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.
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.
40
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 quietly 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."