Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [389]
Allomancy wasn’t just about fighting and killing. It was about skill and grace. It was something beautiful.
Zane rotated until he was upright, standing in a gentleman’s posture. Then he dropped to the wall walk, his feet slapping quietly against the stones. He regarded Vin—who still lay on the stones—with a look that lacked contempt.
“You are very skilled,” he said. “And quite powerful.”
He was tall, impressive. Like…Kelsier. “Why did you come to the palace today?” she asked, climbing to her feet.
“To see how they treated you. Tell me, Vin. What is it about Mistborn that makes us—despite our powers—so willing to act as slaves to others?”
“Slaves?” Vin said. “I’m no slave.”
Zane shook his head. “They use you, Vin.”
“Sometimes it’s good to be useful.”
“Those words are spoken of insecurity.”
Vin paused; then she eyed him. “Where did you get that coin, at the end? There were none nearby.”
Zane smiled, then opened his mouth and pulled out a coin. He dropped it to the stones with a pling. Vin opened her eyes wide. Metal inside a person’s body can’t be affected by another Allomancer…. That’s such an easy trick! Why didn’t I think of it?
Why didn’t Kelsier think of it?
Zane shook his head. “We don’t belong with them, Vin. We don’t belong in their world. We belong here, in the mists.”
“I belong with those who love me,” Vin said.
“Love you?” Zane asked quietly. “Tell me. Do they understand you, Vin? Can they understand you? And, can a man love something he doesn’t understand?”
He watched her for a moment. When she didn’t respond, he nodded to her slightly, then Pushed against the coin he had dropped moments before, throwing himself back into the mists.
Vin let him go. His words held more weight than he probably understood. We don’t belong in their world…. He couldn’t know that she’d been pondering her place, wondering whether she was noblewoman, assassin, or something else.
Zane’s words, then, meant something important. He felt himself to be an outsider. A little like herself. It was a weakness in him, certainly. Perhaps she could turn him against Straff—his willingness to spar with her, his willingness to reveal himself, hinted at that much.
She breathed in deeply of the cool, mist air, her heart still beating quickly from the exchange. She felt tired, yet alive, from fighting someone who might actually be better than she was. Standing in the mists atop the wall of an abandoned keep, she decided something.
She had to keep sparring with Zane.
18
If only the Deepness hadn’t come when it did, providing a threat that drove men to desperation both in action and belief.
“Kill him,” God whispered.
Zane hung quietly in the mists, looking through Elend Venture’s open balcony doors. The mists swirled around him, obscuring him from the king’s view.
“You should kill him,” God said again.
In a way, Zane hated Elend, though he had never met the man before today. Elend was everything that Zane should have been. Favored. Privileged. Pampered. He was Zane’s enemy, a block in the road to domination, the thing that was keeping Straff—and therefore Zane—from ruling the Central Dominance.
But he was also Zane’s brother.
Zane let himself drop through the mists, falling silently to the ground outside Keep Venture. He Pulled his anchors up into his hand—three small bars he had been pushing on to hold himself in place. Vin would be returning soon, and he didn’t want to be near the keep when she did. She had a strange ability to know where he was; her senses were far more keen than any Allomancer he had ever known or fought. Of course, she had been trained by the Survivor himself.
I would have liked to have known him, Zane thought as he moved quietly across the courtyard. He was a man who understood the power of being Mistborn. A man who didn’t let others control him.
A man who did what had to be done, no matter how ruthless it seemed. Or so the rumors said.
Zane paused beside the outer keep wall, below a buttress. He stooped,