Breeze shook his head appreciatively. “Not only did Elend not have to nominate himself—which would have made him look desperate—but now everyone on the Assembly thinks that the man they respect, the man they would probably choose as king, would rather have Elend hold the title. Brilliant.”
Penrod sat, and the room remained quiet. Vin suspected that he also had made the nomination so that he wouldn’t go uncontested to the throne. The entire Assembly probably thought that Elend deserved a chance to reclaim his place; Penrod was just the one who was honorable enough to voice the feeling.
But, what about the merchants? Vin thought. They’ve got to have their own plan. Elend thought that it was probably Philen who had organized the vote against him. They’d want to put one of their own on the throne, one who could open the city gates to whichever of the kings was manipulating them—or whichever one paid the best.
She studied the group of eight men, in their suits that seemed—somehow—even more fine than those of the noblemen. They all seemed to be waiting on the whims of a single man. What was Philen planning?
One of the merchants moved as if to stand, but Philen shot him a harsh glance. The merchant did not rise. Philen sat quietly, a nobleman’s dueling cane across his lap. Finally, when most of the room had noticed the merchant’s focus on him, he slowly rose to his feet.
“I have a nomination of my own,” he said.
There was a snort from the skaa section. “Now who’s being melodramatic, Philen?” one of the Assemblymen there said. “Just go ahead and do it—nominate yourself.”
Philen raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I’m not going to nominate myself.”
Vin frowned, and she saw confusion in Elend’s eyes.
“Though I appreciate the sentiment,” Philen continued, “I am but a simple merchant. No, I think that the title of king should go to someone whose skills are a little more specialized. Tell me, Lord Venture, must our nominations be for people on the Assembly?”
“No,” Elend said. “The king doesn’t have to be an Assemblyman—I accepted this position after the fact. The king’s primary duty is that of creating, then enforcing, the law. The Assembly is only an advisory council with some measure of counterbalancing power. The king himself can be anyone—actually, the title was intended to be hereditary. I didn’t expect … certain clauses to be invoked quite so quickly.”
“Ah, yes,” Philen said. “Well, then. I think the title should go to someone who has a little practice with it. Someone who has shown skill with leadership. Therefore, I nominate Lord Ashweather Cett to be our king!”
What? Vin thought with shock as Philen turned, gesturing toward the audience. A man sitting there removed his skaa cloak, pulling down the hood, revealing a suit and a face with a bristling beard.
“Oh dear …” Breeze said.
“It’s actually him?” Vin asked incredulously as the whispers began in the audience.
Breeze nodded. “Oh, that’s him. Lord Cett himself.” He paused, then eyed her. “I think we might be in trouble.”
I had never received much attention from my brethren; they thought that my work and my interests were unsuitable to a Worldbringer. The couldn’t see how my work, studying nature instead of religion, benefited the people of the fourteen lands.
32
VIN SAT QUIETLY, TENSELY, SCANNING the crowd. Cett wouldn’t have come alone, she thought.
And then she saw them, now that she knew what she was looking for. Soldiers in the crowd, dressed like skaa, forming a small protective buffer around Cett’s seat. The king did not rise, though a young man at his side did.
Maybe thirty guards, Vin thought. He may not be foolish enough to come alone … but entering the very city you’re besieging? It was a bold move—one that bordered on stupidity. Of course, many had said the same about Elend’s visit to Straff’s army.
But Cett wasn’t in the same position as Elend. He wasn’t desperate, wasn’t in danger of losing everything. Except … he had a smaller army than Straff, and the koloss were coming. And if Straff did secure the supposed atium supply, Cett’s days as leader in the West would certainly be numbered. Coming into Luthadel might not have been an act of desperation, but it also wasn’t the act of a man who held the upper hand. Cett was gambling.
And he seemed to be enjoying it.
Cett smiled as the room waited in silence, Assemblymen and audience alike too shocked to speak. Finally, Cett waved to a few of his disguised soldiers, and the men picked up Cett’s chair and carried it to the stage. Assemblymen whispered and commented, turning to aides or companions, seeking confirmation of Cett’s identity. Most of the noblemen sat quietly—which should have been enough of a confirmation, in Vin’s mind.
“He’s not what I expected,” Vin whispered to Breeze as the soldiers climbed up on the dais.
“Nobody told you he was crippled?” Breeze asked.
“Not just that,” Vin said. “He’s not wearing a suit.” He had on a pair of trousers and a shirt, but instead of a nobleman’s suit coat, he was wearing a worn black jacket. “Plus, that beard. He couldn’t have grown a beast like that in one year—he must have had it before the Collapse.”
“You only knew noblemen in Luthadel, Vin,” Ham said. “The Final Empire was a big place, with a lot of different societies. Not everybody dresses like they do here.”
Breeze nodded. “Cett was the most powerful nobleman in his area, so he needn’t worry about tradition and propriety. He did what he wished, and the local nobility pandered. There were a hundred different courts with a hundred different little ‘Lord Rulers’ in the empire, each region having its own political dynamic.”
Vin turned back to the stage front. Cett sat in his chair, having yet to speak. Finally, Lord Penrod stood. “This is most unexpected, Lord Cett.”
“Good!” Cett said. “That was, after all, the point!”
“Do you wish to address the Assembly?”
“I thought I already was.”
Penrod cleared his throat, and Vin’s tin-enhanced ears heard a disparaging mutter from the noblemen’s section regarding “Western noblemen.”
“You have ten minutes, Lord Cett,” Penrod said, sitting.
“Good,” Cett said. “Because—unlike the boy over there—I intend to tell you exactly why you should make me king.”
“And that is?” one of the merchant Assemblymen asked.
“Because I’ve got an army on your damn doorstep!” Cett said with a laugh.
The Assembly looked taken aback.
“A threat, Cett?” Elend asked calmly.
“No, Venture,” Cett replied. “Just honesty—something you Central noblemen seem to avoid at all cost. A threat is only a promise turned around. What was it you told these people? That your mistress had her knife at Straff’s throat? So, were you implying that if you weren’t elected, you’d have your Mistborn withdraw, and let the city be destroyed?”
Elend flushed. “Of course not.”
“Of course not,” Cett repeated. He had a loud voice—unapologetic, forceful. “Well, I don’t pretend, and I don’t hide. My army is here, and my intention is to take this city. However, I’d much rather that you just give it to me.”