Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [831]
“I’d hardly call being made into a favored slave a fair return for losing one’s manhood,” Elend said, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms.
“There are at least a dozen sources I could quote you on that,” Yomen said with a wave of his hand. “What about Trendalan? He claimed that being made a eunuch had left him free to pursue more potent thoughts of logic and of harmony, since he wasn’t distracted by worldly lusts.”
“He didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Elend said.
“Few of us have choice in our stations,” Yomen replied.
“I prefer people to have that choice,” Elend said. “You’ll notice that I have given the skaa freedom in my lands, and given the nobility a parliamentary council by which they have a hand in ruling the city in which they live.”
“High ideals,” Yomen said, “and I recognize Trendalan’s own words in what you claim to have done. However, even he said that it would be unlikely for such a system to continue in stability for very long.”
Elend smiled. It had been a long time since he’d had such a good argument. Ham never delved deeply into topics—he liked philosophical questions, but not scholarly debates—and Sazed just didn’t like to argue.
I wish I could have met Yomen when I was younger, Elend thought. Back when I had time to simply worry about philosophy. Oh, the discussions we could have had. . . .
Of course, those discussions probably would have ended up with Elend in the hands of the Steel Inquisitors for being a revolutionary. Still, he had to admit that Yomen was no fool. He knew his history and his politics—he just happened to have completely erroneous beliefs. Another day, Elend would have been happy to persuade him of that fact.
Unfortunately, this particular argument was growing increasingly tense for Elend. He couldn’t maintain both Yomen’s attention and that of the crowd. Each time he tried to do something to get the crowd back, Yomen seemed to get suspicious—and each time Elend actually tried to engage the king, the crowd itself grew bored with the philosophical debate.
So it was that Elend was actually relieved when the yells of surprise finally came. Seconds later, a pair of soldiers rushed into the room, carrying a dazed and bloodied young woman in a ball gown.
Lord Ruler, Vin! Elend thought. Was that really necessary?
Elend glanced back at Yomen, and the two shared a look. Then Yomen stood. “Where is the empress Venture!” he demanded.
Time to go, Elend thought, remembering his promise to Vin. However, something occurred to him. I’ll probably never have another chance to get this close to Yomen, Elend thought. And there’s one sure way to prove whether or not he’s an Allomancer.
Try to kill him.
It was bold, perhaps foolish, but he was growing certain he’d never convince Yomen to surrender his city. He’d claimed that he wasn’t Mistborn; it was very important to see if he was lying or not. So, trusting his instincts in this matter, Elend dropped a coin and Pushed himself up onto the stage. Ballgoers began to cry out, their idyllic world shattering as Elend whipped out a pair of glass daggers. Yomen paled and backed away. Two guards who had been pretending to be Yomen’s dinner partners stood up from their seats, pulling staves from beneath the table.
“You liar,” Yomen spat as Elend landed on the dining table. “Thief, butcher, tyrant!”
Elend shrugged, then shot coins at the two guards, easily dropping them both. He jumped for Yomen, grabbing the man around the neck, yanking him backward. Gasps and screams came from the crowd.
Elend squeezed, choking Yomen. No strength flooded the man’s limbs. No Allomantic Pull or Push tried to shake him from Elend’s grasp. The obligator barely even struggled.
Either he’s no Allomancer, Elend thought, or he’s one hell of an actor.
He let Yomen go, pushing the king back toward his dining table. Elend shook his head—that was one mystery that was—
Yomen jumped forward, pulling out a glass knife, slashing. Elend started, ducking backward, but the knife hit, slicing a gash in his forearm. The cut blazed with pain, enhanced