Elend acceded with a shrug. He walked around the changing screen, pushed aside a stack of books to make room, then began to change. The white trousers fit snugly and fell straight around the calves. While there was a shirt, it was completely obscured by the large, stiff jacket—which had military shoulder fittings. It had an array of buttons—all of which, he noticed, were wood instead of metal—as well as a strange shieldlike design over the right breast. It seemed to have some sort of arrow, or perhaps spear, emblazoned in it.
Stiffness, cut, and design considered, Elend was surprised how well the uniform fit. “It’s sized quite well,” he noted, putting on the belt, then pulling down the bottom of the jacket, which came all the way to his hips.
“We got your measurements from your tailor,” Tindwyl said.
Elend stepped around the changing screen, and several assistants approached. One politely motioned for him to step into a pair of shiny black boots, and the other attached a white cape to fastenings at his shoulders. The final assistant handed him a polished hardwood dueling cane and sheath. Elend hooked it onto the belt, then pulled it through a slit in the jacket so it hung outside; that much, at least, he had done before.
“Good,” Tindwyl said, looking him up and down. “Once you learn to stand up straight, that will be a decent improvement. Now, sit.”
Elend opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. He sat down, and an assistant approached to attach a sheet around his shoulders. She then pulled out a pair of shears.
“Now, wait,” Elend said. “I see where this is going.”
“Then voice an objection,” Tindwyl said. “Don’t be vague!”
“All right, then,” Elend said. “I like my hair.”
“Short hair is easier to care for than long hair,” Tindwyl said. “And you have proven that you cannot be trusted in the area of personal grooming.”
“You aren’t cutting my hair,” Elend said firmly.
Tindwyl paused, then nodded. The apprentice backed away, and Elend stood, pulling off the sheet. The seamstress produced a large mirror, and Elend walked forward to inspect himself.
And froze.
The difference was surprising. All his life, he’d seen himself as a scholar and socialite, but also as just a bit of a fool. He was Elend—the friendly, comfortable man with the funny ideas. Easy to dismiss, perhaps, but difficult to hate.
The man he saw now was no dandy of the court. He was a serious man—a formal man. A man to be taken seriously. The uniform made him want to stand up straighter, to rest one hand on the dueling cane. His hair—slightly curled, long on the top and sides, and blown loose by the wind atop the city wall—didn’t fit.
Elend turned. “All right,” he said. “Cut it.”
Tindwyl smiled, then nodded for him to sit. He did so, waiting quietly while the assistant worked. When he stood again, his head matched the suit. It wasn’t extremely short, not like Ham’s hair, but it was neat and precise. One of the assistants approached and handed him a loop of silver-painted wood. He turned to Tindwyl, frowning.
“A crown?” he asked.
“Nothing ostentatious,” Tindwyl said. “This is a more subtle era than some of those gone by. The crown isn’t a symbol of your wealth, but of your authority. You will wear it from now on, whether you are in private or in public.”
“The Lord Ruler didn’t wear a crown.”
“The Lord Ruler didn’t need to remind people that he was in charge,” Tindwyl said.
Elend paused, then slipped on the crown. It bore no gemstones or ornamentation; it was just a simple coronet. As he might have expected, it fit perfectly.
He turned back toward Tindwyl, who waved for the seamstress to pack up and leave. “You have six uniforms like this one waiting for you in your rooms,” Tindwyl said. “Until this siege is over, you will wear nothing else. If you want variety, change the color of the cape.”
Elend nodded. Behind him, the seamstress and her assistants slipped out the door. “Thank you,” he told Tindwyl. “I was hesitant at first, but you are right. This makes a difference.”
“Enough of one to deceive people for now, at least,” Tindwyl said.
“Deceive people?”
“Of course. You didn’t think that this was it, did you?”
“Well …”
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. “A few lessons, and you think you’re through? We’ve barely begun. You are still a fool, Elend Venture—you just don’t look like one anymore. Hopefully, our charade will begin reversing some of the damage you’ve done to your reputation. However, it is going to take a lot more training before I’ll actually trust you to interact with people and not embarrass yourself.”
Elend flushed. “What do you—” He paused. “Tell me what you plan to teach me, then.”
“Well, you need to learn how to walk, for one thing.”
“Something’s wrong with the way I walk?”
“By the forgotten gods, yes!” Tindwyl said, sounding amused, though no smile marred her lips. “And your speech patterns still need work. Beyond that, of course, there is your inability to handle weapons.”
“I’ve had some training,” Elend said. “Ask Vin—I rescued her from the Lord Ruler’s palace the night of the Collapse!”
“I know,” Tindwyl said. “And, from what I’ve heard, it was a miracle you survived. Fortunately, the girl was there to do the actual fighting. You apparently rely on her quite a bit for that sort of thing.”
“She’s Mistborn.”
“That is no excuse for your slovenly lack of skill,” Tindwyl said. “You cannot always rely on your woman to protect you. Not only is it embarrassing, but your people—your soldiers—will expect you to be able to fight with them. I doubt you will ever be the type of leader who can lead a charge against the enemy, but you should at least be able to handle yourself if your position gets attacked.”
“So, you want me to begin sparring with Vin and Ham during their training sessions?”
“Goodness, no! Can’t you imagine how terrible it would be for morale if the men saw you being beaten up in public?” Tindwyl shook her head. “No, we’ll have you trained discreetly by a dueling master. Given a few months, we should have you competent with the cane and the sword. Hopefully, this little siege of yours will last that long before the fighting starts.”
Elend flushed again. “You keep talking down to me. It’s like I’m not even king in your eyes—like you see me as some kind of placeholder.”
Tindwyl didn’t answer, but her eyes glinted with satisfaction. You said it, not I, her expression seemed to say.
Elend flushed more deeply.
“You can, perhaps, learn to be a king, Elend Venture,” Tindwyl said. “Until then, you’ll just have to learn to fake it.”
Elend’s angry response was cut off by a knock at the door. Elend gritted his teeth, turning. “Come in.”
The door swung open. “There’s news,” Captain Demoux said, his youthful face excited as he entered. “I—” He froze.
Elend cocked his head. “Yes?”
“I … uh …” Demoux paused, looked Elend over again before continuing. “Ham sent me, Your Majesty. He says that a messenger from one of the kings has arrived.”