Mistborn Trilogy

by Sanderson, Brandon

  “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.”

  Tindwyl 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.

  So many, Vin thought. I thought the Church of the Survivor was small. She looked at the man, who stood wringing his cap. She opened her mouth, but then…couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t know what would happen; she couldn’t explain to those eyes that she wasn’t the savior that he needed.

  “Everything will be all right,” Vin heard herself say, increasing her Soothing, trying to take away some of their fear.

  “But the armies, Lady Heir!” one of the women said.

  “They’re trying to intimidate us,” Vin said. “But the king won’t let them. Our walls are strong, as are our soldiers. We can outlast this siege.”

  The crowd was silent.

  “One of those armies is led by Elend’s father, Straff Venture,” Vin said. “Elend and I are going to go meet with Straff tomorrow. We will persuade him to be our ally.”

  “The king is going to surrender!” a voice said. “I heard it. He’s going to trade the city for his life.”

  “No,” Vin said. “He would never do that!!”

  “He won’t fight for us!” a voice called. “He’s not a soldier. He’s a politician!”

  Other voices called out in agreement. Reverence disappeared as people began to yell out concerns, while others began to demand help. The dissidents continued to rail against Elend, yelling that there was no way he could protect them.

  Vin raised her hands to her ears. Trying to ward off the crowd, the chaos. “Stop!” she yelled, Pushing out with steel and brass. Several people stumbled back away from her, and she could see a wave in the crowd as buttons, coins, and buckles suddenly pressed backward.

  The people grew suddenly quiet.

  “I will suffer no ill words spoken of our king!” Vin said, flaring her brass and increasing her Soothing. “He is a good man, and a good leader. He has sacrificed much for you—your freedom comes because of his long hours spent drafting laws, and your livelihoods come because of his work securing trade routes and agreements with merchants.”

  Many members of the crowd looked down. The bearded man at the front continued to twist his cap, however, looking at Vin. “They’re just right frightened, Lady Heir. Right frightened.”

  “We’ll protect you,” Vin said. What am I saying? “Elend and I, we’ll find a way. We stopped the Lord Ruler. We can stop these armies…” She trailed off, feeling foolish.

  Yet, the crowd responded. Some were obviously still unsatisfied, but many seemed calmed. The crowd began to break up, though some of its members came forward, leading or carrying small children. Vin paused nervously. Kelsier had often met with and held the children of the skaa, as if giving them his blessing. She bid the group a hasty farewell and ducked back into the shop, pulling Allrianne after her.

  Tindwyl waited inside, nodding with satisfaction.

  “I lied,” Vin said, pushing the door closed.

  “No you didn’t,” Tindwyl said. “You were optimistic. The truth or fiction of what you said has yet to be proven.”

  “It won’t happen,” Vin said. “Elend can’t defeat three armies, not even with my help.”

  Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. “Then you should leave. Run away, leave the people to deal with the armies themselves.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Vin said.

  “Well, make a decision then,” Tindwyl said. “Either give up on the city or believe in it. Honestly, the pair of you….” She shook her head.

  “I thought you weren’t going to be harsh with me,” Vin noted.

  “I have trouble with that sometimes,” Tindwyl said. “Come, Allrianne. Let’s finish your fitting.”

  They moved to do so. However, at that moment—as if to belie Vin’s assurances of safety—several warning drums began to beat atop the city wall.

  Vin froze, glancing through the window, out over the anxious crowd.

  One of the armies was attacking. Cursing the delay, she rushed into the back of the shop to change out of the bulky dress.

  Elend scrambled up the steps to the city wall, nearly tripping on his dueling cane in his haste. He stumbled out of the stairwell, moving onto the wall top, rearranging the cane at his side with a curse.

  The wall top was in chaos. Men scrambled about, calling to each other. Some had forgotten their armor, others their bows. So
many tried to get up after Elend that the stairwell got clogged, and he watched hopelessly as men crowded around the openings below, creating an even larger jam of bodies in the courtyard.

  Elend spun, watching a large group of Straff’s men—thousands of them—rush toward the wall. Elend stood near Tin Gate, at the north of the city, nearest Straff’s army. He could see a separate group of soldiers rushing toward Pewter Gate, a little to the east.

  “Archers!” Elend yelled. “Men, where are your bows?”

  His voice, however, was lost in the shouting. Captains moved about, trying to organize the men, but apparently too many footmen had come to the wall, leaving a lot of the archers trapped in the courtyard below.

  Why? Elend thought desperately, turning back toward the charging army. Why is he attacking? We had an a agreement to meet!

  Had he, perhaps, gotten wind of Elend’s plan to play both sides of the conflict? Perhaps there really was a spy in the inner crew.

  Either way, Elend could only watch hopelessly as the army approached his wall. One captain managed to get off a pathetic volley of arrows, but it didn’t do much good. As the army approached, arrows began to zip up toward the wall, mixed with flying coins. Straff had Allomancers in the group.

  Elend cursed, ducking down below a merlon as coins bounced against the stonework. A few soldiers fell. Elend’s soldiers. Killed because he’d been too proud to surrender the city.

  He peeked carefully over the wall. A group of men carrying a battering ram were approaching, their bodies carefully protected by men with shields. The care probably meant that the rammers were Thugs, a suspicion confirmed by the sound the ram made when it smashed into the gate. That was not the blow of ordinary men.

  Hooks followed next. Shot up toward the wall by Coinshots below, falling far more accurately than if they’d been thrown. Soldiers moved to pull them off, but coins shot up, taking the men almost as quickly as they made the attempt. The gate continued to thump beneath him, and he doubted it would last for long.

  And so we fall, Elend thought. With barely a hint of resistance.

  And there was nothing he could do. He felt impotent, forced to keep ducking down lest his white uniform make him a target. All of his politicking, all of his preparations, all of his dreams and his plans. Gone.