The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  “What?” Vin asked.

  “Did you grow up far from court?”

  “I’m not noble, Allrianne. I’m skaa.”

  Allrianne paled, then flushed, then raised her fingers to her lips. “Oh! You poor thing!” Vin’s augmented ears heard something beside her—a light chuckling from OreSeur, soft enough that only an Allomancer could have heard him.

  She resisted the urge to shoot the kandra a flat look. “It wasn’t so bad,” she said.

  “But, well, no wonder you don’t know how to dress!” Allrianne said.

  “I know how to dress,” Vin said. “I even own a few gowns.” Not that I’ve put one on in months….

  Allrianne nodded, though she obviously didn’t believe Vin’s comment. “Breezy is skaa, too,” she said quietly. “Or, half skaa. He told me. Good thing he didn’t tell Father—Father never has been very nice to skaa.”

  Vin didn’t reply.

  Eventually, they reached Kenton Street, and the crowds made the carriage a liability. Vin climbed out first, OreSeur hopping down to the cobblestones beside her. The market street was busy, though not as packed as it had been the last time she’d visited. Vin glanced over the prices at some nearby shops as the others exited the coach.

  Five boxings for a bin of aging apples, Vin thought with dissatisfaction. Food is already going at a premium. Elend had stores, fortunately. But how long would they last before the siege? Not through the approaching winter, certainly—not with so much of the dominance’s grain still unharvested in the outer plantations.

  Time may be our friend now, Vin thought, but it will turn on us eventually. They had to get those armies to fight each other. Otherwise, the city’s people might die of starvation before the soldiers even tried to take the walls.

  Spook hopped down from the carriage, joining them as Tindwyl surveyed the street. Vin eyed the bustling crowds. The people were obviously trying to go about their daily activities, despite the threat from outside. What else could they do? The siege had already lasted for weeks. Life had to go on.

  “There,” Tindwyl said, pointing to a dressmaker’s shop.

  Allrianne scampered forward. Tindwyl followed behind, walking with modest decorum. “Eager young thing, isn’t she?” the Terriswoman asked.

  Vin shrugged. The blond noblewoman had already gotten Spook’s attention; he was following her with a lively step. Of course, it wasn’t hard to get Spook’s attention. You just had to have breasts and smell nice—and the second was sometimes optional.

  Tindwyl smiled. “She probably hasn’t had an opportunity to go shopping since she left with her father’s army weeks ago.”

  “You sound like you think she went through some awful ordeal,” Vin said. “Just because she couldn’t go shopping.”

  “She obviously enjoys it,” Tindwyl said. “Surely you can understand being taken from that which you love.”

  Vin shrugged as they reached the shop. “I have trouble feeling sympathy for a courtly puff who is tragically taken from her dresses.”

  Tindwyl frowned slightly as they entered the shop, OreSeur settling down to wait outside. “Do not be so hard on the child. She is a product of her upbringing, just as you are. If you judge her worth based on frivolities, then you are doing the same as those who judge you based on your simple clothing.”

  “I like it when people judge me based on my simple clothing,” Vin said. “Then they don’t expect too much.”

  “I see,” Tindwyl said. “Then, you haven’t missed this at all?” She nodded toward the shop’s inner room.

  Vin paused. The room burst with colors and fabric, lace and velvet, bodices and skirts. Everything was powdered with a light perfume. Standing before the dressing dummies in their brilliant hues, Vin was—for just a moment—again taken back to the balls. Back to when she was Valette. Back to when she had an excuse to be Valette.

  “They say you enjoyed noble society,” Tindwyl said lightly, walking forward. Allrianne was already standing near the front of the room, running her fingers across a bolt of fabric, talking to the dressmaker in a firm voice.

  “Who told you that?” Vin asked.

  Tindwyl turned back. “Why, your friends, dear. It’s quite curious—they say you stopped wearing dresses a few months after the Collapse. They all wonder why. They say you seemed to like dressing like a woman, but I guess they were wrong.”

  “No,” Vin said quietly. “They were right.”

