Shadows of Self (Mistborn #5)(111)

Wax drew in a deep breath. “Let’s survive this night. Then we’ll do something about that.”

“My thoughts are similar,” Marasi said, “but I think Bleeder wants to put us in a difficult position—perhaps she wants to force us to let the governor die.”

“Not going to happen,” Wax said. “We’ll hand him over to the courts, but not a mob. Have you checked on your sister?”

“No,” Marasi said. “But I’ve been intending to.”

“Do so,” Wax said. “I’ll look in on your father after talking to the governor. I don’t want either showing up as an unexpected hostage.”

“As long as it isn’t me, for a change,” Marasi said with a grimace. “MeLaan is wearing the body of the guard with the sling. She’s furious the governor won’t let her or the others in. I’m going to go see if I can track down Wayne; wouldn’t be surprised to find him on the front row of the mob.”

She let go of his arm and headed toward the exit.

“Marasi,” Wax said after her.

“Hm?”

“The uniform,” he said. “It suits you. Don’t know if I’ve had a chance to mention that.”

She blushed—she was Marasi after all—before continuing. Wax turned and strode down the hallway toward the door to the governor’s study. MeLaan lounged there with a group of three other guards.

“Nobody is to enter, lawman,” one of them said with an annoyed tone. “He’s been in there composing a speech for the last hour. He won’t—”

Wax walked past them and tried the door, which was locked. He could hear Innate’s voice inside, going over a speech. Wax increased his weight and flung the door open with Allomancy, splintering the doorframe. Innate stood inside, holding a pad of paper and pacing as he talked. He froze midstride and spun on Wax, then relaxed visibly.

“You could have knocked,” the governor said.

“And you could have ignored a knock,” Wax said, walking in and swinging the door shut behind him. It didn’t latch, of course, after what Wax had done. “What do you think you’re doing, Innate? You could have been killed in here, quietly, alone without anyone to help.”

“And what would they have done?” Innate demanded, tossing his pad onto his desk. He walked up, then spoke more softly: “Wind’s whisper.”

“Drunken steam,” Wax said back, latest passphrases exchanged. Innate was authentic. “Locking your guards out was foolhardy. They would have fought for you, protected you. We chased her off one time before.”

“You chased her off,” Innate said, walking back to his desk and picking up his pad. “The rest were useless. Even poor Drim.” He went back to his pacing, speaking the lines of his speech to himself and practicing emphasis.

Wax fumed, feeling dismissed. This was the man they struggled to protect? Wax made his way to the window. It was open, surprisingly, letting in wisps of mist. They didn’t travel far. He’d heard legends of the mists filling rooms, but that rarely happened.

He leaned against the window, looking out at the darkness, listening with half an ear to Innate’s speech. It was inflammatory and dismissive. He claimed to feel the problems the people had, but called them peasants.

This would just make things worse. She wants that, Wax thought. She wants to free the city from Harmony by making it angry.

She knew what Innate was going to say. Of course she knew. She’d been leading them around this entire time. Every clue Wax had found so far had been carefully planted for him. So what did he do? Stop Innate’s speech? What if that was what she wanted?

He tapped his finger on the windowsill. Tap. Tap.

Squish.

He looked down, then blinked. A wad of chewed gum had been stuck here. Wax lifted his finger, and—as he contemplated it—something started to fall into place. Something he’d been missing. Bleeder had set this all up from the start.

Wax’s suspicions had begun because she’d deliberately alerted him by wearing Bloody Tan’s face. That had been a conscious ploy on her part, a way to start the festivities. Everything was moving on her timetable.

Bleeder had had everything already in place when this night arrived. She’d been planning this for a long time. Far longer than he’d assumed.

So where was the best place to hide?

Rusts.

Wax reached for his gun and spun.

He found himself facing down Governor Innate, who had taken out a sidearm and leveled it. “Damn it, Wax,” the governor said. “Just a few minutes more and I’d have had this. You see too far. You can always see a little too far.”

Wax froze there, hand on his gun. He met the governor’s eyes, and hissed out slowly. “You knew the passphrase,” Wax whispered, “but of course you did. I gave it to you. When did you kill him? How long has the city been ruled by an impostor?”

“Long enough.”

“The governor wasn’t your target. You think bigger than that—I should have seen. But Drim … He was in the saferoom when you entered below. Is that why you killed him? No. He’d have known you were gone.”

“He knew all along,” Bleeder said. “He was mine. But tonight, I killed him because of you, Wax. You’d shot me up…”