Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [221]
Straff’s expression darkened. He stood, walking over to the desk. “Oh, Elend,” he said. “When are you going to get over this childish temperament you have? Do you think I don’t realize that you act foolishly simply to spite me?”
“Actually, I got over my ‘childish temperament’ some time ago, Father—it just seems that my natural inclinations work even better to annoy you. I wish I had known that earlier; I could have saved a great deal of effort in my younger years.”
His father snorted, then held up a letter. “I dictated this to Staxles a short time ago. It is an acceptance of a lunch appointment with Lord Tegas tomorrow afternoon. If a house war does come, I want to make certain we are in a position to destroy the Hastings as quickly as possible, and Tegas could be a strong ally. He has a daughter. I’d like you to dine with her at the luncheon.”
“I’ll consider it,” Elend said, tapping his head. “I’m not sure what kind of state I’ll be in tomorrow morning. Too much brandy, remember?”
“You’ll be there, Elend. This is not a request.”
Elend paused. A part of him wanted to snap back at his father, to make a stand—not because he cared about where he dined, but because of something far more important.
Hasting is the second-most-powerful house in the city. If we made an allegiance with them, together we could keep Luthadel from chaos. We could stop the house war, not enflame it.
That’s what his books had done to him—they had changed him from rebellious fop into would-be philosopher. Unfortunately, he’d been a fool for so long. Was it any wonder that Straff hadn’t noticed the change in his son? Elend himself was only starting to realize it.
Straff continued to glare at him, and Elend looked away. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
Straff waved his hand dismissively, turning.
Trying to salvage something of his pride, Elend continued. “You probably don’t even have to worry about the Hastings—it seems that they’re making preparations to bolt the city.”
“What?” Straff asked. “Where did you hear that?”
“At the ball,” Elend said lightly.
“I thought you said you didn’t learn anything important.”
“Now, see, I never said anything of the sort. I just didn’t feel like sharing with you.”
Lord Venture frowned. “I don’t know why I even care—anything you learn is bound to be worthless. I tried to train you in politics, boy. I really did. But now…well, I hope I live to see you dead, because this house is in for dire times if you ever take control.”
“I know more than you think, Father.”
Straff laughed, walking back to sit in his chair. “I doubt that, boy. Why, you can’t even bed a woman properly—the last, and only, time I know about you trying it, I had to take you to the brothel myself.”
Elend flushed. Careful, he told himself. He’s bringing that up on purpose. He knows how much it bothers you.
“Get to bed, boy,” Straff said with a wave of his hand. “You look terrible.”
Elend stood for a moment, then finally ducked out into the hallway, sighing quietly to himself.
That’s the difference between you and them, Elend, he thought. Those philosophers you read—they were revolutionaries. They were willing to risk execution. You can’t even stand up to your father.
He walked tiredly up to his rooms—where, oddly, he found a servant waiting for him.
Elend frowned. “Yes?”
“Lord Elend, you have a guest,” the man said.
“At this hour?”
“It’s Lord Jastes Lekal, my lord.”
Elend cocked his head slightly. What in the Lord Ruler’s name…? “He’s waiting in the sitting room, I assume?”
“Yes, my lord,” the servant said.
Elend turned regretfully away from his chambers, walking back down the hallway. He found Jastes waiting impatiently.
“Jastes?” Elend said tiredly, walking into the sitting room. “I hope you have something very important to tell me.”
Jastes shuffled uncomfortably for a moment, looking even more nervous than normal.
“What?” Elend demanded, his patience waning.
“It’s about the girl.”
“Valette?” Elend asked. “You came here to discuss Valette? Now?”
“You should trust your friends more,” Jastes said.
Elend snorted.