“Because you’re my father,” Zane said. He turned away, looking into the mists. “A man shouldn’t kill his father.”
With that, Zane bid a final farewell to the man who had created him. A man whom Zane—despite his insanity, despite the abuse he’d known over the years—loved.
In the dark mists he threw down a coin and shot out over the camp. Outside its confines, he landed and easily located the bend in the canal he used as a marker. From the hollow of a small tree there, he pulled a bundle of cloth. A mistcloak, the first gift Straff had given him, years before when Zane had first Snapped. To him, it was too precious to wear around, to soil and use.
He knew himself a fool. However, he could not help how he felt. One could not use emotional Allomancy on one’s self.
He unwrapped the mistcloak and withdrew the things it protected—several vials of metal and a pouch filled with beads. Atium.
He knelt there for a long moment. Then, he reached up to his chest, feeling the space just above his rib cages. Where his heart thumped.
There was a large bump there. There always had been. He didn’t think about it often; his mind seemed to get distracted when he did. It, however, was the real reason he never wore cloaks.
He didn’t like the way that cloaks rubbed against the small point of the spike that stuck out of his back just between the shoulder blades. The head was against his sternum, and couldn’t be seen beneath clothing.
“It is time to go,” God said.
Zane stood, leaving the mistcloak behind. He turned from his father’s camp, leaving behind that which he had known, instead seeking the woman who would save him.
Alendi believes as they do.
47
A PART OF VIN WASN’T EVEN bothered by how many people she had killed. That very indifference, however, terrified her.
She sat on her balcony a short time after her visit to the palace, the city of Luthadel lost in darkness before her. She sat in the mists—but knew better, now, than to think she’d find solace in their swirling patterns. Nothing was that simple anymore.
The mist spirit watched her, as always. It was too distant to see, but she could feel it. And, even stronger than the mist spirit, she could feel something else. That powerful thumping, growing louder and louder. It had once seemed distant, but no longer.
The Well of Ascension.
That was what it had to be. She could feel its power returning, flowing back into the world, demanding to be taken up and used. She kept finding herself glancing north, toward Terris, expecting to see something on the horizon. A burst of light, a blazing fire, a tempest of winds. Something. But there was just mist.
It seemed that she couldn’t succeed at anything, lately. Love, protection, duty. I’ve let myself get stretched too thin, she thought.
There were so many things that demanded her attention, and she’d tried to give heed to them all. As a result, she had accomplished nothing. Her research about the Deepness and the Hero of Ages lay untouched for days, still arranged in piles scattered across her floor. She knew next to nothing about the mist spirit—only that it watched her, and that the logbook author had thought it dangerous. She hadn’t dealt with the spy in her crew; she didn’t know if Zane’s claims regarding Demoux were true.
And Cett still lived. She couldn’t even perform a proper massacre without stumbling halfway through. It was Kelsier’s fault. He had trained her to take his place, but could anyone ever really do that?
Why do we always have to be someone else’s knives? Zane’s voice whispered in her head.
His words had seemed to make sense sometimes, but they had a flaw. Elend. Vin wasn’t his knife—not really. He didn’t want her to assassinate or kill. But, his ideals had left him without a throne, and had left his city surrounded by enemies. If she really loved Elend—if she really loved the people of Luthadel—wouldn’t she have done more?
The pulsings thumped against her, like the beats of a drum the size of the sun. She burned bronze almost constantly now, listening to the rhythm, letting it pull her away. …
“Mistress?” OreSeur asked from behind. “What are you thinking about?”
“The end,” Vin said quietly, staring outward.
Silence.
“The end of what, Mistress?”
“I don’t know.”
OreSeur padded over to the balcony, walking into the mists and sitting down beside her. She was getting to know him well enough that she could see concern in his canine eyes.
She sighed, shaking her head. “I just have decisions to make. And, no matter which choice I make, it will mean an end.”
OreSeur sat for a moment, head cocked. “Mistress,” he finally said, “that seems excessively dramatic to me.”
Vin shrugged. “No advice for me, then?”
“Just make the decision,” OreSeur said.
Vin sat for a moment, then smiled. “Sazed would have said something wise and comforting.”
OreSeur frowned. “I fail to see why he should be part of this conversation, Mistress.”
“He was my steward,” Vin said. “Before he left, and before Kelsier switched your Contract to me.”
“Ah,” OreSeur said. “Well, I never did much like Terrismen, Mistress. Their self-important sense of subservience is very difficult to imitate—not to mention the fact that their muscles are far too stringy to taste good.”
Vin raised an eyebrow. “You’ve imitated Terrismen? I didn’t think there would be much cause for that—they weren’t a very influential people during the days of the Lord Ruler.”
“Ah,” OreSeur said. “But they were always around influential people.”
Vin nodded, standing. She walked back into her empty room and lit a lamp, extinguishing her tin. Mist carpeted the room, flowing over her stacks of paper, her feet throwing up puffs as she walked toward the bedroom.
She paused. That was a bit strange. Mist rarely remained long when it came indoors. Elend said it had to do with heat and enclosed spaces. Vin had always ascribed to it something more mystical. She frowned, watching it.
Even without tin, she heard the creak.
Vin spun. Zane stood on the balcony, his figure a black silhouette in the mists. He stepped forward, the mist following around him, as it did around anyone burning metals. And yet … it also seemed to be pushing away from him slightly.
OreSeur growled quietly.
“It’s time,” Zane said.
“Time for what?” Vin asked, setting the lamp down.
“To go,” Zane said. “To leave these men and their armies. To leave the squabbling. To be free.”
Free.
“I … don’t know, Zane,” Vin said, looking away.
She heard him step forward. “What do you owe him, Vin? He doesn’t know you. He fears you. The truth is, he was never worthy of you.”
“No,” Vin said, shaking her head. “That’s not it at all, Zane. You don’t understand. I was never worthy of him. Elend deserves someone better. He deserves … someone who shares his ideals. Someone who thinks he was right to give up his throne. Someone who sees more honor—and less foolishness—in that.”
“Either way,” Zane said, stopping a short distance from her. “He cannot understand you. Us.”