The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  Straff chuckled. “You’re going to have to get used to being a small fish again, Ferson.”

  “I know.”

  “Be cheerful,” Straff said. “Assuming this turnover of power happens as you promised, no one will have to end up dead. Who knows, maybe I’ll let you keep that crown of yours.”

  Penrod looked up.

  “For a long time, this land didn’t have kings,” Straff said quietly. “It had something greater. Well, I’m not the Lord Ruler—but I can be an emperor. You want to keep your crown and rule as a subject king under me?”

  “That depends on the cost, Straff,” Penrod said carefully.

  Not completely quelled, then. Penrod had always been clever; he’d been the most important nobleman to stay behind in Luthadel, and his gamble had certainly worked.

  “The cost is exorbitant,” Straff said. “Ridiculously so.”

  “The atium,” Penrod guessed.

  Straff nodded. “Elend hasn’t found it, but it’s here, somewhere. I was the one who mined those geodes—my men spent decades harvesting them and bringing them to Luthadel. I know how much of it we harvested, and I know that nowhere near the same amount came back out in disbursements to the nobility. The rest is in that city, somewhere.”

  Penrod nodded. “I’ll see what I can find, Straff.”

  Straff raised an eyebrow. “You need to get back into practice, Ferson.”

  Penrod paused, then bowed his head. “I’ll see what I can find, my lord.”

  “Good. Now, what news did you bring of Elend’s mistress?”

  “She collapsed after the fight,” Penrod said. “I employ a spy on the cooking staff, and she said she delivered a bowl of broth to Lady Vin’s room. It returned cold.”

  Straff frowned. “Could this woman of yours slip the Mistborn something?”

  Penrod paled slightly. “I…don’t think that would be wise, my lord. Besides, you know Mistborn constitutions.”

  Perhaps she really is incapacitated, Straff thought. If we moved in… The chill of her touch on his emotions returned. Numbness. Nothingness.

  “You needn’t fear her so, my lord,” Penrod said.

  Straff raised an eyebrow. “I’m not afraid, I’m wary. I will not move into that city until my safety is assured—and until I move in, your city is in danger from Cett. Or, worse. What would happen if those koloss decide to attack the city, Ferson? I’m in negotiations with their leader, and he seems to be able to control them. For now. Have you ever seen the aftermath of a koloss slaughter?”

  He probably hadn’t; Straff hadn’t until just recently. Penrod just shook his head. “Vin won’t attack you. Not if the Assembly votes to put you in command of the city. The transfer will be perfectly legal.”

  “I doubt she cares about legality.”

  “Perhaps,” Penrod said. “But Elend does. And, where he commands, the girl follows.”

  Unless he has as little control over her as I have over Zane, Straff thought, shivering. No matter what Penrod said, Straff wasn’t going to take the city until that horrible creature was dealt with. In this, he could rely only on Zane.

  And that thought frightened him almost as much as Vin did.

  Without further discussion, Straff waved to Penrod, dismissing him. Penrod turned and retreated into the mists with his entourage. Even with his tin, Straff barely heard Zane land on the ground beside him. Straff turned, looking at the Mistborn.

  “You really think he’d turn the atium over to you if he found it?” Zane asked quietly.

  “Perhaps,” Straff said. “He has to know that he’d never be able to hold on to it—he doesn’t have the military might to protect a treasure like that. And, if he doesn’t give it to me…well, it would probably be easier to take the atium from him than it would be to find it on my own.”

  Zane seemed to find the answer satisfactory. He waited for a few moments, staring into the mists. Then he looked at Straff, a curious expression on his face. “What time is it?”

  Straff checked his pocket watch, something no Mistborn would carry. Too much metal. “Eleven seventeen,” he said.

  Zane nodded, turning back to look at the city. “It should have taken effect by now.”

  Straff frowned. Then he began to sweat. He flared tin, clamping his eyes shut. There! he thought, noticing a weakness inside of him. “More poison?” he asked, keeping the fear from his voice, forcing himself to be calm.

