Mistborn: The Final Empire (Mistborn, #1)

“I already have.”


“Good,” Marsh said. “That’s the second time you’ve altered my emotions. Never do it again.”

Vin nodded. “Second time?”

“The first was in my shop, eight months ago.”

That’s right. Why don’t I remember him? “I’m sorry.”

Marsh shook his head, finally turning away. “You’re Mistborn—that’s what you do. He does the same thing.” He was looking down at Kelsier.

They sat quietly for a few moments.

“Marsh?” Vin asked. “How did you know I was Mistborn? I only knew how to Soothe back then.”

Marsh shook his head. “You knew the other metals instinctively. You were burning pewter and tin that day—just a tiny bit, barely noticeable. You probably got the metals from water and dining utensils. Did you ever wonder why you survived when so many others died?”

Vin paused. I did live through a lot of beatings. A lot of days with no food, nights spent in alleys during rain or ashfalls . . .

Marsh nodded. “Very few people, even Mistborn, are so attuned to Allomancy that they burn metals instinctively. That’s what interested me in you—that’s why I kept track of you and told Dockson where to find you. And, are you Pushing my emotions again?”

Vin shook her head. “I promise.”

Marsh frowned, studying her with one of his stony gazes.

“So stern,” Vin said quietly. “Like my brother.”

“Were you close?”

“I hated him,” Vin whispered.

Marsh paused, then turned away. “I see.”

“Do you hate Kelsier?”

Marsh shook his head. “No, I don’t hate him. He’s frivolous and self-important, but he’s my brother.”

“And that’s enough?” Vin asked.

Marsh nodded.

“I . . . have trouble understanding that,” Vin said honestly, looking out over the field of skaa, boxes, and sacks.

“Your brother didn’t treat you well, I presume?”

Vin shook her head.

“What about your parents?” Marsh said. “One was a nobleman. The other?”

“Mad,” Vin said. “She heard voices. It got so bad that my brother was afraid to leave us alone with her. But, of course, he didn’t have a choice. . . .”

Marsh sat quietly, not speaking. How did this get turned back to me? Vin thought. He’s no Soother, yet he’s getting as much out of me as I’m getting out of him.

Still, it was good to speak it finally. She reached up, idly fingering her earring. “I don’t remember it,” she said, “but Reen said that he came home one day and found my mother covered in blood. She’d killed my baby sister. Messily. Me, however, she hadn’t touched—except to give me an earring. Reen said . . . He said she was holding me on her lap, babbling and proclaiming me a queen, my sister’s corpse at our feet. He took me from my mother, and she fled. He saved my life, probably. That’s part of why I stayed with him, I guess. Even when it was bad.”

She shook her head, glancing at Marsh. “Still, you don’t know how lucky you are, having Kelsier as a brother.”

“I suppose,” Marsh said. “I just . . . wish he wouldn’t treat people like playthings. I’ve been known to kill obligators, but murdering men just because they’re noble . . .” Marsh shook his head. “It’s not just that, either. He likes people to fawn over him.”

He had a point. However, Vin also detected something in his voice. Jealousy? You’re the older brother, Marsh. You were the responsible one—you joined the rebellion instead of working with thieves. It must have hurt that Kelsier was the one everybody liked.

“Still,” Marsh said, “he’s getting better. The Pits changed him. Her . . . death changed him.”

What’s this? Vin thought, perking up slightly. There was definitely something here, too. Hurt. Deep hurt, more than a man should feel for a sister-in-law.

So that’s it. It wasn’t just “everyone” who liked Kelsier more, it was one person in particular. Someone you loved.

“Anyway,” Marsh said, his voice growing more firm. “The arrogance of the past is behind him. This plan of his is insane, and I’m sure he’s partially doing it just so he can enrich himself, but . . . well, he didn’t have to go to the rebellion. He’s trying to do something good—though it will probably get him killed.”

“Why go along if you’re so sure he’ll fail?”

“Because he’s going to get me into the Ministry,” Marsh said. “The information I gather there will help the rebellion for centuries after Kelsier and I are dead.”

Vin nodded, glancing down at the courtyard. She spoke hesitantly. “Marsh, I don’t think it’s all behind him. The way he’s setting himself up with the skaa . . . the way they’re starting to look at him . . .”

“I know,” Marsh said. “It started with that ‘Eleventh Metal’ scheme of his. I don’t know that we have to worry—this is just Kell playing his usual games.”

“It makes me wonder why he’s leaving on this trip,” Vin said. “He’ll be away from the action for a good month.”

Marsh shook his head. “He’ll have an entire army full of men to perform for. Besides, he needs to get out of the city. His reputation is growing too unwieldy, and the nobility is becoming too interested in the Survivor. If rumors got out that a man with scars on his arms is staying with Lord Renoux . . .”

Vin nodded, understanding.

“Right now,” Marsh said, “he’s playing the part of one of Renoux’s distant relatives. That man has to leave before someone connects him to the Survivor. When Kell gets back, he’ll have to keep a low profile—sneaking into the mansion instead of walking up the steps, keeping his hood up when he’s in Luthadel.”

Marsh trailed off, then stood. “Anyway, I’ve given you the basics. Now you just need to practice. Whenever you’re with Mistings, have them burn for you and focus on their Allomantic pulses. If we meet again, I’ll show you more, but there’s nothing else I can do until you’ve practiced.”

Vin nodded, and Marsh walked out the door without any other farewell. A few moments later, she saw him approach Kelsier and Renoux again.

They really don’t hate each other, Vin thought, resting with both arms crossed atop the railing. What would that be like? After some thought, she decided that the concept of loving siblings was a little like the Allomantic pulse lengths she was supposed to be looking for—they were just too unfamiliar for her to understand at the moment.





* * *



“The Hero of Ages shall be not a man, but a force. No nation may claim him, no woman shall keep him, and no king may slay him. He shall belong to none, not even himself.”





21


Kelsier sat quietly, reading as his boat moved slowly along the canal to the north. Sometimes, I worry that I’m not the hero everyone thinks I am, the text said.

What proof do we have? The words of men long dead, only now deemed divinatory? Even if we accept the prophecies, only tenuous interpretation links them to me. Is my defense of the Summer Hill really the “Burden by which the Hero shall be dubbed”? My several marriages could give me a “Bloodless bond to the world’s kings,” if you look at it the right way. There are dozens of similar phrases that could refer to events in my life. But, then again, they could all just be coincidences.

The philosophers assure me that this is the time, that the signs have been met. But I still wonder if they have the wrong man. So many people depend on me. They say I will hold the future of the entire world on my arms. What would they think if they knew that their champion—the Hero of Ages, their savior—doubted himself?

Perhaps they wouldn’t be shocked at all. In a way, this is what worries me most. Maybe, in their hearts, they wonder—just like I do. When they see me, do they see a liar?