Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [106]
Reen had pointed him out once, when they had first come to Luthadel, a year ago; he had been inspecting the workers at a local forge. Reen had taken Vin, sneaking her in, insisting that she at least see her father once—though she still didn’t understand why. She had memorized the face anyway.
She resisted the urge to shrink down in her chair. There was no way the man would be able to recognize her—he didn’t even know she existed. She forcibly turned her attention away from him, looking up at the windows instead. She couldn’t get that good a look at them, however, because the pillars and overhang restricted her view.
As she sat, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before—a lofty, inset balcony that ran just above the entire far wall. It was like a counterpart to the alcove beneath the windows, except it ran at the top of the wall, between the stained-glass windows and the ceiling. She could see movement upon it, couples and singles strolling along, looking down upon the party below.
Her instincts drew her toward the balcony, from where she could watch the party without being seen herself. It would also give her a wonderful view of the banners and the windows directly above her table, not to mention let her study the stonework without seeming to gawk.
Sazed had told her to stay, but the more she sat, the more she found her eyes drawn toward the hidden balcony. She itched to stand up and move, to stretch her legs and perhaps air them out a bit. The presence of her father—oblivious of her or not—served only as another motivation for her to leave the main floor.
It isn’t like anyone else is asking me to dance, she thought. And I’ve done what Kelsier wanted, I’ve been seen by the nobility.
She paused, then waved for a serving boy.
He approached with alacrity. “Yes, Lady Renoux?”
“How do I get up there?” Vin asked, pointing toward the balcony.
“There are stairs just to the side of the orchestra, my lady,” the boy said. “Climb them to the top landing.”
Vin nodded her thanks. Then, determined, she stood and made her way to the front of the room. No one gave her passing more than a glance, and she walked with more confidence as she crossed the hallway to the stairwell.
The stone corridor twisted upward, curling upon itself, its steps short but steep. Little stained glass windows, no wider than her hand, ran up the outside wall—though they were dark in color, lacking backlight. Vin climbed eagerly, working away her restless energy, but she soon began to puff from the weight of the dress and the difficulty of holding it up so that she didn’t trip. A spark of burned pewter, however, made the climb effortless enough that she didn’t sweat and ruin her makeup.
The climb proved to be worth the effort. The upper balcony was dark—lit only by several small blue-glassed lanterns on the walls—and it gave an amazing view of the stained-glass windows. The area was quiet, and Vin felt practically alone as she approached the iron railing between two pillars, looking down. The stone tiles of the floor below formed a pattern she hadn’t noticed, a kind of freeform curving of gray upon white.
Mists? she wondered idly, leaning against the railing. It, like the lantern bracket behind her, was intricate and detailed—both had been wrought in the form of thick, curving vines. To her sides, the tops of the pillars were carved into stone animals that appeared frozen in the motion of jumping off of the balcony.
“Now, see, here’s the problem with going to refill your cup of wine.”
The sudden voice made Vin jump, and she spun. A young man stood behind her. His suit wasn’t the finest she had seen, nor was his vest as bright as most. Both coat and shirt seemed to fit too loosely, and his hair was just a bit disheveled. He carried a cup of wine, and the outer pocket of his suit coat bulged with the shape of a book that was just a bit too big for its confines.
“The problem is,” the young man said, “you return to find that your favorite spot has been stolen by a pretty girl. Now, a gentleman would move on to another place, leaving