  “How do you do it, Father?” Zane asked. “I thought for certain you’d missed this one. Yet, here you are, just fine.”

  Straff was beginning to feel weak. “One doesn’t need to be Mistborn to be capable, Zane,” he snapped.

  Zane shrugged, smiling in the haunting way only he could—keenly intelligent, yet eerily unstable. Then he just shook his head. “You win again,” he said, then shot upward into the sky, churning mists with his passing.

  Straff immediately turned his horse, trying to maintain his decorum as he urged it back toward the camp. He could feel the poison. Feel it stealing his life. Feel it threatening him, overcoming him….

  He went, perhaps, too quickly. It was difficult to maintain an air of strength when you were dying. Finally, he broke into a gallop. He left his startled guards behind, and they called in surprise, breaking into a jog to try and keep up.

  Straff ignored their complaints. He kicked the horse faster. Could he feel the poison slowing his reactions? Which one had Zane used? Gurwraith? No, it required injection. Tompher, perhaps? Or…perhaps he had found one that Straff didn’t even know about.

  He could only hope that wasn’t the case. For, if Straff didn’t know of the poison, then Amaranta probably wouldn’t know of it either, and wouldn’t be able to put the antidote into her catch-all healing potion.

  The lights of camp illuminated the mists. Soldiers cried out as Straff approached, and he was nearly run through as one of his own men leveled a spear at the charging horse. Fortunately, the man recognized him in time. Straff rode the man down even as he turned aside his spear.

  Straff charged right up to his tent. By now, his men were scattering, preparing as if for an invasion, or some other attack. There was no way he could hide this from Zane.

  I wouldn’t be able to hide my death either.

  “My lord!” a captain said, dashing up to him.

  “Send for Amaranta,” Straff said, stumbling off his horse.

  The soldier paused. “Your mistress, lord?” the man said, frowning. “Why—”

  “Now!” Straff commanded, throwing back his tent flap, walking inside. He paused, legs trembling as the tent flap closed. He wiped his brow with a hesitant hand. Too much sweat.

  Damn him! he thought with frustration. I have to kill him, contain him…I have to do something. I can’t rule like this!

  But what? He’d sat up nights, he’d wasted days, trying to decide what to do about Zane. The atium he used to bribe the man no longer seemed a good motivator. Zane’s actions this day—slaughtering Straff’s children in an obviously hopeless attempt to kill Elend’s mistress—proved that he could no longer be trusted, even in a small way.

  Amaranta arrived with surprising speed, and she immediately began mixing her antidote. Eventually, as Straff slurped down the horrid-tasting concoction—feeling its healing effects immediately—he came to an uneasy conclusion.

  Zane had to die.

  40

  And yet…something about all this seemed so convenient. It felt almost as if we constructed a hero to fit our prophecies, rather than allowing one to arise naturally. This was the worry I had, the thing that should have given me pause when my brethren came to me, finally willing to believe.

  Elend sat beside her bed.

  That comforted her. Though she slept fitfully, a piece of her knew that he was there, watching over her. It felt odd to be beneath his protective care, for she was the one who usually did the guarding.

  So, when she finally woke, she wasn’t surprised to find him in the chair beside her bed, reading qu
ietly by soft candlelight. As she came fully awake, she didn’t jump up, or search the room with apprehension. Instead, she sat up slowly, pulling the blanket up under her arms, then took a sip of the water that had been left for her beside the bed.

  Elend closed the book and turned toward her, smiling. Vin searched those soft eyes, delving for hints of the horror she had seen before. The disgust, the terror, the shock.

  He knew her for a monster. How could he smile so kindly?

  “Why?” she asked quietly.

  “Why what?” he asked.

  “Why wait here?” she said. “I’m not dying—I remember that much.”

  Elend shrugged. “I just wanted to be near you.”

  She said nothing. A coal stove burned in the corner, though it needed more fuel. Winter was close, and it was looking to be a cold one. She wore only a nightgown; she’d asked the maids not to put one on her, but by then Sazed’s draught—to help her sleep—had already begun taking effect, and she hadn’t had the energy to argue.

