This is part of me, she thought. I didn’t want it to be—perhaps because I didn’t believe that I deserved it. I found this life too different, too full of beauty and confidence. Yet, I am a noblewoman. I do fit in here.
I was born to the streets by one parent, but I was born to this by another.
She’d spent the first year of Elend’s reign trying so hard to protect him. She’d forced herself to focus only on her street side, the side that had been trained to be ruthless, for that, she thought, would give her the power to defend what she loved. Yet, Kelsier had shown her another way to be powerful. And, that power was connected with the nobility—with their intrigue, their beauty, and their clever schemes. Vin had taken almost immediately to life at court, and that had frightened her.
That’s it, she thought, smiling at another curtsying young girl. That’s why I always felt that this was wrong. I didn’t have to work for it, so I couldn’t believe that I deserved it.
She’d spent sixteen years on the streets—she’d earned that side of her. Yet, it had taken her barely a month to adapt to noble life. It had seemed impossible to her that something that came so easily could be as important a part of herself as the years spent on the streets.
But it was.
I had to confront this, she realized. Tindwyl tried to make me do it, two years ago, but I wasn’t ready.
She needed to prove to herself not only that she could move among the nobility, but that she belonged with them. Because that proved something much more important: that the love she’d earned from Elend during those few early months wasn’t based on a falsehood.
It’s . . . true, Vin thought. I can be both. Why did it take me so long to figure it out?
“Excuse me, ladies,” a voice said.
Vin smiled, turning as the women parted to make way for Elend. Several of the younger ones got dreamy expressions on their faces as they regarded Elend with his warrior’s body, his rugged beard, and his white imperial uniform. Vin suppressed a huff of annoyance. She’d loved him long before he’d become dreamy.
“Ladies,” Elend said to the women, “as Lady Vin herself will be quick to tell you, I’m rather ill-mannered. That, in itself, would be a very small sin. Unfortunately, I’m also quite unconcerned about my own disregard for propriety. So, therefore, I’m going to steal my wife away from you all and selfishly monopolize her time. I’d apologize, but that’s not the sort of thing we barbarians do.”
With that, and with a smile, he held out his elbow to her. Vin smiled back, taking the arm and allowing him to lead her away from the pack of women.
“Thought you might want some room to breathe,” Elend said. “I can only imagine how it must make you feel to be surrounded by a virtual army of puffballs.”
“I appreciate the rescue,” Vin said, though it wasn’t actually true. How was Elend to know that she’d suddenly discovered that she fit in with those puffballs? Besides, just because they wore frills and makeup didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous—she’d learned that much easily her first few months. The thought distracted her such that she didn’t notice where Elend was leading her until they were almost there.
When she did realize it, she stopped immediately, jerking Elend back. “The dance floor?” she asked.
“Indeed,” he said.
“But, I haven’t danced in almost four years!”
“Neither have I,” Elend said. He stepped closer. “But, it would be terrible to miss the opportunity. After all, we never did get to dance.”
It was true. Luthadel had gone into revolt before they’d gotten an opportunity to dance together, and after that, there hadn’t been time for balls or frivolity. She knew Elend understood how much she missed not having had the chance. He’d asked her to dance on the first night when they’d met, and she’d turned him down. She still felt as if she’d given up some unique opportunity on that first evening.
And so, she let him lead her up onto the slightly raised dance floor. Couples whispered, and as the song ended, everyone else furtively departed the dance floor, leaving Vin and Elend alone—a figure in lines of white, and another in curves of black. Elend put an arm at her waist, turning her toward him, and Vin found herself traitorously nervous.
This is it, she thought, flaring pewter to keep from shaking. It’s finally happening. I finally get to dance with him!
At that moment—as the music began—Elend reached into his pocket and pulled out a book. He raised it with one hand, the other on her waist, and began to read.
Vin’s jaw dropped, then she whacked him on the arm. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as he shuffled through the dance steps, still holding his book. “Elend! I’m trying to have a special moment here!”
He turned toward her, smiling with a terribly mischievous grin. “Well, I want to make that special moment as authentic as possible. I mean, you are dancing with me, after all.”
“For the first time!”
“All the more important to be certain that I make the right impression, Miss Valette!”
“Oh, for . . . Will you please just put the book away?”
Elend smiled more deeply, but slid the book back into his pocket, taking her hand and dancing with her in a more proper manner. Vin flushed as she saw the confused crowd standing around the dance floor. They obviously had no idea what to make of Elend’s behavior.
“You are a barbarian,” Vin told him.
“A barbarian because I read books?” Elend said lightly. “That’s one that Ham will have a great time with.”
“Honestly,” Vin said, “where did you even get a book here?”
“I had one of Yomen’s servants fetch it for me,” Elend said. “From the keep library. I knew they’d have it—Trials of Monument is a rather famous work.”
Vin frowned. “Do I recognize that title?”
“It was the book that I was reading that night on the Venture balcony,” Elend said. “The time we first met.”
“Why, Elend! That’s almost romantic—in a twisted ‘I’m going to make my wife want to kill me’ sort of way.”
“I thought you’d appreciate it,” he said, turning lightly.