  Tindwyl raised an eyebrow, pausing beside a dressmaker’s dummy in a bright green dress, edged with lace, the bottom flaring wide with several underskirts.

  Vin approached, looking up at the gorgeous costume. “I was beginning to like dressing like this. That was the problem.”

  “I don’t see a problem in that, dear.”

  Vin turned away from the gown. “This isn’t me. It never was—it was just an act. When wearing a dress like that, it’s too easy to forget who you really are.”

  “And these dresses can’t be part of who you really are?”

  Vin shook her head. “Dresses and gowns are part of who she is.” She nodded toward Allrianne. “I need to be something else. Something harder.” I shouldn’t have come here.

  Tindwyl laid a hand on Vin’s shoulder. “Why haven’t you married him, child?”

  Vin looked up sharply. “What kind of question is that?”

  “An honest one,” Tindwyl said. She seemed far less harsh than she had been the other times Vin had met her. Of course, during those times, she had mostly been addressing Elend.

  “That topic is not your concern,” Vin said.

  “The king has asked me to help him improve his image,” Tindwyl said. “And I have taken it upon myself to do more than that—I want to make a real king of him, if I can. There is some great potential in him, I think. However, he’s not going to be able to realize it until he’s more sure about certain things in his life. You in particular.”

  “I…” Vin closed her eyes, remembering his marriage proposal. That night, on the balcony, ash lightly falling in the night. She remembered her terror. She’d known, of course, where the relationship was going. Why had she been so frightened?

  That was the day she’d stopped wearing dresses.

  “He shouldn’t have asked me,” Vin said quietly, opening her eyes. “He can’t marry me.”

  “He loves you, child,” Tindwyl said. “In a way, that is unfortunate—this would all be much easier if he could feel otherwise. However, as things stand…”

  Vin shook her head. “I’m wrong for him.”

  “Ah,” Tindwyl said. “I see.”

  “He needs something else,” Vin said. “Something better. A woman who can be a queen, not just a bodyguard. Someone…” Vin’s stomach twisted. “Someone more like her.”

  Tindwyl glanced toward Allrianne, who laughed at a comment made by the elderly dressmaker as he took her measurements.

  “You are the one he fell in love with, child,” Tindwyl said.

  “When I was pretending to be like her.”

  Tindwyl smiled. “Somehow, I doubt that you could be like Allrianne, no matter how hard you practiced.”

  “Perhaps,” Vin said. “Either way, it was my courtly performance that he loved. He didn’t know what I really was.”

  “And has he abandoned you now that he does know of it?”

  “Well, no. But—”

  “All people are more complex than they first appear,” Tindwyl said. “Allrianne, for instance, is eager and young—perhaps a bit too outspoken. But she knows more of the court than many would expect, and she seems to know how to recognize what is good in a person. That is a talent many lack.

  “Your king is a humble scholar and thinker, but he has the will of a warrior. He is a man who has the nerve to fight, and I think—perhaps—you have yet to see the best of him. The Soother Breeze is a cynical, mocking man—until he looks at young Allrianne. Then he softens, and one wonders how much of his harsh unconcern is an act.”

  Tin
dwyl paused, looking at Vin. “And you. You are so much more than you are willing to accept, child. Why look at only one side of yourself, when your Elend sees so much more?”

  “Is that what this is all about?” Vin said. “You trying to turn me into a queen for Elend?”

  “No, child,” Tindwyl said. “I wish to help you turn into whoever you are. Now, go let the man take your measurements so you can try on some stock dresses.”

  Whoever I am? Vin thought, frowning. However, she let the tall Terriswoman push her forward, and the elderly dressmaker took his tape and began to measure.

  A few moments and a changing room later, Vin stepped back into the room wearing a memory. Silky blue with white lace, the gown was tight at the waist and through the bust, but had a large, flowing bottom. The numerous skirts made it flare out, tapering down in a triangular shape, her feet completely covered, the bottom of the skirt flush with the floor.

  It was terribly impractical. It rustled when she moved, and she had to be careful where she stepped to keep it from catching or brushing a dirty surface. But it was beautiful, and it made her feel beautiful. She almost expected a band to start playing, Sazed to stand over her shoulder like a protective sentry, and Elend to appear in the distance, lounging and watching couples dance as he flipped through a book.

