Shadows of Self (Mistborn #5)(122)

“I find it hard to believe,” Marasi noted, “that there’s nothing better for the governor to do on his first day in office than equipment-depreciation reports. Not that I mind. You’ve been ignoring those for … how long?”

Aradel’s expression soured. “I’m not governor,” he said. “Not really.”

“The title ‘Interim Governor’ has the word ‘Governor’ in it, sir.”

“They’ll vote someone else into office next month at the proper hearing.”

“Frankly, sir, I doubt that.”

He slapped one page down on the stack, signed and sealed, then sat there staring at it. Finally he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, Preservation. What have I done? And why the hell didn’t any of you stop me?”

Marasi smiled. “You didn’t exactly give us a chance, sir.”

“I’ll run away,” he said. “I’ll refuse the appointment. I’ll…” He looked up at her, and then sighed. “I can’t be happy in this position, Colms.”

“The ones who are happy in the role, sir, seem to have had their chance. I’m excited to see where it goes from here. You just changed the world.”

“Didn’t mean to.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Marasi said, glancing to the side as someone else moved through the darkened chamber, approaching. Another constable coming in to catch up on work? “Oh no.”

Governor Innate stepped up to the door, holding a belt. “Either of you know how to tie one of these?” the former governor said in MeLaan’s voice.

“You don’t tie a belt, kandra,” Aradel said. “You buckle it.”

“No, no,” MeLaan said, pulling it tight. “I mean, in making a noose. People always talk about guys hanging themselves in their cells, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out. Hung there for a good ten minutes, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have killed even the most frail mortal. I’ve got it wrong somehow.”

She looked up at the two of them, then frowned at their appalled expressions. “What?”

“Hang yourself?” Marasi sputtered, finally finding her voice. “You’re our linchpin witness!”

“You really think,” MeLaan said dryly, “that Harmony would let me sit at trial and testify falsely against people I don’t even know? It would make a mockery of justice, kids.”

“No,” Marasi said. “We have the letters. We know the truth.”

“Do you?” MeLaan asked, pulling the belt tight again. “You know for certain Paalm didn’t forge those letters, or that Innate himself didn’t do it before she took him? You know that those lords and ladies went through with the plans, rather than backing out? You know they weren’t just talking about possibilities?”

“We’ve got good cases, holy immortal,” Aradel said. “Lieutenant Colms has done her research. We’re pretty sure this is all correct.”

“Then convince the judge and jury,” MeLaan said with a shrug. “We don’t do things like this. People have to be able to trust the law; I’m a lot of things, but I’m not going to be the one who sets the precedent that the kandra can lie in order to get someone convicted, even if you’re ‘pretty sure’ you’ve got the right evidence.”

Marasi folded her arms, grinding her teeth. Aradel glanced at her, questioning.

“Without her, they’ll wiggle out of it,” Marasi said. “We won’t be able to keep them in jail. They’ll be loose upon the city again.” She sighed. “But … Blast. She’s probably right, sir. I’d have hit on it if I’d thought about it long enough. We can’t falsify evidence, however right our cause.”

He nodded. “We weren’t going to keep them in prison anyway, Colms. They have too much power, even now. They’d find a way to escape conviction, pinning the charges on subordinates.” He sat back in his chair. “They’ll have the governor’s seat again, unless someone does something about it. Damn it. I really have to do this, don’t I?”

“Sorry, sir,” Marasi said.

“Well, at least I can get my desk clear of paperwork first,” he said, leaning forward in determination. “Suggestions for my replacement as constable-general?”

“Reddi,” Marasi said.

“He hates you.”

“Doesn’t make him a bad conner, sir,” Marasi said. “So long as someone keeps an eye on him, as you put it. I can do that. I think he’ll rise to the challenge.”

Aradel nodded, then held up a hand to MeLaan. She tossed him the belt, and he tied it in a loop.

“This part around your neck, holy one,” he said. “Make your skin bruise so it looks right, a V shape. You know how to make someone look like they died of strangling?”

“Yeah,” MeLaan said. “Unfortunately.”

“I’ll come cut you down in fifteen minutes,” Aradel said. “You’ll need to fool the coroner.”

“No problem,” MeLaan said. “I can breathe through a tracheal system instead of lungs. Arrange to have the body cremated, give me a window, and I’ll slip out and leave the bones, which you can burn. Nice and neat.”

“Fine,” Aradel said, looking sick.