Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [452]
“Occasionally.” OreSeur yawned a deep, tongue-stretching yawn. Was he adopting more canine mannerisms?
Vin turned away from the kandra, looking east, over the slumbering city of Luthadel. There was a fire in the distance, a growing light that was too large to be of man’s touch. Dawn had arrived. Another night had passed, making it nearly a week since she and Elend had visited Straff’s army. Zane had yet to appear.
“You’re burning pewter, aren’t you?” OreSeur asked. “To stay awake?”
Vin nodded. Beneath a light burn of pewter, her fatigue was only a mild annoyance. She could feel it deep within her, if she looked hard, but it had no power over her. Her senses were keen, her body strong. Even the night’s cold wasn’t as bothersome. The moment she extinguished her pewter, however, she’d feel the exhaustion in force.
“That cannot be healthy, Mistress,” OreSeur said. “You sleep barely three or four hours a day. Nobody—Mistborn, man, or kandra—can survive on a schedule like that for long.”
Vin looked down. How could she explain her strange insomnia? She should be over that; she no longer had to be frightened of the other crewmembers around her. And yet, no matter how exhausted she grew, she was finding sleep more and more difficult to claim. How could she sleep, with that quiet thumping in the distance?
It seemed to be getting closer, for some reason. Or simply stronger? I hear the thumping sounds from above, the pulsings from the mountains…. Words from the logbook.
How could she sleep, knowing that the spirit watched her from the mist, ominous and hateful? How could she sleep when armies threatened to slaughter her friends, when Elend’s kingdom had been taken from him, when everything she thought she’d known and loved was getting muddled and obscure?
…when I finally lie down, I find sleep elusive. The same thoughts that trouble me during the day are only compounded by the stillness of night….
OreSeur yawned again. “He’s not coming, Mistress.”
Vin turned, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“This is the last place you sparred with Zane,” OreSeur said. “You’re waiting for him to come.”
Vin paused. “I could use a spar,” she finally said.
Light continued to grow in the east, slowly brightening the mists. The mists persisted, however, reticent to give way before the sun.
“You shouldn’t let that man influence you so, Mistress,” OreSeur said. “I do not think he is the person you believe him to be.”
Vin frowned. “He’s my enemy. What else would I believe?”
“You do not treat him like an enemy, Mistress.”
“Well, he hasn’t attacked Elend,” Vin said. “Maybe Zane isn’t fully under Straff’s control.”
OreSeur sat quietly, head on paws. Then he turned away.
“What?” Vin asked.
“Nothing, Mistress. I will believe as I’m told.”
“Oh, no,” Vin said, turning on the ledge to look at him. “You’re not going back to that excuse. What were you thinking?”
OreSeur sighed. “I was thinking, Mistress, that your fixation with Zane is disconcerting.”
“Fixation?” Vin said. “I’m just keeping an eye on him. I don’t like having another Mistborn—enemy or not—running around in my city. Who knows what he could be up to?”
OreSeur frowned, but said nothing.
“OreSeur,” Vin said, “if you have things to say, speak!”
“I apologize, Mistress,” OreSeur said. “I’m not accustomed to chatting with my masters—especially not candidly.”
“It’s all right. Just speak your mind.”
“Well, Mistress,” OreSeur said, raising his head off his paws, “I do not like this Zane.”
“What do you know of him?”
“Nothing more than you,” OreSeur admitted. “However, most kandra are very good judges of character. When you practice imitation for as long as I have, you learn to see to the hearts of men. I do not like what I have seen of Zane. He seems too pleased with himself. He seems too deliberate in the way he has befriended you. He makes me uncomfortable.”
Vin sat on the ledge, legs parted, hands before her with palms down, resting on