  Vin walked forward, letting the dressmaker watch where the garment pinched and where it bunched, and Allrianne let out an “Ooo” as she saw Vin. The old dressmaker leaned on his cane, dictating notes to a young assistant. “Move around a bit more, my lady,” he requested. “Let me see how it fits when you do more than just walk in a straight line.”

  Vin spun slightly, turning on one foot, trying to remember the dancing moves Sazed had taught her.

  I never did get to dance with Elend, she realized, stepping to the side, as if to music she could only faintly remember. He always found an excuse to wiggle out of it.

  She twirled, getting a feel for the dress. She would have thought that her instincts would have decayed. Now that she had one on again, however, she was surprised at how easy it was to fall back into those habits—stepping lightly, turning so that the bottom of the dress flared just a bit….

  She paused. The dressmaker was no longer dictating. He watched her quietly, smiling.

  “What?” Vin asked, flushing.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said, turning to tap on his assistant’s notebook, sending the boy away with a point of his finger. “But I don’t rightly think I’ve ever seen someone move so gracefully. Like a…passing breath.”

  “You flatter me,” Vin said.

  “No, child,” Tindwyl said, standing to the side. “He’s right. You move with a grace that most women can only envy.”

  The dressmaker smiled again, turning as his assistant approached with a group of square cloth color samples. The old man began to sort through them with a wizened hand, and Vin stepped over to Tindwyl, holding her hands at the sides, trying not to let the traitorous dress take control of her again.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” Vin demanded quietly.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” Tindwyl asked.

  “Because you’re mean to Elend,” Vin said. “Don’t deny it—I’ve listened in on your lessons. You spend the time insulting and disparaging him. But now you’re pretending to be nice.”

  Tindwyl smiled. “I am not pretending, child.”

  “Then why are you so mean to Elend?”

  “The lad grew up as a pampered son of a great lord,” Tindwyl said. “Now that he’s king, he needs a little harsh truth, I think.” She paused, glancing down at Vin. “I sense that you’ve had quite enough of that in your life.”

  The dressmaker approached with his swatches, spreading them out on a low table. “Now, my lady,” he said, tapping one group with a bent finger. “I think your coloring would look particularly good with dark cloth. A nice maroon, perhaps?”

  “What about a black?” Vin asked.

  “Heavens, no,” Tindwyl said. “Absolutely no more black or gray for you, child.”

  “What about this one, then?” Vin asked, pulling out a royal blue swatch. It was nearly the shade she’d worn the first night she’d met Elend, so long ago.

  “Ah, yes,” the dressmaker said. “That would look wonderful against that light skin and dark hair. Hum, yes. Now, we’ll have to pick a style. You need this by tomorrow evening, the Terriswoman said?”

  Vin nodded.

  “Ah, then. We’ll have to modify one of the stock dresses, but I think I have one in this color. We’ll have to take it in quite a bit, but we can work through the night for a beauty like yourself, can’t we, lad? Now, as for the style…”

  “This is fine, I guess,” Vin said, looking down. The gown was the standard cut of those she’d worn at previous balls.

  “Well, we’re not looking for ‘fine,’ now, are we?” the dressmaker said with a smile.

  “What if we removed some of the pettiskirts?” Tindwyl said, pulling at the sides of Vin’s dress. “And perhaps raised the hem just a bit, so that she could move more freely?”

  Vin paused. “You could do that?”

  “Of course,” the dressmaker said. “The lad says thinner skirts are more popular to the south, though they tend to lag in fashion a bit behind Luthadel.” He paused. “Though, I don’t know that Luthadel even really has a fashion anymore….”

  “Make cuffs of the sleeves wide,” Tindwyl said. “And sew a couple of pockets into them for certain personal items.”

  The old man nodded as his quiet assistant scribbled down the suggestion.

  “The chest and waist can be tight,” Tindwyl continued, “but not restrictive. Lady Vin needs to be able to move freely.”