  She pulled the blanket closer. Only then did she realize something she should have noticed earlier. “Elend! You’re not wearing your uniform.”

  He looked down at his clothing—a nobleman’s suit from his old wardrobe, with an unbuttoned maroon vest. The jacket was too big for him. He shrugged. “No need to continue the charade anymore, Vin.”

  “Cett is king?” she asked with a sinking feeling.

  Elend shook his head. “Penrod.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know,” he said. “We aren’t sure why the merchants betrayed Cett—but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Penrod is a far better choice anyway. Than either Cett, or me.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  Elend sat back contemplatively. “I don’t know, Vin. I thought I was the better man. Yet, while I thought up all kinds of schemes to keep the throne from Cett, I never really considered the one plan that would have been certain to defeat him—that of giving my support to Penrod, combining our votes. What if my arrogance had landed us with Cett? I wasn’t thinking of the people.”

  “Elend…” she said, laying a hand on his arm.

  And he flinched.

  It was slight, almost unnoticeable, and he covered it quickly. But the damage was done. Damage she had caused, damage within him. He had finally seen—really seen—what she was. He’d fallen in love with a lie.

  “What?” he said, looking into her face.

  “Nothing,” Vin said. She withdrew her hand. Inside, something cracked. I love him so much. Why? Why did I let him see? If only I’d had a choice!

  He’s betraying you, Reen’s voice whispered in the back of her mind. Everyone will leave you eventually, Vin.

  Elend sighed, glancing toward the shutters to her room. They were closed, keeping the mists out, though Vin could see the darkness beyond.

  “The thing is, Vin,” he said quietly, “I never really thought it would end this way. I trusted them, right to the end. The people—the Assemblymen they chose—I trusted that they would do the right thing. When they didn’t choose me, I was actually surprised. I shouldn’t have been. We knew that I was the long shot. I mean, they had already voted me out once. But, I’d convinced myself that was just a warning. Inside, in my heart, I thought that they would reinstate me.”

  He shook his head. “Now, I either have to admit that my faith in them was wrong, or I have to trust in their decision.”

  That was what she loved: his goodness, his simple honesty. Things as odd and exotic to a skaa urchin as her own Mistborn nature must be to most people. Even among all the good men of Kelsier’s crew, even amid the best of the nobility, she had never found another man like Elend Venture. A man who would rather believe that the people who had dethroned him were just trying to do the right thing.

  At times, she had felt a fool for falling in love with the first nobleman whom she grew to know. But now she realized that her love of Elend had not come about because of simple convenience or proximity. It had come because of who Elend was. The fact that she had found him first was an event of incredible fortune.

  And now…it was over. At least, in the form it had once had. But, she’d known all along that it would turn out this way. That was why she’d refused his marriage proposal, now over a year old. She couldn’t marry him. Or, rather, she couldn’t let him marry her.

  “I know that sorrow in your eyes, Vin,” Elend said softly.

  She looked at him with shock.

  “We can get past this,” he said. “The throne wasn’t everything. We might be better off this way, actually. We did our best. Now it’s someone else’s turn to try.”

  She smiled wanly. He doesn’t know. He must never know how much this hurts. He’s a good man—he’d try to force himself to keep loving me.

  “But,” he said, “you should get some more rest.”

  “I feel fine,” Vin said, stretching slightly. Her side hurt, and her neck ached, but pewter burned within her, and none of her wounds were debilitating. “I need to—”

  She cut herself off as a realization hit her. She sat upright, the sudden motion making her rigid with pain. The day before was a blur, but…

  “OreSeur!” she said, pushing aside the blanket.

  “He’s fine, Vin,” Elend said. “He’s a kandra. Broken bones mean nothing to him.”

  She paused, half out of bed, suddenly feeling foolish. “Where is he?”

  “Digesting a new body,” Elend said, smiling.

