Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [461]
Oh, but Philen had plans. He’d always had those. He had to keep himself from glancing at the audience again.
Philen turned, instead, to study the Assembly. They had all arrived except Venture. Seven noblemen, eight merchants, and eight skaa workers: twenty-four men, with Venture. The three-way division was supposed to give the commoners the most power, since they ostensibly outnumbered the noblemen. Even Venture hadn’t understood that merchants weren’t skaa.
Philen wrinkled his nose. Even though the skaa Assemblymen usually cleaned up before coming to the meetings, he could smell the stink of forges, mills, and shops on them. Men who made things. Philen would have to be certain they were put back in their place, once this was over. An Assembly was an interesting idea, but it should be filled only with those who deserved the station. Men like Philen.
Lord Philen, he thought. Not long now.
Hopefully, Elend would be late. Then, maybe they could avoid his speech. Philen could imagine how it would go anyway.
Um…now, see, this wasn’t fair. I should be king. Here, let me read you a book about why. Now, um, can you all please give some more money to the skaa?
Philen smiled.
The man next to him, Getrue, nudged him. “You think he’s going to show up?” he whispered.
“Probably not. He must know that we don’t want him. We kicked him out, didn’t we?”
Getrue shrugged. He’d gained weight since the Collapse—a lot of it. “I don’t know, Lin. I mean…we didn’t mean. He was just…the armies…We have to have a strong king, right? Someone who will keep the city from falling?”
“Of course,” Philen said. “And my name isn’t Lin.”
Getrue flushed. “Sorry.”
“We did the right thing,” Philen continued. “Venture is a weak man. A fool.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Getrue said. “He has good ideas….” Getrue glanced downward uncomfortably.
Philen snorted, glancing at the clock. It was time, though he couldn’t hear the chimes over the crowd. The Assembly meetings had become busy since Venture’s fall. Benches fanned out before the stage, benches crowded with people, mostly skaa. Philen wasn’t sure why they were allowed to attend. They couldn’t vote or anything.
More Venture foolishness, he thought, shaking his head. At the very back of the room—behind the crowd, opposite the stage—sat two large, broad doors letting in the red sunlight. Philen nodded toward some men, and they pushed the doors shut. The crowds hushed.
Philen stood to address the Assembly. “Well, since—”
The Assembly hall doors burst back open. A man in white stood with a small crowd of people, backlit by red sunlight. Elend Venture. Philen cocked his head, frowning.
The former king strode forward, white cape fluttering behind him. His Mistborn was at his side, as usual, but she was wearing a dress. From the few times Philen had spoken with her, he would have expected her to look awkward in a noblewoman’s gown. And yet, she seemed to wear it well, walking gracefully. She actually looked rather fetching.
At least, until Philen met her eyes. She did not have a warm look for the Assembly members, and Philen glanced away. Venture had brought all of his Allomancers with him—the former thugs of the Survivor’s crew. Elend apparently wanted to remind everyone who his friends were. Powerful men. Frightening men.
Men who killed gods.
And Elend had not one, but two Terrismen with him. One was only a woman—Philen had never seen a Terriswoman before—but still, it was impressive. Everyone had heard how the stewards had left their masters after the Collapse; they refused to work as servants anymore. Where had Venture found not one, but two of the colorful-robed stewards to serve him?
The crowd sat quietly, watching Venture. Some seemed uncomfortable. How were they