“You’re in rare form tonight. I haven’t seen you like this for quite some time.”
“I know,” he said, sighing. “To be honest, Vin, I feel a bit guilty. I’m worried that I was too informal during my conversation with Yomen. He’s so stiff that my old instincts—the ones that always made me respond to people like him with mockery—came out.”
Vin let him lead the dance, looking up at him. “You’re just acting like yourself. That’s a good thing.”
“My old self didn’t make a good king,” Elend said.
“The things you learned about kingship didn’t have to do with your personality, Elend,” Vin said. “They had to do with other things—about confidence, and about decisiveness. You can have those things and still be yourself.”
Elend shook his head. “I’m not sure I can. Certainly, tonight, I should have been more formal. I allowed the setting to make me lax.”
“No,” Vin said firmly. “No, I’m right about this, Elend. You’ve been doing the exact thing I have. You’ve been so determined to be a good king that you’ve let it squish who you really are. Our responsibilities shouldn’t have to destroy us.”
“They haven’t destroyed you,” he said, smiling behind his short beard.
“They nearly did,” Vin said. “Elend, I had to realize that I could be both people—the Mistborn of the streets and the woman of the court. I had to acknowledge that the new person I’m becoming is a valid extension of who I am. But for you, it’s opposite! You have to realize that who you were is still a valid part of you. That person makes silly comments, and does things just to provoke a reaction. But, he’s also lovable and kindhearted. You can’t lose those things just because you’re emperor.”
He got that look in his face, the thoughtful one, the one that meant he was going to argue. Then, however, he hesit
ated.
“Coming to this place,” he said, looking at the beautiful windows and watching the nobility, “it’s reminded me of what I spent most of my life doing. Before I had to be a king. Even then, I was trying to do things my way—I went off and read during balls. But, I didn’t do it away in the library, I did it in the ballroom. I didn’t want to hide, I wanted to express discontent with my father, and reading was my way.”
“You were a good man, Elend,” Vin said. “Not an idiot, as you now seem to think that you were. You were a little undirected, but still a good leader. You took control of Luthadel and stopped the skaa from committing a slaughter in their rebellion.”
“But then, the whole Penrod fiasco . . .”
“You had things to learn,” Vin said. “Like I did. But, please don’t become someone else, Elend. You can be both Elend the emperor and Elend the man.”
He smiled deeply, then pulled her close, pausing their dance. “Thank you,” he said, then kissed her. She could tell that he hadn’t made his decision yet—he still thought that he needed to be more of a hard warrior than a kind scholar. However, he was thinking. That was enough, at the moment.
Vin looked up into his eyes, and they returned to the dance. Neither spoke; they simply let the wonder of the moment hold them. It was a surreal experience for Vin. Their army was outside, the ash was falling perpetually, and the mists were killing people. Yet, inside this room of white marble and sparkling colors, she danced with the man she loved for the first time.
They both spun with the grace of Allomancy, stepping as if on the wind, moving as if made of mist. The room grew hushed, the nobility like a theater audience, watching some grand performance, not two people who hadn’t danced in years. And yet, Vin knew it was wonderful, something that had rarely been seen. Most noble Mistborn couldn’t afford to appear too graceful, lest they give away their secret powers.
Vin and Elend had no such inhibitions. They danced as if to make up for the four years lost, as if to throw their joy in the face of an apocalyptic world and a hostile city. The song began to wind down. Elend pulled her against him, and her tin let her feel his heartbeat so close. It was beating far more swiftly than a simple dance could account for.
“I’m glad we did this,” he said.
“There’s another ball soon,” she said. “In a few weeks.”
“I know,” he said. “As I understand it, that ball is going to be held at the Canton of Resource.”
Vin nodded. “Thrown by Yomen himself.”
“And, if the supply cache is hidden anywhere in the city, it will most likely be beneath that building.”
“We’d have an excuse—and a precedent—to get in.”
“Yomen has some atium,” Elend said. “He’s wearing a bead of it on his forehead. Though, just because he has one bead doesn’t mean he has a wealth of it.”
Vin nodded. “I wonder if he’s found the storage cavern.”
“He has,” Elend said, “I’m sure of it. I got a reaction out of him when I mentioned it.”
“That still shouldn’t stop us,” Vin said, smiling. “We go to his ball, sneak into the cavern, find out what the Lord Ruler left there, then decide what to do about the siege—and the city—based on that?”
“Seems like a good plan,” Elend said. “Assuming I can’t get him to listen to reason. I was close, Vin. I can’t help but think that there might be a chance to bring him to our side.”
She nodded.
“All right, then,” he said. “Ready to make a grand exit?”
Vin smiled, then nodded. As the music ended, Elend spun and threw her to the side, and she Pushed off of the metal dance floor rim. She shot out over the crowd, guiding herself toward the exit, dress flapping.
Behind, Elend addressed the crowd. “Thank you so much for letting us join you. Anyone who wants to escape the city will be allowed passage through my army.”
Vin landed and saw the crowd turn as Elend jumped over their heads, fortunately managing to guide himself through the relatively low room without crashing into any windows or hitting the ceiling. He joined her at the doors, and they escaped through the antechamber and into the night.
