Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

found my mother covered in blood. She’d killed my baby sister. Messily. Me, however, she hadn’t touched—except to give me an earring. Reen said . . . He said she was holding me on her lap, babbling and proclaiming me a queen, my sister’s corpse at our feet. He took me from my mother, and she fled. He saved my life, probably. That’s part of why I stayed with him, I guess. Even when it was bad.”
    She shook her head, glancing at Marsh. “Still, you don’t know how lucky you are, having Kelsier as a brother.”
    “I suppose,” Marsh said. “I just . . . wish he wouldn’t treat people like playthings. I’ve been known to kill obligators, but murdering men just because they’re noble . . .” Marsh shook his head. “It’s not just that, either. He likes people to fawn over him.”
    He had a point. However, Vin also detected something in his voice. Jealousy? You’re the older brother, Marsh. You were the responsible one—you joined the rebellion instead of working with thieves. It must have hurt that Kelsier was the one everybody liked.
    “Still,” Marsh said, “he’s getting better. The Pits changed him. Her . . . death changed him.”
    What’s this? Vin thought, perking up slightly. There was definitely something here, too. Hurt. Deep hurt, more than a man should feel for a sister-in-law.
    So that’s it. It wasn’t just “everyone” who liked Kelsier more, it was one person in particular. Someone you loved.
    “Anyway,” Marsh said, his voice growing more firm. “The arrogance of the past is behind him. This plan of his is insane, and I’m sure he’s partially doing it just so he can enrich himself, but . . . well, he didn’t have to go to the rebellion. He’s trying to do something good—though it will probably get him killed.”
    “Why go along if you’re so sure he’ll fail?”
    “Because he’s going to get me into the Ministry,” Marsh said. “The information I gather there will help the rebellion for centuries after Kelsier and I are dead.”
    Vin nodded, glancing down at the courtyard. She spoke hesitantly. “Marsh, I don’t think it’s all behind him. The way he’s setting himself up with the skaa . . . the way they’re starting to look at him . . .”
    “I know,” Marsh said. “It started with that ‘Eleventh Metal’ scheme of his. I don’t know that we have to worry—this is just Kell playing his usual games.”
    “It makes me wonder why he’s leaving on this trip,” Vin said. “He’ll be away from the action for a good month.”
    Marsh shook his head. “He’ll have an entire army full of men to perform for. Besides, he needs to get out of the city. His reputation is growing too unwieldy, and the nobility is becoming too interested in the Survivor. If rumors got out that a man with scars on his arms is staying with Lord Renoux . . .”
    Vin nodded, understanding.
    “Right now,” Marsh said, “he’s playing the part of one of Renoux’s distant relatives. That man has to leave before someone connects him to the Survivor. When Kell gets back, he’ll have to keep a low profile—sneaking into the mansion instead of walking up the steps, keeping his hood up when he’s in Luthadel.”
    Marsh trailed off, then stood. “Anyway, I’ve given you the basics. Now you just need to practice. Whenever you’re with Mistings, have them burn for you and focus on their Allomantic pulses. If we meet again, I’ll show you more, but there’s nothing else I can do until you’ve practiced.”
    Vin nodded, and Marsh walked out the door without any other farewell. A few moments later, she saw him approach Kelsier and Renoux again.
    They really don’t hate each other, Vin thought, resting with both arms crossed atop the railing. What would that be like? After some thought, she decided that the concept of loving siblings was a little like the Allomantic pulse lengths she was supposed to be looking for—they were just too unfamiliar for her to understand at the moment.

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“ The Hero of Ages shall be not a man, but a force. No nation may claim him, no woman shall keep him, and no king may slay him. He shall belong to none, not even himself. ”

    21

    K ELSIER SAT QUIETLY, READING AS his boat moved slowly along the canal to the north. Sometimes, I worry that I’m not the hero everyone thinks I am, the text said.
What proof do we have? The words of men long dead, only now deemed divinatory? Even if we accept the prophecies, only tenuous interpretation links