Mistborn #02 The Well of Ascension

follow a boy of a king who doesn't seem to have a shade of a clue just how bad his predicament is. Why?"
    Clubs shook his head. "Kelsier. Gave us a city, made us think we were responsible for protecting it."
    "But we aren't that kind of people," Breeze said. "We're thieves and scammers. We shouldn't care. I mean. . .I've gotten so bad that I Soothe scullery maids so that they'll have a happier time at work! I might as well start dressing in pink and carrying around flowers. I could probably make quite a bundle at weddings."
    Clubs snorted. Then he raised his cup. "To the Survivor," he said. "May he be damned for knowing us better than we knew ourselves."
    Breeze raised his own cup. "Damn him," he agreed quietly.
    The two fell silent. Talking to Clubs tended to turn into. . .well, not talking. However, Breeze felt a simple contentment. Soothing was wonderful; it made him who he was. But it was also work. Even birds couldn't fly all the time.
    " There you are."
    Breeze snapped his eyes open. Allrianne stood at the entrance to the room, just at the edge of the table. She wore light blue; where had she gotten so many dresses? Her makeup was, of course, immaculate—and there was a bow in her hair. That long blond hair—common in the West but almost unheard of in the Central Dominance—and that perky, inviting figure.
    Desire immediately blossomed inside of him. No ! Breeze thought. She's half your age. You're a dirty old man. Dirty ! "Allrianne," he said uncomfortably, "shouldn't you be in bed or something?"
    She rolled her eyes, shooing his legs out of the way so she could sit on the bench beside him. "It's only nine o'clock, Breeze. I'm eighteen, not ten."
    You might as well be , he thought, looking away from her, trying to focus on something else. He knew that he should be stronger, shouldn't let the girl get near him, but he did nothing as she slid up to him and took a drink from his cup.
    He sighed, putting his arm around her shoulders. Clubs just shook his head, the hint of a smile on his lips.

    "Well," Vin said quietly, "that answers one question."
    "Mistress?" OreSeur said, sitting across the table from her in the dark room. With her Allomancer's ears, she could hear exactly what was going on in the next boothlike room over.
    "Allrianne is an Allomancer," Vin said.
    "Really?"
    Vin nodded. "She's been Rioting Breeze's emotions ever since she arrived, making him more attracted to her."
    "One would think that he'd notice," OreSeur said.
    "You'd think," Vin said. She probably shouldn't feel as amused as she did. The girl could be a Mistborn—though the idea of that puff flying through the mists seemed ridiculous.
    Which is probably exactly how she wants me to think , Vin thought. I have to remember Kliss and Shan—neither one of them turned out to be the person I thought they were .
    "Breeze probably just doesn't think his emotions are unnatural," Vin said. "He must be attracted to her already."
    OreSeur closed his mouth and cocked his head—his dog's version of a frown.
    "I know," Vin agreed. "But, at least we know he isn't the one using Allomancy to seduce her . Either way, that's irrelevant. Clubs isn't the kandra."
    "How could you possibly know that, Mistress?"
    Vin paused. Clubs always turned his copper on around Breeze; it was one of the few times he used it. However, it was difficult to tell if someone was burning copper. After all, if they turned on their metal, they hid themselves by default.
    But Vin could pierce copperclouds. She could sense Allrianne's Rioting; she could even sense a faint thumping coming from Clubs himself, copper's own Allomantic pulse, something that Vin suspected few people beyond herself and the Lord Ruler had ever heard.
    "I just know," Vin said.
    "If you say so, Mistress," OreSeur said. "But. . .didn't you already decide the spy was Demoux?"
    "I wanted to check Clubs anyway," she said. "Before I did anything drastic."
    "Drastic?"
    Vin sat quietly for a moment. She didn't have much proof, but she did have her instincts—and those instincts told her Demoux was the spy. That sneaking way he'd gone out the other night. . .the obvious logic of choosing him. . .it all fit.
    She stood. Things were getting too dangerous, too sensitive. She couldn't ignore it any longer. "Come on," she said, leaving the booth behind. "It's time to put Demoux in prison."

    "What do you mean you lost him?" Vin asked, standing outside the door to Demoux's room.
    The servant flushed. "My lady, I'm sorry.