Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [462]
He’s not king anymore! Philen reminded himself again.
Venture strode up onto the Assembly stage. He turned, waving for his people—all eight of them—to sit with the guards. Venture then turned and glanced at Philen. “Philen, did you want to say something?”
Philen realized he was still standing. “I…was just—”
“Are you Assembly chancellor?” Elend asked.
Philen paused. “Chancellor?”
“The king presides at Assembly meetings,” Elend said. “We now have no king—and so, by law, the Assembly should have elected a chancellor to call speakers, adjudicate time allotments, and break tie votes.” He paused, eyeing Philen. “Someone needs to lead. Otherwise there is chaos.”
Despite himself, Philen grew nervous. Did Venture know that Philen had organized the vote against him? No, no he didn’t, he couldn’t. He was looking at each of the Assembly members in turn, meeting their eyes. There was none of the jovial, dismissible boy that had attended these meetings before. Standing in the militaristic suit, firm instead of hesitant…he almost seemed like a different person.
You found a coach, it appears, Philen thought. A little too late. Just wait….
Philen sat down. “Actually, we didn’t get a chance to choose a chancellor,” he said. “We were just getting to that.”
Elend nodded, a dozen different instructions rattling in his head. Keep eye contact. Use subtle, but firm, expressions. Never appear hurried, but don’t seem hesitant. Sit down without wiggling, don’t shuffle, use a straight posture, don’t form your hands into fists when you’re nervous….
He shot a quick glance at Tindwyl. She gave him a nod.
Get back to it, El, he told himself. Let them sense the differences in you.
He walked over to take his seat, nodding to the other seven noblemen on the Assembly. “Very well,” he said, taking the lead. “Then, might I nominate a chancellor?”
“Yourself?” asked Dridel, one of the noblemen; his sneer seemed permanent, as far as Elend could tell. It was a passably appropriate expression for one with such a sharp face and dark hair.
“No,” Elend said. “I’m hardly an unbiased party in today’s proceedings. Therefore, I nominate Lord Penrod. He’s as honorable a man as we’re likely to find, and I believe he can be trusted to mediate our discussions.”
The group was quiet for a moment.
“That seems logical,” Hettel, a forge worker, finally said.
“All in favor?” Elend said, raising his hand. He got a good eighteen hands—all of the skaa, most of the nobility, only one of the merchants. It was a majority, however.
Elend turned to Lord Penrod. “I believe that means that you are in charge, Ferson.”
The stately man nodded appreciatively, then rose to formally open the meeting, something Elend had once done. Penrod’s mannerisms were polished, his posture strong as he stood in his well-cut suit. Elend couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, watching Penrod act so naturally in the things that Elend was struggling to learn.
Maybe he would make a better king than I, Elend thought. Perhaps…
No, he thought firmly. I have to be confident. Penrod is a decent man and an impeccable noble, but those things do not make a leader. He hasn’t read what I’ve read, and doesn’t understand legislative theory as I do. He’s a good man, but he’s still a product of his society—he doesn’t consider skaa animals, but he’ll never be able to think of them as equals.
Penrod finished the introductions, then turned to Elend. “Lord Venture, you called this meeting. I believe that the law grants you first opportunity to address the Assembly.”
Elend nodded thankfully, rising.
“Will twenty minutes be enough time?” Penrod asked.
“It should be,” Elend said, passing Penrod as they traded places. Elend stood up at the lectern. To his right, the floor of the hall was packed with shuffling, coughing, whispering people.