Penrod nodded to Elend, then turned and joined a few of the noblemen who were leaving. Elend stood quietly for a moment.
We have seen a curious phenomenon associated with rebel groups that break off of the Final Empire and attempt to seek autonomy, he thought, recalling a passage from Ytves's book Studies in Revolution. In almost all cases, the Lord Ruler didn't need to send his armies to reconquer the rebels. By the time his agents arrived, the groups had overthrown themselves.
It seems that the rebels found the chaos of transition more difficult to accept than the tyranny they had known before. They joyfully welcomed back authority—even oppressive authority—for it was less painful for them than uncertainty.
Vin and the others joined him on the stage, and he put his arm around her shoulders, standing quietly as he watched people trail from the building. Cett sat surrounded by a small group of Assemblymen, arranging meetings with them.
"Well," Vin said quietly. "We know he's Mistborn."
Elend turned toward her. "You sensed Allomancy from him?"
Vin shook her head. "No."
"Then, how do you know?" Elend asked.
"Well, look at him," Vin said with a wave of her hand. "He acts like he can't walk—that has to be covering up something. What would be more innocent than a cripple? Can you think of a better way to hide the fact that you're a Mistborn?"
"Vin, my dear," Breeze said, "Cett has been crippled since childhood, when a disease rendered his legs useless. He's not Mistborn."
Vin raised an eyebrow. "That has to be one of the best cover stories I've ever heard."
Breeze rolled his eyes, but Elend just smiled.
"What now, Elend?" Ham asked. "We obviously can't deal with things the same way now that Cett has entered the city."
Elend nodded. "We have to plan. Let's. . ." He trailed off as a young man left Cett's group, walking toward Elend. It was the same man who had been sitting next to Cett.
"Cett's son," Breeze whispered. "Gneorndin."
"Lord Venture," Gneorndin said, bowing slightly. He was, perhaps, about Spook's age. "My father wishes to know when you would like to meet with him."
Elend raised an eyebrow. "I have no intention of joining the line of Assemblymen waiting upon Cett's bribes, lad. Tell your father that he and I have nothing to discuss."
"You don't?" Gneorndin asked. "And what about my sister? The one you kidnapped?"
Elend frowned. "You know that isn't true."
"My father would still like to discuss the event," Gneorndin said, shooting a hostile glance at Breeze. "Besides, he thinks that a conversation between you two might be in the city's best interests. You met with Straff in his camp—don't tell me that you aren't willing to do the same for Cett inside your own city?"
Elend paused. Forget your biases, he told himself. You need to talk to this man, if only for the information the meeting might provide.
"All right," Elend said. "I'll meet with him."
"Dinner, in one week?" Gneorndin asked.
Elend nodded curtly.
As the one who found Alendi, however, I became someone important. Foremost among the Worldbringers.
33
VIN LAY ON HER STOMACH, arms folded, head resting on them as she studied a sheet of paper on the floor in front of her. Considering the last few days of chaos, it was surprising to her that she found returning to her studies to be a relief.
A small one, however, for her studies held their own problems. The Deepness has returned, she thought. Even if the mists only kill infrequently, they've begun to turn hostile again. That means the Hero of Ages needs to come again too, doesn't it?
Did she honestly think that might be her? It sounded ridiculous, when she considered it. Yet, she heard the thumping in her head, saw the spirit in the mists. . ..
And what of that night, over a year gone, when she'd confronted the Lord Ruler? That night when somehow, she'd drawn the mists into herself, burning them as if they were metal?
That's not enough, she told herself. One freak event—one I've never been able to replicate—doesn't mean I'm some mythological savior. She didn't even really know most of the prophecies about the Hero. The logbook mentioned that he was supposed to come from humble origins—but that pretty much described every skaa in the Final Empire. He was supposed to have hidden royal bloodlines, but that made every half-breed in the city a candidate. In fact, she'd be willing to bet that most skaa had one or another hidden nobleman progenitor.
She sighed, shaking her head.
"Mistress?" OreSeur asked, turning. He stood on a chair, his forepaws up against the window as he looked out at the city.
"Prophecies, legends, foretellings," Vin said, slapping her hand down on her sheet of notes. "What's the point? Why did the Terris even believe in these things? Shouldn't a religion teach something practical?"
OreSeur settled down on his haunches upon the chair. "What would be more practical than gaining knowledge of the future?"
"If these actually said something useful, I'd agree. But even the logbook acknowledges that the Terris prophecies could be understood many different ways. What good are promises that could be interpreted so liberally?"
"Do not dismiss someone's beliefs because you do not understand them, Mistress."
Vin snorted. "You sound like Sazed. A part of me is tempted to think that all these prophecies and legends were devised by priests who wanted to make a living."
"Only a part of you?" OreSeur asked, sounding amused.
Vin paused, then nodded. "The part that grew up on the streets, the part that always expects a scam." That part didn't want to acknowledge the other things she felt.
The thumpings were getting stronger and stronger.