakes or storms.”

  “Or armies,” Elend said.

  Tindwyl nodded. “Or armies. It is your responsibility to deal with these things, and if something goes wrong, it is your fault. You simply have to accept this.”

  Elend nodded, picking up a book.

  “Now, let’s talk about guilt,” Tindwyl said, seating herself. “Stop cleaning. That isn’t a job for a king.”

  Elend sighed, setting down the book.

  “Guilt,” Tindwyl said, “does not become a king. You have to stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “You just told me everything that happens in the kingdom is my fault!”

  “It is.”

  “How can I not feel guilty, then?”

  “You have to feel confident that your actions are the best,” Tindwyl explained. “You have to know that no matter how bad things get, they would be worse without you. When disaster occurs, you take responsibility, but you don’t wallow or mope. You aren’t allowed that luxury; guilt is for lesser men. You simply need to do what is expected.”

  “And that is?”

  “To make everything better.”

  “Great,” Elend said flatly. “And if I fail?”

  “Then you accept responsibility, and make everything better on the second try.”

  Elend rolled his eyes. “And what if I can’t ever make things better? What if I’m really not the best man to be king?”

  “Then you remove yourself from the position,” Tindwyl said. “Suicide is the preferred method—assuming, of course, that you have an heir. A good king knows not to foul up the succession.”

  “Of course,” Elend said. “So, you’re saying I should just kill myself.”

  “No. I’m telling you to have pride in yourself, Your Majesty.”

  “That’s not what it sounds like. Every day you tell me how poor a king I am, and how my people will suffer because of it! Tindwyl, I’m not the best man for this position. He got himself killed by the Lord Ruler.”

  “That is enough!” Tindwyl snapped. “Believe it or not, Your Majesty, you are the best person for this position.”

  Elend snorted.

  “You are best,” Tindwyl said, “because you hold the throne now. If there is anything worse than a mediocre king, it is chaos—which is what this kingdom would have if you hadn’t taken the throne. The people on both sides, noblemen and skaa, accept you. They may not believe in you, but they accept you. Step down now—or even die accidentally—and there would be confusion, collapse, and destruction. Poorly trained or not, weak of character or not, mocked or not, you are all this country has. You are king, Elend Venture.”

  Elend paused. “I’m…not sure if you’re making me feel any better about myself, Tindwyl.”

  “It’s—”

  Elend raised a hand. “Yes, I know. It’s not about how I feel.”

  “You have no place for guilt. Accept that you’re king, accept that you can do nothing constructive to change that, and accept responsibility. Whatever you do, be confident—for if you weren’t here, there would be chaos.”

  Elend nodded.

  “Arrogance, Your Majesty,” Tindwyl said. “Successful leaders all share one common trait—they believe that they can do a better job than the alternatives. Humility is fine when considering your responsibility and duty, but when it comes time to make a decision, you must not question yourself.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good,” Tindwyl said. “Now, perhaps, we can move on to another matter. Tell me, why haven’t you married that young girl?”

  Elend frowned. Wasn’t expecting that…. “That’s a very personal question, Tindwyl.”

  “Good.”

  Elend deepened his frown, but she sat expectantly, watching him with one of her unrelenting stares.

  “I don’t know,” Elend finally said, sitting back in his chair, sighing. “Vin isn’t…like other women.”

  Tindwyl raised an eyebrow, her voice softening slightly. “I think that the more women you come to know, Your Majesty, the more you’ll find that statement applies to all of them.”

  Elend nodded ruefully.

  “Either way,” Tindwyl said, “things are not well as they stand. I will not pry further into your relationship, but—as we’ve discussed—appearances are very important to a king. It isn’t appropriate for you to be seen as having a mistress. I realize that sort of thing was common for imperial nobility. The skaa, however, want to see something better in you. Perhaps because many noblemen were so frivolous with their sexual lives, the skaa have always prized monogamy. They wish desperately for you to respect their values.”

  “They’ll just have to be patient with us,” Elend said. “I actually want to marry Vin, but she won’t have it.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Elend shook his head. “She…doesn’t seem to make sense a lot of the time.”

  “Perhaps she isn’t right for a man in your position.”

  Elend looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”

  “Perhaps you need someone a little more refined,” Tindwyl said. “I’m certain she’s a fine bodyguard, but as a lady, she—”

  “Stop,” Elend snapped. “Vin is fine as she is.”

  Tindwyl smiled.

  “What?” Elend demanded.

  “I’ve insulted you all afternoon, Your Majesty, and you barely grew sullen. I mentioned your Mistborn in a mildly disparaging way, and now you’re ready to throw me out.”

  “So?”

  “So, you do love her?”

  “Of course,” Elend said. “I don’t understand her, but yes. I love her.”

  Tindwyl nodded. “I apologize, then, Your Majesty. I had to be certain.”

