Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [781]
“Sometimes, I don’t understand either,” Elend said. “I can’t ever come up with any logical reason why she would want to be with me. I just . . . have to trust her judgment.”
“Either way, you did well.”
Elend raised an eyebrow. “I seem to remember that you once tried to talk me out of spending time with her.”
Telden flushed. “You have to admit, she was acting very suspiciously when she came to those parties.”
“Yes,” Elend said. “She seemed too much like a real person to be a noblewoman.” He looked over at Telden, smiling. “However, if you’ll excuse me, I have something I need to do.”
“Of course, El,” Telden said, bowing slightly as Elend withdrew. The move felt a little odd coming from Telden. They didn’t really know each other anymore. However, they did have memories of friendship.
I didn’t tell him that I killed Jastes, Elend thought as he made his way through the room, its members parting easily for him. I wonder if he knows.
Elend’s enhanced hearing picked out a general rise in excitement among the whispered conversations as people realized what he was doing. He’d given Yomen time enough to deal with his surprise; it was time to confront the man. Though part of Elend’s purpose in visiting the ball was to intimidate the local nobility, the main reason was still to speak with their king.
Yomen watched Elend approach the high table—and, to his credit, the obligator did not look frightened at the prospect of a meeting. His meal still remained uneaten, however. Elend didn’t wait for permission to come to the table, but he did pause and wait as Yomen waved for servants to clear space and set Elend a place directly across the high table from him.
Elend sat, trusting in Vin—mixed with his own burning steel and tin—to warn him of attacks from behind. He was the only one on this side of the table, and Yomen’s dining companions all retired as Elend seated himself, leaving the two rulers alone. In another situation, the image might have looked ridiculous: two men seated across from each other with empty table wings extending a great distance to either side. The white tablecloth and crystalline dinnerware were pristine, just as it would have been during the Lord Ruler’s day.
Elend had sold all such finery he owned, struggling to feed his people during the last few winters.
Yomen laced his fingers on the table in front of him—his meal taken away by silent servants—and studied Elend, his cautious eyes framed by intricate tattoos. Yomen wore no crown, but he did wear a single bead of metal tied so that it hung in the center of his forehead.
Atium.
“There is a saying in the Steel Ministry,” Yomen finally said. “ ‘Sit down to dine with evil, and you will ingest it with your meal.’ ”
“It’s a good thing we’re not eating, then,” Elend said, smiling slightly.
Yomen did not smile back.
“Yomen,” Elend said, growing more serious. “I come to you now, not as an emperor seeking for new lands to control, but as a desperate king seeking allies. The world has become a dangerous place—the land itself seems to be fighting us, or at least falling apart beneath us. Accept my hand of friendship, and let us be done with wars.”
Yomen didn’t reply. He just sat, fingers laced, studying Elend.
“You doubt my sincerity,” Elend said. “I can’t say that I blame you, since I marched my army up to your doorstep. Is there a way that I can persuade you? Would you be willing to enter into talks or parley?”
Again, no answer. So, this time, Elend just waited. The room around them felt still.
Yomen finally spoke. “You are a flagrant and garish man, Elend Venture.”
Elend bristled at that. Perhaps it was the ball setting, perhaps it was the way Yomen so flippantly ignored his offer. However, Elend found himself responding to the comment in a way he might have years before, when he hadn’t been a king at war. “It’s a bad habit I’ve always had,” Elend said. “I’m afraid that the years of rule—and of being trained in propriety—haven’t changed one fact: I’m a terribly rude man. Bad breeding