  “Why the smile?” she asked.

  “I’ve just never heard someone express that much concern for a kandra before.”

  “Well, I don’t see why not,” Vin said, climbing back in bed. “OreSeur risked his life for me.”

  “He’s a kandra, Vin,” Elend repeated. “I don’t think those men could have killed him; I doubt even a Mistborn could.”

  Vin paused. Not even a Mistborn could…. What bothered her about that statement? “Regardless,” she said. “He feels pain. He took two serious blows on my behalf.”

  “Just fulfilling his Contract.”

  His Contract…. OreSeur had attacked a human. He had broken his Contract. For her.

  “What?” Elend asked.

  “Nothing,” Vin said quickly. “Tell me about the armies.”

  Elend eyed her, but allowed the conversation to change directions. “Cett is still holed up in Keep Hasting. We’re not sure what his reaction will be. The Assembly didn’t choose him, which can’t be good. And yet, he hasn’t protested—he has to realize that he’s trapped in here now.”

  “He must have really believed that we’d choose him,” Vin said, frowning. “Why else would he come into the city?”

  Elend shook his head. “It was an odd move in the first place. Anyway, I have advised the Assembly to try and make a deal with him. I think he believes that the atium isn’t in the city, so there’s really no reason for him to want Luthadel.”

  “Except for the prestige.”

  “Which wouldn’t be worth losing his army,” Elend’s said. “Or his life.”

  Vin nodded. “And your father?”

  “Silent,” Elend said. “It’s strange, Vin. This isn’t like him—those assassins were so blatant. I’m not sure what to make of them.”

  “The assassins,” Vin said, sitting back in the bed. “You’ve identified them?”

  Elend shook his head. “Nobody recognizes them.”

  Vin frowned.

  “Maybe we aren’t as familiar with the noblemen out in the Northern Dominance as we thought we were.”

  No, Vin thought. No, if they were from a city as close as Urteau—Straff’s home—some of them would be known, wouldn’t they? “I thought I recognized one of them,” Vin finally said.

  “Which one?”

  “The…last one.”

  Elend paused. “Ah. Well, I guess we won’t be able to identify him now.”

  “Elend, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “W
hat?” Elend asked. “Vin, I’ve seen death before. I was forced to attend the Lord Ruler’s executions, remember?” He paused. “Not that what you did was like that, of course.”

  Of course.

  “You were amazing,” Elend said. “I’d be dead right now if you hadn’t stopped those Allomancers—and it’s likely that Penrod and the other Assemblymen would have fared the same. You saved the Central Dominance.”

  We always have to be the knives….

  Elend smiled, standing. “Here,” he said, walking to the side of the room. “This is cold, but Sazed said you should eat it when you awoke.” He returned with a bowl of broth.

  “Sazed sent it?” Vin asked skeptically. “Drugged, then?”

  Elend smiled. “He warned me not to taste it myself—he said it was filled with enough sedatives to knock me out for a month. It takes a lot to affect you pewter burners.”

  He set the bowl on the bedstand. Vin eyed it through narrowed eyes. Sazed was probably worried that, despite her wounds, she’d go out and prowl the city if she were left on her own. He was probably right. With a sigh, Vin accepted the bowl and began to sip at it.

  Elend smiled. “I’ll send someone to bring you more coal for the stove,” he said. “There are some things I need to do.”

  Vin nodded, and he left, pulling the door shut behind him.

  When Vin next awoke, she saw that Elend was still there. He stood in the shadows, watching her. It was still dark outside. The shutters to her window were open, and mist coated the floor of the room.

  The shutters were open.

  Vin sat upright and turned toward the figure in the corner. It wasn’t Elend. “Zane,” she said flatly.

  He stepped forward. It was so easy to see the similarities between him and Elend, now that she knew what to look for. They had the same jaw, the same wavy dark hair. They even had similar builds, now that Elend had been exercising.

  “You sleep too soundly,” Zane said.

  “Even a Mistborn’s body needs sleep to heal.”