Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

house to be in—their finances depended directly on pleasing the Lord Ruler. Elend thought that he was being careful, but Vin was worried. He wasn’t taking Shan Elariel seriously enough—of that, Vin was certain. She turned, walking intently from the balcony and down to the main floor.
    She found Shan’s table easily; the woman always sat with a large group of attendant noblewomen, presiding like a lord over his plantation. Vin paused. She’d never approached Shan directly. Someone, however, needed to protect Elend; he was obviously too foolish to do it himself.
    Vin strode forward. Shan’s Terrisman studied Vin as she approached. He was so different from Sazed—he didn’t have the same . . . spirit. This man maintained a flat expression, like some creature carved of stone. A few of the ladies shot disapproving glances toward Vin, but most of them—Shan included—ignored her.
    Vin stood awkwardly beside the table, waiting for a lull in the conversation. There was none. Finally, she just took a few steps closer to Shan.
    “Lady Shan?” she asked.
    Shan turned with an icy glare. “I didn’t send for you, country girl.”
    “Yes, but I’ve found some books like you—”
    “I no longer require your services,” Shan said, turning away. “I can deal with Elend Venture on my own. Now, be a good little twit and stop bothering me.”
    Vin stood, stunned. “But, your plan—”
    “I said that you are no longer needed. You think I was harsh on you before, girl? That was when you were on my good side. Try annoying me now.”
    Vin wilted reflexively before the woman’s demeaning gaze. She seemed . . . disgusted. Angry, even. Jealous?
    She must have figured it out, Vin thought. She finally realized out that I’m not just playing with Elend. She knows that I care for him, and doesn’t trust me to keep her secrets.
    Vin backed away from the table. Apparently, she would have to use other methods to discover Shan’s plans.

    Despite what he often said, Elend Venture did not consider himself to be a rude man. He was more of a . . . verbal philosopher. He liked to test and turn conversation to see how people would react. Like the great thinkers of old, he pushed boundaries and experimented with unconventional methods.
    Of course, he thought, holding his cup of brandy up before his eyes, inspecting it musingly, most of those old philosophers were eventually executed for treason. Not exactly the most successful role models.
    His evening political conversation with his group was finished, and he had retired with several friends to Keep Lekal’s gentlemen’s lounge, a small chamber adjacent to the ballroom. It was furnished in deep green colors, and the chairs were comfortable; it would have been a nice place to read, had he been in a slightly better mood. Jastes sat across from him, puffing contentedly on his pipe. It was good to see the young Lekal looking so calm. These last few weeks had been difficult for him.
    House war, Elend thought. What terrible timing. Why now? Things were going so well. . . .
    Telden returned with a refilled drink a few moments later.
    “You know,” Jastes said, gesturing with his pipe, “any one of the servants in here would have brought you a new drink.”
    “I felt like stretching my legs,” Telden said, settling into the third chair.
    “And you flirted with no less than three women on your way back,” Jastes said. “I counted.”
    Telden smiled, sipping his drink. The large man never just “sat”—he lounged. Telden could look relaxed and comfortable no matter what the situation, his sharp suits and well-styled hair enviably handsome.
    Maybe I should pay just a little more attention to things like that, Elend thought to himself. Valette suffers my hair the way it is, but would she like it better if I had it styled?
    Elend often intended to make his way to a stylist or tailor, but other things tended to steal his attention. He’d get lost in his studies or spend too long reading, then find himself late for his appointments. Again.
    “Elend is quiet this evening,” Telden noticed. Though other groups of gentlemen sat in the dim lounge, the chairs were spread out enough to allow for private conversations.
    “He’s been like that a lot, lately,” Jastes said.
    “Ah, yes,” Telden said, frowning slightly.
    Elend knew them well enough to take the hint. “Now, see, why must people be like this? If you have something to say, why not simply say it?”
    “Politics, my