Shadows of Self (Mistborn #5)(48)

He wiggled the hook free. This was awkward. What if he needed to unhook it while flying, or fighting? Could Ranette make that hook able to unhitch on command somehow? He Pushed on the balcony, sending them upward again. Steris dug her fingers into his shoulders. Mists streamed lazily about them. A Coinshot grew very comfortable with heights—no matter how far he fell, dropping a single piece of metal and Pushing carefully let him land unharmed.

“I forget how disorienting this can be,” Wax said, slowing their ascent. “Close your eyes.”

“No,” Steris said. She seemed breathless. “This is … this is wonderful.”

I don’t think I’m ever going to understand that woman, he thought. He could have sworn she was terrified. The next few leaps went well as he got used to the tether. The rope is way too bulky, he thought. Lugging this around would be a serious pain. And the hook could easily get tangled. If he were using this in a fight, he’d probably have to leave the rope tether behind after the first leap.

Tonight it worked well enough though, and a moment later he swung them onto the top-floor balcony in a flurry of skirts and mistcoat tassels. A small group of partygoers stood here, and Wax’s arrival caused surprised exclamations and one dropped glass. Wax straightened, letting Steris down. Despite what she’d been through, she quickly composed herself, settling her skirts and pulling back her hair to smooth straggling locks.

“I believe,” she said softly, “that was an entrance befitting your station.”

“Alerted the guards, at least,” Wax said, nodding to the men who stood at the sides of the balcony, watching them. The men were doing their job, which was good to see. A Coinshot couldn’t enter this party unnoticed. They didn’t stop him, however. He was too important to bother.

Wax wound up the rope and spike, tying it at his waist within his coat, which made Steris roll her eyes. Then she rested her hand on his arm. Before leaving Ladrian Mansion, she’d coached him with precision on how to walk and stand—her sixth such coaching during their time together. Perhaps that was because he never did it as he was supposed to. Indeed, tonight he took her by the arm in a more familiar way than she’d explained. They were betrothed. Rusts, he could hold her by the arm.

Steris eyed him, but said nothing as Wax Pushed open the balcony doors with an Allomantic shove and they entered the party.





9



Standing at the foot of ZoBell Tower, Wayne watched Wax and Steris disappear into the mists. He shook his head, then took a ball of gum from the tin in his pocket. He’d gotten himself some of the stuff. It was actually fun to chew.

He popped it into his mouth and thought about what a rusted fool his friend was. Obviously, Wax persisted with this whole engagement-to-Steris mess because he missed Lessie so much. So Wax had chosen a marriage that demanded no emotional investment. That was easy to see as the bottom of your own glass at a pub with watered-down ale, that was.

Wayne held out his hand to help Marasi down from their coach. “You look nice,” she told him. “I’m surprised you agreed to wear that.”

Wayne glanced down at his sharply tailored suit, chewing absently. Marasi acted amazed that he had a suit, matched by a fancy bowler on his head and a dark green cravat. Why wouldn’t he have a costume like this? He had beggar costumes, constable costumes, and old lady costumes. A fellow needed to be able to blend with his surroundings. In the Roughs, that meant having some pale brown cowhand’s costume. In the city, that meant having a fancy twit costume.

The stupid line was so long that aluminum could have rusted in the time it took them to reach the halfway point. Rusting Wax and his cheating ways, Wayne thought. The man could have at least taken Wayne instead of Steris.

Up ahead, oddly, a couple was turned away, forced to trudge back toward their carriage despite all the waiting. What’s going on up there? Fancy people like this didn’t get turned away from parties, did they? Everyone had an invitation, even if his was forged. It was just like the one he’d given to the old tyrant at the school though.

Well, no telling until they arrived. And this line was still moving sloooooooowwwww.

“That fellow you caught ever say anything useful?” he asked Marasi.

“No,” Marasi said. “He isn’t all there, mentally. We did find what seems to be a Hemalurgic spike in him though.”

“Rusts. You know ’bout that too?”

“I got to read the book,” Marasi said absently. “Death did give it to me first, and Waxillium let me make a copy. Our captive had a piercing on some skin in his chest. After we removed that, he calmed. But he still won’t talk.”

Eventually, after seven crop rotations or so, they reached the front of the line. Marasi presented their invitation. The bouncer here looked it over, his face grim. “I’m afraid that we’ve been ordered to deny any nameless invitations not in the possession of the people they were sent to. With the attempt on the governor’s life, only guests named on our list can be allowed in.”

“But—” Marasi said.

“Here now,” Wayne cut in. “We’re important people. Don’t you see how fancy my cravat is?”

Near the door, men in black coats stepped forward, threatening. Rusting government security. Constables, they were real people—oh, they might bust a man’s neck now and then, but they came from the streets same as anyone. These spooks though … they barely had any soul to them.