Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

yet. Not by far.

THE END OF PART THREE

PART FOUR

DANCERS IN
A SEA OF MIST

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I am growing so very tired.

    26

    V IN LAY IN HER BED at Clubs’s shop, feeling her head throb.
    Fortunately, the headache was growing weaker. She could still remember waking up on that first horrible morning; the pain had been so strong she’d barely been able to think, let alone move. She didn’t know how Kelsier had kept going, leading the remnants of their army to a safe location.
    That had been over two weeks ago. Fifteen full days, and her head still hurt. Kelsier said it was good for her. He claimed that she needed to practice “pewter dragging,” training her body to function beyond what it thought possible. Despite what he said, however, she doubted something that hurt so much could possibly be “good” for her.
    Of course, it might well be a useful skill to have. She could acknowledge this, now that her head wasn’t pounding quite so much. She and Kelsier had been able to run to the battlefield in under a single day. The return trip had taken two weeks.
    Vin rose, stretching tiredly. They’d been back for less than a day, in fact. Kelsier had probably stayed up half the night explaining events to the other crewmembers. Vin, however, had been happy to go straight to bed. The nights spent sleeping on the hard earth had reminded her that a comfortable bed was a luxury she’d started to take for granted.
    She yawned, rubbed her temples again, then threw on a robe and made her way to the bathroom. She was pleased to see that Clubs’s apprentices had remembered to draw her a bath. She locked the door, disrobed, and settled into the warm, lightly scented bathwater. Had she ever really found those scents obnoxious? The smell would make her less inconspicuous, true, but that seemed a slim price for ridding herself of the dirt and grime she’d picked up while traveling.
    She still found longer hair an annoyance, however. She washed it, combing out the tangles and knots, wondering how the court women could stand hair that went all the way down their backs. How long must they spend combing and primping beneath a servant’s care? Vin’s hair hadn’t even reached her shoulders yet, and she was already loath to let it get longer. It would fly about and whip her face when she jumped, not to mention provide her foes with something to grab on to.
    Once finished bathing, she returned to her room, dressed in something practical, and made her way downstairs. Apprentices bustled in the workroom and housekeepers worked upstairs, but the kitchen was quiet. Clubs, Dockson, Ham, and Breeze sat at the morning meal. They looked up as Vin entered.
    “What?” Vin asked grumpily, pausing in the doorway. The bath had soothed her headache somewhat, but it still pulsed slightly in the back of her head.
    The four men exchanged glances. Ham spoke first. “We were just discussing the status of the plan, now that both our employer and our army are gone.”
    Breeze raised an eyebrow. “Status? That’s an interesting way of putting it, Hammond. I would have said ‘unfeasibility’ instead.”
    Clubs grunted his assent, and the four turned to her, apparently waiting to see her reaction.
    Why do they care so much what I think? she thought, walking into the room and taking a chair.
    “You want something to eat?” Dockson said, rising. “Clubs’s housekeepers fixed some baywraps for us to—”
    “Ale,” Vin said.
    Dockson paused. “It’s not even noon.”
    “Ale. Now. Please.” She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table and resting her head on them.
    Ham had the nerve to chuckle. “Pewter drag?”
    Vin nodded.
    “It’ll pass,” he said.
    “If I don’t die first,” Vin grumbled.
    Ham chuckled again, but the levity seemed forced. Dox handed her a mug, then sat, glancing at the others. “So, Vin. What do you think?”
    “I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “The army was pretty much the center of everything, right? Breeze, Ham, and Yeden spent all their time recruiting; Dockson and Renoux worked on supplies. Now that the soldiers are gone . . . well, that only leaves Marsh’s work with the Ministry and Kell’s attacks on the nobility—and neither are things he needs us for. The crew is redundant.”
    The room fell silent.
    “She has a depressingly blunt way of putting it,” Dockson said.
    “Pewter drag will do that to you,” Ham noted.
    “When did you get back, anyway?” Vin asked.
    “Last night, after you