Shadows of Self (48 page)

Marasi towed the female Soother after her, holding the woman’s collar with one hand, her gun in the other. They were accompanied by a battered Reddi, who regarded the surging crowd with displeasure. They’d left the other captives with the rest of the constables, and she prayed to Harmony that wasn’t tempting fate.

“Stop them,” Marasi hissed at the woman as they reached the edge of the crowd, which was throwing things at the stage. Poor MeLaan soldiered onward with the speech, growing more and more testy that they weren’t listening.

“I’m trying!” the Soother complained. “It might be easier if you weren’t
choking
me!”

“Just Soothe!” Reddi said, raising his dueling cane.

“I can’t control their minds, silly man!” the Soother said. “And beating on me won’t accomplish anything. When do I get to speak to my solicitor? I’ve broken no laws. I was simply watching the proceedings with interest.”

Marasi ignored Reddi’s angry response, instead focusing on the crowd. MeLaan stood before them, lit by electric lights from behind, but by bonfires from the front. The rage of the crowd, an ancient fire, against the cold sterility of the new world.

“You should be grateful!” MeLaan shouted at the crowd. “I’ve come to talk to you myself!”

Wrong words,
Marasi thought. Her annoyance was leading her to deviate from the script.

“I’m listening!” MeLaan yelled over the crowd. “But you have to listen back, you miscreants!”

She sounds just like him.
Too much, perhaps? MeLaan was playing a
part
. She was the governor, the role Marasi had given her. It seemed that the kandra had let the form dictate her reactions. Rusts … it wasn’t that she was doing a bad job. She was doing a good job—of being Innate. Unfortunately, Innate had always had trouble connecting with the crowds.

“Fine,” MeLaan said, waving a hand. “Burn the city! See how you feel in the morning without homes to live in.”

Marasi closed her eyes and groaned. Rusts, she was tired. How late was it, now?

The crowd was growing violent. Time to grab MeLaan and Wayne and leave. Their gambit had failed. It had been a long shot in the first place, perhaps impossible. This crowd had come for blood. And …

The crowd shouted a new set of jeers. Marasi frowned, opening her eyes. She stood at the south edge of the crowd, near one of the bonfires, and was close enough to the front to make out Constable-General Aradel, who had stepped up beside MeLaan. Likely, he was going to get “the governor” to safety.

Instead Aradel took out his pistol and
pointed it at the governor
.

Marasi gaped for a moment. Then she spun on the Soother. “Soothe them!” she said. “Now. With everything you have. Do it, and I give you immunity for what you did tonight.”

The woman eyed Marasi, displaying a craftiness that belied her earlier whining. She seemed to be weighing the offer.

“I promise it,” Marasi said, “by the Survivor’s spear.”

The woman nodded, and a wave went through the crowd—a sudden hush. It didn’t quiet them completely, but when Aradel spoke, his voice carried.

“Replar Innate,” Aradel said. “In the name of the people of this city, and by the authority of my station as lord high constable, I arrest you for gross corruption, personal exploitation of this city’s resources, and perjury of your oaths as a civil servant.”

The crowd finally stilled completely.

“What idiocy—” MeLaan began.

“Men, turn around,” Aradel said. He looked down at his constables. “Turn
around
.”

The feeble line of soldiers reluctantly turned to face him, putting their backs to the crowd.

“What is he
doing
?” Reddi demanded.

“Something brilliant,” Marasi said.

Aradel looked over the crowd, still holding a gun to the governor. “Tonight, the governor himself declared this city to be in a state of martial law. That puts the constables in charge, with him at the head. Unfortunately, it turns out the governor is a lying bastard.”

Some of the people began hesitant shouts of agreement.

“He’s no longer in control,” Aradel said. “Best I can figure,
you’re
in control. So if you’re willing, tonight, the constables stand with you.

“Now, you all came here to start a riot. Listen! Stop your shouts. I won’t stand for rioting or looting. You start burning this city, and I’ll fight you up to my last breath. You hear me? We
aren’t a mob
.”

“Then what are we?” a call went up, along with a handful of others.

“We’re the people of Elendel, and we’re tired of being led by a pack of rats,” Aradel yelled. “I have proof of at least seven house lords who are corrupt. I mean to see them arrested. Tonight.” Aradel hesitated, then spoke louder, voice carrying and amplified by the cones set up before the stage. “I could use an army to help me, if you’re willing.”

As the crowd roared its agreement, Aradel shoved MeLaan into the hands of a pair of corporals waiting nearby. They seemed utterly stunned. In truth, Aradel himself seemed a little overwhelmed by what he’d just done.

“Pure Preservation,” Reddi cursed softly, looking over the excited crowd. “They’re going to turn into a lynch mob.”

“No,” Marasi said. “They won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because a river is easier to channel than to stop, Reddi,” Marasi said.

This could work. She didn’t have much hope for holding the house lords and ladies Aradel wanted to arrest, but the governor himself … With those letters and MeLaan playing the role … Yes, this could
really work
.

She released the Soother. “You’re free; get out of here. And tell Suit he might want to take an extended vacation during what is coming.”

*   *   *

Wax crossed the bridge limping. Life had taught him never to underestimate an enemy you thought you’d downed. One hand on his bleeding leg, he kept his gun trained on the writhing figure until he could sweep her gun away. Then he went down on his good knee and rolled her over, making certain she wasn’t covering up another weapon.

He found tears streaming from her eyes, mixing with the trickling blood from the bullet wound. “He’s in my head again, Wax,” she whispered, trembling. “Oh,
Ruin,
he’s in my head. He’s taking me. I won’t go back to him.”

“Hush,” Wax said, pulling a second gun from her side and tossing it away. “It’s all right.”

“No,” she cried, grabbing his arm. “No, it’s not. I won’t be his again! I
will be me,
at the end!”

Bleeder’s trembling increased, her body bucking, as she held to his arm. He frowned as she kept her head thrust forward, meeting his eyes, weeping and shuddering. Thrashing.

“What are you doing?” Wax demanded.

“Dying. We decided it! We won’t fall again. We found a way out.” She could no longer meet his eyes, and she fell backward, spasming. Eyes dilating quickly, skin trembling against the bone.

Wax watched, horrified. He seized her arm. No pulse. She
was
dying. Killing herself.

Could he stop it?

Why would he care to? She was a murderer many times over. This was a fitting end. In truth, he empathized with her. Let her take this route, rather than suffering under Harmony’s control. Hesitant, but feeling there was little else he could do for this poor creature, he picked her up and held her close. Let her die in someone’s arms. It revolted him to do so, after what she had done. But damn it, it was
right
.

Bleeder turned her head toward him, and her expression softened as she shook, smiling through bloodied lips. “You’re … you’re as surprising as a … dancing donkey, Mister Cravat.”

Wax grew cold. “Where did you hear that? How did you know those words?”

“I think I loved you even on that day,” she said. “Lawman for hire. So ridiculous, but so … earnest. You didn’t try to shelter me, but seemed so eager to impress.… A lord with a purpose.”

“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.”

“Harmony, Wayne,” Wax said. “You’re not going to poison the city, are you?”

“Nah,” Wayne said. “Not their bodies, at least.” He grinned. “You watch. This will work. It’s gonna be
amazing
.” He rose, and stumbled, almost falling. He looked at his leg in surprise, as if he’d forgotten about the wound. Then he shook his head, grabbing his crutch and getting to his feet.