  Elend frowned, relaxing in his chair slightly. “So, this was some kind of test, then? You wanted to see how I would react to your words about Vin?”

  “You will always be tested by those you meet, Your Majesty. You might as well grow accustomed to it.”

  “But, why do you care about my relationship with Vin?”

  “Love is not easy for kings, Your Majesty,” Tindwyl said in an uncharacteristically kind voice. “You will find th
at your affection for the girl can cause far more trouble than any of the other things we’ve discussed.”

  “And that’s a reason to give her up?” Elend asked stiffly.

  “No,” Tindwyl said. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Elend paused, studying the stately Terriswoman with her square features and her stiff posture. “That…seems odd, coming from you. What about kingly duty and appearances?”

  “We must make allowances for the occasional exception,” Tindwyl said.

  Interesting, Elend thought. He wouldn’t have considered her the type to agree to any sort of “exceptions.” Perhaps she’s a little deeper than I’ve assumed.

  “Now,” Tindwyl said. “How are your training sessions going?”

  Elend rubbed his sore arm. “All right, I suppose. But—”

  He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Captain Demoux entered a moment later. “Your Majesty, a visitor has arrived from Lord Cett’s army.”

  “A messenger?” Elend said, standing.

  Demoux paused, looking a little embarrassed. “Well…sort of. She says she’s Lord Cett’s daughter, and she’s come looking for Breeze.”

  21

  He was born of a humble family, yet married the daughter of a king.

  The young woman’s expensive dress—light red silk with a shawl and lace sleeves—might have lent her an air of dignity, had she not scampered forward as soon as Breeze entered the room. Her light Western hair bouncing, she made a squeal of happiness as she threw her arms around Breeze’s neck.

  She was, perhaps, eighteen years old.

  Elend glanced at Ham, who stood dumbfounded.

  “Well, looks like you were right about Breeze and Cett’s daughter,” Elend whispered.

  Ham shook his head. “I didn’t think…I mean I joked, because it was Breeze, but I didn’t expect to be right!”

  Breeze, for his part, at least had the decency to look terribly uncomfortable in the young woman’s arms. They stood inside the palace atrium, the same place where Elend had met with his father’s messenger. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the afternoon light, and a group of servants stood at one side of the room to wait on Elend’s orders.

  Breeze met Elend’s eyes, blushing deeply. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do that before, Elend thought.

  “My dear,” Breeze said, clearing his throat, “perhaps you should introduce yourself to the king?”

  The girl finally let go of Breeze. She stepped back, curtsying to Elend with a noblewoman’s grace. She was a bit plump, her hair long after pre-Collapse fashion, and her cheeks were red with excitement. She was a cute thing, obviously well trained for the court—exactly the sort of girl that Elend had spent his youth trying to avoid.

  “Elend,” Breeze said, “might I introduce Allrianne Cett, daughter to Lord Ashweather Cett, king of the Western Dominance?”

  “Your Majesty,” Allrianne said.

  Elend nodded. “Lady Cett.” He paused, then—with a hopeful voice—continued. “Your father sent you as an ambassador?”

  Allrianne paused. “Um…he didn’t exactly send me, Your Majesty.”

  “Oh, dear,” Breeze said, pulling out a handkerchief to dab his brow.

  Elend glanced at Ham, then back at the girl. “Perhaps you should explain,” he said, gesturing toward the atrium’s seats. Allrianne nodded eagerly, but stayed close to Breeze as they sat. Elend waved for some servants to bring chilled wine.

  He had a feeling he was going to want something to drink.

  “I seek asylum, Your Majesty,” Allrianne said, speaking with a quick voice. “I had to go. I mean, Breezy must have told you how my father is!”

  Breeze sat uncomfortably, and Allrianne put an affectionate hand on his knee.

  “How your father is?” Elend asked.

  “He is so manipulative,” Allrianne said. “So demanding. He drove Breezy away, and I absolutely had to follow. I wouldn’t spend another moment in that camp. A war camp! He brought me, a young lady, along with him to war! Why, do you know what it is like to be leered at by every passing soldier? Do you understand what it is like to live in a tent?”

  “I—”

  “We rarely had fresh water,” Allrianne continued. “And I couldn’t take a decent bath without fear of peeping soldiers! During our travels, there was dreadful nothing to do all day but sit in the carriage and bounce, bounce, bounce. Why, until Breezy came, I hadn’t had a refined conversation in weeks. And then, Father drove him away….”

  “Because?” Ham asked eagerly.

  Breeze coughed.

  “I had to get away, Your Majesty,” Allrianne said. “You have to give me asylum! I know things that could help you. Like, I saw my father’s camp. I’ll bet you don’t know that he is getting supplies from the cannery in Haverfrex! What do you think of that?”

  “Um…impressive,” Elend said hesitantly.

  Allrianne nodded curtly.

