“If you will excuse the observation, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said, “you do not fool me as easily as you believe you do.”
Breeze raised an eyebrow.
“I know you are a good man,” Sazed said. “You work very hard to hide it. You make a great show of being callous and selfish. Yet, to those watching what you do and not just what you say, you become far more transparent.”
Breeze frowned, and Sazed got a little stab of pleasure at surprising the Soother. He obviously hadn’t expected Sazed to be so blunt.
“My dear man,” Breeze said, sipping his wine, “I’m disappointed in you. Weren’t you just speaking about being polite? Well, it’s not at all polite to point out a crusty old pessimist’s dark inner secret.”
“Dark inner secret?” Sazed asked. “That you’re kind-hearted?”
“It’s an attribute in myself that I’ve worked very hard to discourage,” Breeze said lightly. “Unfortunately, I prove too weak. Now, to completely divert us from this subject—which I find far too discomforting—I shall return to your earlier question. You ask if we are doing the right thing? Right thing how? By forcing King Lekal to become a vassal to Elend?”
Sazed nodded.
“Well then,” Breeze said, “I’d have to say that yes, we did the right thing. Our treaty will give Lekal the protection of Elend’s armies.”
“At the cost of his own freedom to govern.”
“Bah,” Breeze said with a wave of his hand. “We both know that Elend is a far better ruler than Lekal could ever hope to be. Most of his people are living in half-finished shacks, for the Lord Ruler’s sake!”
“Yes, but you must admit that we bullied him.”
Breeze frowned. “That’s how all politics is. Sazed, this man’s nephew sent an army of koloss to destroy Luthadel! He’s lucky Elend didn’t just come down and wipe out the entire city in retribution. We have bigger armies, more resources, and better Allomancers. This people will be far better off once Lekal signs that treaty. What is wrong with you, my dear man? You argued all these same points not two days ago at the negotiating table.”
“I apologize, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said. “I … seem to find myself feeling contrary of late.”
Breeze didn’t respond at first. “It still hurts, does it?” he asked.
That man is far too good at understanding the emotions of others, Sazed thought. “Yes,” he finally whispered.
“It will stop,” Breeze said. “Eventually.”
Will it? Sazed thought, looking away. It had been a year. It still felt … as if nothing would ever be right again. Sometimes, he wondered if his immersion in the religions was simply a way of hiding from his pain.
If that were so, then he’d chosen a poor way to cope, for the pain was always there waiting for him. He had failed. No, his faith had failed him. Nothing was left to him.
It was all. Just. Gone.
“Look,” Breeze said, drawing his attention, “sitting here and waiting for Lekal to make up his mind is obviously making us anxious. Why don’t we talk about something else? How about telling me about one of those religions you have memorized. You haven’t tried to convert me in months!”
“I stopped wearing my copperminds nearly a year ago, Breeze.”
“But surely you remember a bit,” Breeze said. “Why don’t you try to convert me? You know, for old times’ sake and all that.”
“I don’t think so, Breeze.”
It felt like a betrayal. As a Keeper—a Terris Feruchemist—he could store memories inside of pieces of copper, then withdraw them later. During the time of the Final Empire, Sazed’s kind had suffered much to gather their vast stores of information—and not just about religions. They had gathered every shred of information they could find about the time before the Lord Ruler. They’d memorized it, passed it on to others, depending on their Feruchemy to maintain accuracy.
Yet they’d never found the one thing they sought most urgently, the thing that had begun their quest: the religion of the Terris people. It had been erased by the Lord Ruler during the first century of his reign.
Still, so many had died, worked, and bled so that Sazed could have the vast storages he’d inherited. And he had taken them off. After retrieving his notes about each religion, writing them down on the pages he now carried in his portfolio, he’d removed each and every one of his metalminds and stored them away.
They just … didn’t seem to matter anymore. At times, nothing did. He tried not to dwell too much on that. But the thought lurked in his mind, terrible and impossible to banish. He felt tainted, unworthy. As far as Sazed knew, he was the last living Feruchemist. They didn’t have the resources to search right now, but in a year’s time, no Keeper refugees had made their way to Elend’s domain. Sazed was it. And, like all Terris stewards, he’d been castrated as a child. The hereditary power of Feruchemy might very well die with him. There would be some small trace of it left in the Terris people, but given the Lord Ruler’s efforts to breed it away and the deaths of the Synod … things did not look good.
The metalminds remained packed away, carried along wherever he went, but never used. He doubted he would ever draw upon them again.
“Well?” Breeze asked, rising and walking over to lean against the window beside Sazed. “Aren’t you going to tell me about a religion? Which is it going to be? That religion where people made maps, maybe? The one that worshipped plants? Surely you’ve got one in there that worships wine. That might fit me.”
“Please, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said, looking out over the city. Ash was falling. It always did these days. “I do not wish to speak of these things.”
“What?” Breeze asked. “How can that be?”
“If there were a God, Breeze,” Sazed said, “do you think he’d have let so many people be killed by the Lord Ruler? Do you think he’d have let the world become what it is now? I will not teach you—or anyone—a religion that cannot answer my questions. Never again.”
Breeze fell silent.
Sazed reached down, touching his stomach. Breeze’s comments pained him. They brought his mind back to that terrible time a year before, when Tindwyl had been killed. When Sazed had fought Marsh at the Well of Ascension, and had nearly been killed himself. Even through his clothing, he could feel the scars on his abdomen, where Marsh had hit him with a collection of metal rings, piercing Sazed’s skin and nearly killing him.
He’d drawn upon the Feruchemical power of those very rings to save his life, healing his body, engulfing them within him. Soon after, however, he’d stored up some health and then had a surgeon remove the rings from his body. Despite Vin’s protests that having them inside him would be an advantage, Sazed was worried that it was unhealthy to keep them embedded in his own flesh. Besides, he had just wanted them gone.
Breeze turned to look out the window. “You were always the best of us, Sazed,” he said quietly. “Because you believed in something.”
“I am sorry, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said. “I do not mean to disappoint you.”
“Oh, you don’t disappoint me,” Breeze said. “Because I don’t believe what you’ve said. You’re not meant to be an atheist, Sazed. I have a feeling you’ll be no good at it—doesn’t suit you at all. You’ll come around eventually.”