She’d taken his word on how fresh those bones had been; she’d taken his word on when they had been produced. She’d assumed all along that the switch must have happened that day, when she was with Elend on the city wall—but she’d done so primarily because of what OreSeur had said.
Idiot! she thought. OreSeur—or, TenSoon, as Zane had called him—had led her to suspect everyone but himself. What was wrong with her? She was usually so good at sniffing out traitors, at noticing insincerity. How had she missed spotting her own kandra?
Zane walked forward. Vin waited, on her knees. Weak, she told herself. Look weak. Make him leave you alone. Try to—
“Soothing me will do no good,” Zane said quietly, grabbing her by the front of her shirt, picking her up, then throwing her back down. Mist sprayed beneath her, puffing up in a splash as she slammed to the floor. Vin stifled her cry of pain.
I have to stay quiet. If guards come, he’ll kill them. If Elend comes …
She had to stay quiet, quiet even as Zane kicked her in her wounded side. She grunted, eyes watering.
“You could have saved me,” Zane said, peering down at her. “I was willing to go with you. Now, what is left? Nothing. Nothing, but Straff’s orders.” He punctuated that sentence with a kick.
Stay small, she told herself through the pain. He’ll leave you alone eventually. …
But it had been years since she’d had to bow before anyone. Her days of cringing before Camon and Reen were almost misty shadows, forgotten before the light offered by Elend and Kelsier. As Zane kicked again, Vin found herself growing angry.
He brought his foot back, angling it toward her face, and Vin moved. As his foot arced down, she threw herself backward, Pushing against the window latches to scoot herself through the mists. She flared pewter, throwing herself up to her feet, trailing mist from the floor. It was up past her knees now.
She glared at Zane, who looked back with a dark expression. Vin ducked forward, but Zane moved faster—moved first—stepping between her and the balcony. Not that getting to it would do her any good; with atium, he could chase her down easily.
It was like before, when he’d attacked her with atium. Only this time it was worse. Before, she’d been able to believe—if just a little—that they were still sparring. Still not enemies, even if they weren’t friends. She hadn’t really believed that he wanted to kill her.
She had no such illusions this time. Zane’s eyes were dark, his expression flat—just like that night a few days before, when slaughtering Cett’s men.
Vin was going to die.
She hadn’t felt such fear in a long time. But now she saw it, felt it, smelled it on herself as she shied away from the approaching Zane. She felt what it was like to face a Mistborn—what it must have been like for those soldiers she’d killed. There was no fighting. There was no chance.
No, she told herself forcefully, holding her side. Elend didn’t back down against Straff. He doesn’t have Allomancy, but he marched into the center of the koloss camp.
I can beat this.
With a cry, Vin dashed toward TenSoon. The dog backed away in shock, but he needn’t have worried. Zane was there again. He slammed a shoulder into Vin, then whipped his dagger around and slashed a wound across her cheek as she fell backward. The cut was precise. Perfect. Matching the wound on her other cheek, one given to her during her first fight with a Mistborn, nearly two years before.
Vin gritted her teeth, burning iron as she fell. She Pulled on a pouch on her desk, whipping the coins into her hand. She hit the ground on her side, other hand down, and threw herself back to her feet. She dumped a shower of coins from the pouch into her hand, then raised them at Zane.
Blood dripped from her chin. She threw the coins out. Zane moved to Push them away.
Vin smiled, then burned duralumin as she Pushed. The coins snapped forward, and the wind of their sudden passing parted the mist on the ground, revealing the floor beneath.
The room shook.
And in an eyeblink, Vin found herself slammed back against the wall. She gasped in surprise, breath knocked from her lungs, her vision swimming. She looked up, disoriented, surprised to find herself on the ground again.
“Duralumin,” Zane said, still standing with a hand up before him. “TenSoon told me about it. We deduced you must have a new metal from the way you can sense me when my copper is on. After that, a little searching, and he found that note from your metallurgist, which handily had the instructions for making duralumin.”
Her addled mind struggled to connect ideas. Zane had duralumin. He’d used the metal, and had Pushed against one of the coins she’d shot at him. He must have Pushed behind himself as well, to keep from being forced backward as his weight met hers.
And her own duralumin-enhanced Push had slammed her against the wall. She had trouble thinking. Zane walked forward. She looked up, dazed, then scrambled away on hands and knees, crawling in the mists. It was at face level, and her nostrils tickled as she inhaled the cool, quiet chaos.
Atium. She needed atium. But, the bead was in TenSoon’s shoulder; she couldn’t Pull it to herself. The reason he carried it there was that the flesh protected it from being affected by Allomancers. Just like the spikes piercing an Inquisitor’s body, just like her own earring. Metal inside—or even piercing—a person’s body could not be Pulled or Pushed except with the most extreme of Allomantic forces.
But she’d done it once. When fighting the Lord Ruler. It hadn’t been her own power, or even duralumin, that had let her accomplish it. It had been something else. The mists.
She’d drawn upon them.
Something hit her on her back, pushing her down. She rolled over, kicking upward, but her foot missed Zane’s face by a few atium-aided inches. Zane slapped her foot aside, then reached down, slamming her against the floor by her shoulders.
Mists churned around him as he looked down at her. Through her terror, she reached out for the mists, as she had over a year before when fighting the Lord Ruler. That day, they had fueled her Allomancy, giving her a strength that she shouldn’t have had. She reached out for them, begging for their help.
And nothing happened.
Please. …
Zane slammed her down again. The mists continued to ignore her pleas.
She twisted, Pulling against the window frame to get leverage, and pushed Zane to the side. They rolled, Vin coming around on top.
Suddenly, both of them lurched off the floor, bursting out of the mists and flying toward the ceiling, thrown upward as Zane Pushed against coins on the floor. They slammed against the ceiling, Zane’s body pushing against hers, pinning her to the wooden planks. He was on top again—or, rather, he was on the bottom, but that was now the point of leverage.
Vin gasped. He was so strong. Stronger than she. His fingers bit into the flesh of her arms despite her pewter, and her side ached from her earlier wounds. She was in no condition to fight—not against another Mistborn.
Especially not one with atium.
Zane continued to Push them against the ceiling. Vin’s hair fell toward him, and mists churned the floor below, like a whirlpool vortex that was slowly rising.
Zane released his Push, and they fell. Yet, he was still in control. He spun her, throwing her down below him as they entered the mists again. They hit the ground, the blow knocking the wind from Vin’s lungs yet again. Zane loomed above her, speaking through gritted teeth.