  “And, you came to find Breeze?” Elend asked.

  Allrianne flushed slightly, glancing to the side. However, when she spoke, she displayed little tact. “I had to see him again, Your Majesty. So charming, so…wonderful. I wouldn’t have expected Father to understand a man such as he.”

  “I see,” Elend said.

  “Please, Your Majesty,” Allrianne said. “You have to take me in. Now that I’ve left Father, I have nowhere else to go!”

  “You may stay—for a time, at least,” Elend said, nodding greetings to Dockson, who had entered through the atrium doors. “But, you’ve obviously had a difficult trip. Perhaps you would like an opportunity to refresh yourself…?”

  “Oh, I would much appreciate that, Your Majesty!”

  Elend eyed Cadon, one of the palace stewards, who stood at the back of the room with other servants. He nodded; rooms were prepared. “Then,” Elend said, standing, “Cadon will lead you to some rooms. We will take dinner this evening at seven, and can speak again then.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty!” Allrianne said, jumping up from her chair. She gave Breeze another hug, then stepped forward, as if to do the same for Elend. Fortunately, she thought better of it, instead allowing the servants to lead her away.

  Elend sat. Breeze sighed deeply, leaning back in a wearied posture as Dockson walked forward, taking the girl’s seat.

  “That was…unexpected,” Breeze noted.

  There was an awkward pause, the atrium trees shifting slightly in the breeze from the balcony. Then—with a sharp bark—Ham began to laugh. The noise sparked Elend, and—despite the danger, despite the gravity of the problem—he found himself laughing as well.

  “Oh, honestly,” Breeze huffed, which only prompted them further. Perhaps it was the sheer incongruity of the situation, perhaps it was because he needed to release tension, but Elend found himself laughing so hard he almost fell from the chair. Ham wasn’t doing much better, and even Dockson cracked a smile.

  “I fail to see the levity in this situation,” Breeze said. “The daughter of Lord Cett—a man who is currently besieging our home—just demanded asylum in the city. If Cett wasn’t determined to kill us before, he certainly will be now!”

  “I know,” Elend said, taking deep breaths. “I know. It’s just…”

  “It’s the image of you,” Ham said, “being hugged by that courtly fluffcake. I can’t think of anything more awkward than you being confronted by an irrational young woman!”

  “This throws another wrinkle into things,” Dockson noted. “Although, I’m not accustomed to you being the one to bring us a problem of this nature, Breeze. Honestly, I thought we would be able to avoid unplanned female attachments now that Kell is gone.”

  “This isn’t my fault,” Breeze said pointedly. “The girl’s affection is completely misplaced.”

  “That’s for sure,” Ham mumbled.

  “All right,” a new voice said. “What was that pink thing I just passed in the hallway?”

  Elend turned to find Vin standing, arms folded, in the atrium
doorway. So quiet. Why does she walk stealthily even in the palace? She never wore shoes that clicked, never wore skirts that could rustle, and never had metal on her clothing that could clink or be Pushed by Allomancers.

  “That wasn’t pink, my dear,” Breeze said. “That was red.”

  “Close enough,” Vin said, walking forward. “She was bubbling to the servants about how hot her bath needed to be, and making certain they wrote down her favorite foods.”

  Breeze sighed. “That’s Allrianne. We’ll probably have to get a new pastry chef—either that, or have desserts ordered in. She’s rather particular about her pastries.”

  “Allrianne Cett is the daughter of Lord Cett,” Elend explained as Vin—ignoring the chairs—sat on the edge of a planter beside his chair, laying a hand on his arm. “Apparently, she and Breeze are something of an item.”

  “Excuse me?” Breeze huffed.

  Vin, however, wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting, Breeze. You’re old. She’s young.”

  “There was no relationship,” Breeze snapped. “Besides, I’m not that old—nor is she that young.”

  “She sounded like she was about twelve,” Vin said.

  Breeze rolled his eyes. “Allrianne was a child of the country court—a little innocent, a little spoiled—but she hardly deserves to be spoken of in that manner. She’s actually quite witty, in the right circumstances.”

  “So, was there anything between you?” Vin pressed.

  “Of course not,” Breeze said. “Well, not really. Nothing real, though it could have been taken the wrong way. Was taken the wrong way, actually, once her father discovered…Anyway, who are you to talk, Vin? I seem to remember a certain young girl pining for an old Kelsier a few years back.”

  Elend perked up at this.

  Vin flushed. “I never pined over Kelsier.”

  “Not even at the beginning?” Breeze asked. “Come now, a dashing man like him? He saved you from being beaten by your old crewleader, took you in…”

  “You’re a sick man,” Vin declared, folding her arms. “Kelsier was like a father to me.”

  “Eventually, perhaps,” Breeze said, “but—”

  Elend held up a hand. “Enough,” he said. “This line of discussion is useless.”