Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [838]
He didn’t dismiss the religion immediately. He forced himself to put it aside, acknowledging to himself that he wasn’t in the right mood for studying. He didn’t feel like he was in the mood for much, actually.
What if Spook really has become Mistborn? he wondered, mind getting drawn back to the previous conversation. It seemed impossible. Yet, a lot of things they thought they’d known about Allomancy—such as the existence of only ten metals—had turned out to be falsehoods taught by the Lord Ruler to hide some powerful secrets.
Perhaps it was possible for an Allomancer to spontaneously manifest new powers. Or, perhaps there was a more mundane reason Spook had managed such a long fall. It could be related to the thing that made Spook’s eyes so sensitive. Drugs, perhaps?
Either way, Sazed’s worry about what was happening kept him from being able to focus on studying the Nelazan religion as he should. He kept getting the feeling that something very important was occurring. And Spook was at the center of it.
Where was that boy?
“I know why you’re so sad,” Spook said.
Beldre turned, shock showing on her face. She didn’t see him at first. He must have been too deep in the misty shadows. It was growing hard for him to tell.
He stepped forward, moving across the plot of land that had once been a garden outside the Citizen’s home. “I figured it out,” Spook said. “At first, I thought that sadness had to do with this garden. It must have been beautiful, once. You would have seen it in its fullness, before your brother ordered all gardens plowed under. You were related to nobility, and probably lived in their society.”
She looked surprised at this.
“Yes, I know,” Spook said. “Your brother is an Allomancer. He’s a Coinshot; I felt his Pushes. That day at Marketpit.”
She remained silent—more beautiful herself than the garden could ever have been—though she did take a step backward as her eyes finally found him in the mists.
“Eventually,” Spook continued, “I decided that I must be wrong. Nobody mourns so much for a simple garden, no matter how lovely. After that, I thought the sadness in your eyes must come from being forbidden to take part in your brother’s councils. He always sends you out, into the garden, when he meets with his most important officials. I know what it’s like to feel useless and excluded among important people.”
He took another step forward. The rough earth lay torn beneath his feet, covered by an inch of ash, the dreary remnants of what had once been fertile ground. To his right stood the lone shrub that Beldre often came to gaze at. He didn’t look toward it; he kept his eyes on her.
“I was wrong,” he said. “Being forbidden your brother’s conferences would lead to frustration, but not such pain. Not such regret. I know that sorrow now. I killed for the first time this afternoon. I helped overthrow empires, then helped build them anew. And I’d never killed a man. Not until today.”
He stopped, then looked into her eyes. “Yes, I know that sorrow. What I’m trying figure out is why you feel it.”
She turned away. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “There are guards watching—”
“No,” Spook said. “Not anymore. Quellion sent too many men into the city—he’s afraid that he’ll suffer a revolution, like happened in Luthadel. Like he himself inspired here when he seized power. He’s right to be afraid, but he was wrong to leave his own palace so poorly guarded.”
“Kill him,” Kelsier whispered. “Quellion is inside; this is the perfect chance. He deserves it, you know he does.”
No, Spook thought. Not today. Not in front of her.
Beldre glanced back at him, her eyes growing hard. “Why have you come? To taunt me?”
“To tell you that I understand,” Spook said.
“How can you say that?” she said. “You don’t understand me—you don’t know me.”
“I think I do,” Spook said. “I saw your eyes today, when you watched those people being marched to