  The old man paused. “Lady Vin?” he asked. He looked a little closer at Vin, squinting, then turned to his assistant. The boy nodded quietly.

  “I see…” the man said, paling, hand shaking just a little bit more. He placed it on the top of his cane, as if to give himself a little more stability. “I’m…I’m sorry if I offended you, my lady. I didn’t know.”

  Vin flushed again. Another reason why I shouldn’t go shopping. “No,” she said, reassuring the man. “It’s all right. You haven’t offended me.”

  He relaxed slightly, and Vin noticed Spook strolling over.

  “Looks like we’ve been found,” Spook said, nodding to the front windows.

  Vin glanced past dressing dummies and bales of cloth to see a crowd gathering outside. Tindwyl watched Vin with curiosity.

  Spook shook his head. “Why do you get to be so popular?”

  “I killed their god,” Vin said quietly, ducking around a dressing dummy, hiding from the dozens of peeking eyes.

  “I helped too,” Spook said. “I even got my nickname from Kelsier himself! But nobody cares about poor little Spook.”

  Vin scanned the room for windows. There’s got to be a back door. Of course, there might be people in the alley.

  “What are you doing?” Tindwyl asked.

  “I have to go,” Vin said. “Get away from them.”

  “Why don’t you go out and talk to them?” Tindwyl asked. “They’re obviously very interested in seeing you.”

  Allrianne emerged from a dressing room—wearing a gown of yellow and blue—and twirled dramatically. She was obviously put out when she didn’t even get Spook’s attention.

  “I’m not going out there,” Vin said. “Why would I want to do something like that?”

  “They need hope,” Tindwyl said. “Hope you can give them.”

  “A false hope,” Vin said. “I’d only encourage them to think of me as some object of worship.”

  “That’s not true,” Allrianne said suddenly, walking forward, looking out the windows without the least bit of embarrassment. “Hiding in corners, wearing strange clothing, and being mysterious—that’s what has gotten you this amazing reputation. If people knew how ordinary you were, they wouldn’t be so crazy to get a look at you.” She paused
, then looked back. “I…uh, didn’t mean that like I think it sounded.”

  Vin flushed. “I’m not Kelsier, Tindwyl. I don’t want people to worship me. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Some people don’t have that choice, child,” Tindwyl said. “You struck down the Lord Ruler. You were trained by the Survivor, and you are the king’s consort.”

  “I’m not his consort,” Vin said, flushing. “We’re just…” Lord, even I don’t understand our relationship. How am I supposed to explain it?

  Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.

  “All right,” Vin said, sighing and walking forward.

  “I’ll go with you,” Allrianne said, grabbing Vin’s arm as if they had been friends since childhood. Vin resisted, but couldn’t figure a way to pry her off without making a scene.

  They stepped out of the shop. The crowd was already large, and the periphery was filling as more and more people came to investigate. Most were skaa in brown, ash-stained work coats or simple gray dresses. The ones in the front backed away as Vin stepped out, giving her a little ring of empty space, and a murmur of awed excitement moved through the crowd.

  “Wow,” Allrianne said quietly. “There sure are a lot of them….”

  Vin nodded. OreSeur sat where he had before, near the door, and he watched her with a curious canine expression.

  Allrianne smiled at the crowd, waving with a sudden hesitance. “You can, you know, fight them off or something if this turns messy, right?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Vin said, finally slipping her arm free of Allrianne’s grasp and giving the crowd a bit of a Soothing to calm them. After that, she stepped forward, trying to push down her sense of itching nervousness. She’d grown to no longer feel she needed to hide when she went out in public, but standing before a crowd like this…well, she almost turned and slinked back into the dressmaker’s shop.

  A voice, however, stopped her. The speaker was a middle-aged man with an ash-stained beard and a dirty black cap held nervously in his hands. He was a strong man, probably a mill worker. His quiet voice seemed a contrast to his powerful build. “Lady Heir. What will become of us?”

  The terror—the uncertainty—in the large man’s voice was so piteous that Vin hesitated. He regarded her with hopeful eyes, as did most of the others.