“Who told you of that day, Bleeder?” Wax demanded. “Who…”
“Ask Harmony,” she said, the trembling growing more violent. “Ask him, Wax! Ask why he sent a kandra to watch over you, all those years ago. Ask him if he knew I would come to love you!”
“No…”
“He moved us, even then!” she whispered. “I refused. I wouldn’t manipulate you into returning to Elendel! You loved it out there. I wouldn’t bring you back, to become his pawn.…”
“Lessie?” Harmony, it was her.
It was her.
“Ask him … Wax,” she said. “Ask him … why … if he knows everything … he’d let you kill me.…” She grew still.
“Lessie?” Wax said. “Lessie!”
She was gone. There in his lap, he stared at her body. It kept its shape. Her shape. He clutched her, and let out a low-pitched howl, from deep within, a raw shout that echoed into the night.
It seemed to drive the mists back.
He still knelt there, holding the body, an hour later when a figure loped out of the mists and approached on four legs. TenSoon the kandra, Guardian of the Ascendant Warrior, approached with a reverent step, wolfhound’s head bowed.
Wax stared out into those shifting mists, holding a corpse, hoping irrationally that his heat would keep it warm.
“Tell me,” Wax said, voice cracking and rough from his shouting. “Tell me, kandra.”
“She was sent to you long ago,” TenSoon said, sitting back on his haunches. “The woman you knew as Lessie was always one of us.”
No …
“Harmony worried about you in the Roughs, lawman,” TenSoon said. “He wanted you to have a bodyguard. Paalm had exhibited a willingness to break prohibitions the rest of us held sacred. He hoped that you two would be good for one another.”
“You didn’t tell me?” Wax spat, his grip tight. Hatred. He didn’t think he had ever felt hatred so intense as he did at that moment.
“I was forbidden,” TenSoon said. “MeLaan didn’t know; I was only informed a few days ago. Harmony foresaw a disaster if you were told whom you hunted.”
“And this isn’t a disaster, kandra?”
TenSoon turned away. They sat there on that empty bridge, electric lights making pockets in the mist, a dead woman in Wax’s lap.
“I killed her,” Wax whispered, squeezing his eyes closed. “I killed her again.”
EPILOGUE
Wax sat alone in a room full of people. They’d done everything to make him comfortable. A warm fire on the hearth, a small lamp on the table beside it, for Steris knew he preferred flame to electricity. Broadsheets lay untouched in a roll beside a cup of tea that had long since grown cold.
They talked and celebrated, led by Lord Harms, who laughed and exclaimed about his minor part in it all. A disaster averted. A new governor—the first ever who was not of noble blood. Even the Lord Mistborn, long ago, had been part nobleman. The Last Emperor had been full-blooded, and the Survivor half nobleman. All great people, everyone agreed, to be lauded.
But Claude Aradel had none of the same lineage. Not a drop of noble blood in him. Those at the party congratulated one another for being so progressive as to speak favorably of one who was common-born.
Wax stared into the fire, fingering at the stubble on his chin. He spoke when it was required of him, but mostly they allowed him his peace. He was wrung out, Steris told them. Fatigued by the terrible things he’d seen. She diverted them from him when she could, telling them—when they inevitably asked—that she and he had decided to delay the wedding so Wax could take a short vacation to recuperate.
Partway through the event, Wayne sauntered over on crutches. He couldn’t heal without storing up more health—and he couldn’t do that while healing from his wound, or it would defeat the purpose. For now, he had to deal with the fragility of the body, just like a normal person.
We’re all so fragile, when you consider it, Wax thought. One little thing goes wrong, and we break.
“Hey, mate,” Wayne said, settling down on the footstool by Wax’s feet. “Wanna hear how I’m a rusting genius?”
“Shoot,” Wax whispered.
Wayne leaned forward, spread his hands before himself dramatically. “I’m gonna get everybody drunk.”
The crowd continued its chatter. Mostly constables. Some political allies of Wax’s. He’d chosen to do business with the more reputable people in the city, so Aradel’s culling of the lords hadn’t hit his house. It was considered an enormous political victory.
“See, I got this plan,” Wayne said, tapping his head. “People in this town, they got issues. The folks what work in the factories think havin’ more time to themselves is gonna fix their woes, but they gotta do something with that time. I’ve got an idea. It’ll fix it all.”