The Alloy of Law (Mistborn #4)(12)

“Lord Ladrian,” Harms said, “I find it very unbefitting to be made to wait. And who is this that you’re meeting with in my stead?”

Waxillium sighed. “It’s my old—”

“Uncle!” Wayne said, stepping forward, voice altered to sound gruff and lose all of its rural accent. “I’m his uncle Maksil. Popped in unexpectedly this morning, my dear man.”

Waxillium raised an eyebrow as Wayne stepped forward. He’d removed his hat and duster, and had plastered his upper lip with a realistic-looking fake mustache with a bit of gray in it. He was scrunching his face up just slightly to produce a few extra wrinkles at the eyes. It was a good disguise, making him look like he might be a few years older than Waxillium, rather than ten years younger.

Waxillium glanced over his shoulder. The duster sat folded on the floor beside one of the couches, hat atop it, a pair of dueling canes lying crossed beside the pile. Waxillium hadn’t even noticed the swap—of course, Wayne had naturally done it while inside a speed bubble. Wayne was a Slider, a bendalloy Allomancer, capable of creating a bubble of compressed time around himself. He often used the power to change costumes.

He was also Twinborn, like Waxillium, though his Feruchemical ability—healing quickly from wounds—wasn’t so useful outside of combat. Still, the two made for a very potent combination.

“Uncle, you say?” Lord Harms asked, taking Wayne’s hand and shaking it.

“On the mother’s side!” Wayne said. “Not the Ladrian side, of course. Otherwise I’d be running this place, eh?” He sounded nothing like himself, but that was Wayne’s specialty. He said that three-quarters of a disguise was in the accent and voice. “I’ve wanted for a long time to come check up on the lad. He’s had something of a rough-and-tumble past, you know. He needs a firm hand to make certain he doesn’t return to such unpleasant ways.”

“I’ve often thought the very same thing!” Lord Harms said. “I assume we’re given leave to sit, Lord Ladrian?”

“Yes, of course,” Waxillium said, covertly glaring at Wayne. Really? that glare said. We’re doing this?

Wayne just shrugged. Then he turned and took Steris’s hand and bowed his head politely. “And who is this lovely creature?”

“My daughter, Steris.” Harms sat. “Lord Ladrian? You didn’t tell your uncle of our arrival?”

“I was so surprised by his appearance,” Waxillium said, “that I did not have an opportunity.” He took Steris’s hand and bowed his head to her as well.

She looked him up and down with a critical gaze, and then her eyes flicked toward the duster and hat in the corner. Her lips turned down. Doubtless she assumed they were his.

“This is my cousin Marasi,” Steris said, nodding to the woman behind her. Marasi was dark-haired and large-eyed, with bright red lips. She looked down demurely as soon as Waxillium turned to her. “She has spent most of her life in the Outer Estates and is rather timid, so please don’t upset her.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Waxillium said. He waited until the women were seated beside Lord Harms, then sat on the smaller sofa facing them, and facing the doorway. There was another exit from the room, but he’d discovered that there was a squeaky floorboard leading to it, which was ideal. This way, someone couldn’t sneak up on him. Lawman or lord, he didn’t fancy getting shot in the back.

Wayne primly settled himself in a chair directly to Waxillium’s right. They all stared at one another for an extended moment. Wayne yawned.

“Well,” Waxillium said. “Perhaps I should begin by asking after your health.”

“Perhaps you should,” Steris replied.

“Er. Yes. How’s your health?”

“Suitable.”

“So is Waxillium,” Wayne added.

They all turned to him.

“You know,” he said. “He’s wearing a suit, and all. Suitable. Ahem. Is that mahogany?”

“This?” Lord Harms said, holding up his cane. “Indeed. It’s a family heirloom.”

“My lord Waxillium,” Steris cut in, voice stern. She did not seem to enjoy small talk. “Perhaps we can dispense with empty prattle. We all know the nature of this meeting.”

“We do?” Wayne asked.

“Yes,” Steris said, voice cool. “Lord Waxillium. You are in the position of having an unfortunate reputation. Your uncle, may he rest with the Hero, tarnished the Ladrian name with his social reclusiveness, occasional reckless forays into politics, and blatant adventurism. You have come from the Roughs, lending no small additional measure of poor reputation to the house, particularly considering your insulting actions to various houses during your first few weeks in town. Above all this, your house is nearly destitute.

“We, however, are in a desperate circumstance of our own. Our financial status is excellent, but our name is unknown in the highest of society. My father has no male heir upon which to bestow his family name, and so a union between our houses makes perfect sense.”

“How very logical of you, my dear,” Wayne said, the upper-class accent rolling off his tongue as if he’d been born with it.

“Indeed,” she said, still watching Waxillium. She reached into her satchel. “Your letters and conversations with my father have been enough to persuade us of your serious intent, and during these last few months in the city your public comportment has proven more promisingly sober than your initial boorishness. So I have taken the liberty of drawing up an agreement that I think will suit our needs.”