Hemalurgy is of Ruin. It destroys. By taking abilities from one person and giving them to another—in reduced amounts—power is actually lost. In line with Ruin’s own appointed purpose—breaking down the universe into smaller and smaller pieces—Hemalurgy gives great gifts, but at a high cost.
33
HUMANS MIGHT HAVE SCORNED TENSOON, perhaps throwing things at him or yelling curses as he passed. Kandra were too orderly for that kind of display, but TenSoon could feel their disdain. They watched as he was taken from his cage, then led back to the Trustwarren for judgment. Hundreds of eyes regarded him, set in bodies with bones of steel, glass, rock, and wood. The younger kandra were more extreme in form, the older were more orthodox.
All were accusatory.
Before, at the trial, the crowd had been curious—perhaps horrified. That had changed; TenSoon’s time spent in the display cage had worked as intended. The Second Generation had been able to promote his infamy, and kandra who had once, perhaps, been sympathetic to him now watched with disgust. In a thousand years of history, the kandra had never had a criminal such as TenSoon.
He bore the stares and the scorn with a raised head, padding through the corridor in a dog’s body. It was strange to him, how natural the bones felt. He’d only spent a year’s time wearing them, but putting them on again—discarding the scrawny, naked human body—felt more like returning home than coming back to the Homeland had a year before.
And so, what was supposed to be a humiliation for him became, instead, something of a triumph. It had been a wild hope, but he’d manipulated the Second Generation into giving him back the dog’s body. The sack had even contained the body’s hair and nails—likely, they had simply collected the entire mess after forcing TenSoon to abandon it and enter his prison a year ago.
The comfortable bones gave him strength. This was the body that Vin had given him. She was the Hero of Ages. He had to believe that.
Otherwise he was about to make a very big mistake.
His guards led him into the Trustwarren. This time, there were too many observers to fit into the room, so the Seconds declared that those younger than the Seventh Generation had to wait outside. Even so, kandra filled the rows of stone seats. They sat silently as TenSoon was led to the slightly raised metallic disk set into the center of the stone floor. The broad doors were left open, and younger kandra crowded outside, listening.
TenSoon looked up as he stepped onto his platform. The lump-like shadows of the First Generation waited above, each one in his separate alcove, backlit faintly in blue.
KanPaar approached his lectern. TenSoon could see the satisfaction in the way KanPaar slid across the floor. The Second felt that his triumph was complete—what happened to those who ignored the directives of the Second Generation would not soon be forgotten. TenSoon settled back on his haunches, guarded by two kandra with the Blessing of Potency twinkling in each shoulder. They carried large mallets.
“TenSoon of the Third Generation,” KanPaar said loudly. “Are you ready to bear the sentence of your judgment?”
“There will be no judgment,” TenSoon said. His words slurred, coming from the dog’s mouth, but they were clear enough to understand.
“No judgment?” KanPaar asked, amused. “You now seek to back out of what you yourself demanded?”
“I came to give information, not to be judged.”
“I—”
“I’m not speaking to you, KanPaar,” TenSoon said, turning from the Second to look up. “I’m talking to them.”
“They heard your words, Third,” KanPaar snapped. “Control yourself! I will not let you turn this judgment into a circus, as you did before.”
TenSoon smiled. Only a kandra would consider a mild argument to be a ‘circus.’ TenSoon didn’t turn away from the First Generation’s alcoves, howe
ver.
“Now,” KanPaar said. “We—”
“You!” TenSoon bellowed, causing KanPaar to sputter again. “First Generation! How long will you sit in your comfortable home, pretending that the world above doesn’t exist? You think that if you ignore the problems, they won’t affect you? Or, is it that you’ve stopped believing in your own teachings?
“The days of mist have come! The endless ash now falls! The earth shakes and trembles. You can condemn me, but you must not ignore me! The world will soon die! If you want people—in all of their forms—to survive, you must act! You must be ready! For you may soon need to command our people to accept the Resolution!”
The room fell silent. Several of the shadows above shuffled, as if discomfited—though kandra generally didn’t react in such a way. It was too disorderly.
Then a voice—soft, scratchy, and very tired—spoke from above. “Proceed, Kan-Paar.”
The comment was so unexpected that several members of the audience actually gasped. The First Generation never spoke in the presence of lessers. TenSoon wasn’t awed—he’d seen them, and talked with them, before they’d grown too superior to deal with anyone but the Seconds. No, he wasn’t awed. He was just disappointed.
“My faith in you was misplaced,” he said, mostly to himself. “I should not have returned.”
“TenSoon of the Third Generation!” KanPaar said, standing up straight, crystalline True Body sparkling as he pointed. “You have been sentenced to the ritual imprisonment of ChanGaar! You will be beaten to the point of fracture, then bricked into a pit, with only one hole for your daily slop. You will remain there for ten generations! Only after that will you be executed by starvation! Know that your greatest sin was that of rebellion. If you had not strayed from the advice and wisdom of this council, you would never have thought it right to break the First Contract. Because of you, the Trust has been endangered, as has every kandra of every generation!”
The Mistborn Trilogy Page 183
