Mistborn #02 The Well of Ascension

then removed a small bag of coins from the chest. It must have been the attack on Cett's keep , he thought. It finally convinced Straff that I was too dangerous to let live .
    Zane found his man working quietly beside a tent a short distance away, ostensibly testing the strength of a tent cord. He watched every night, paid to pound on a tent spike should anyone approach Zane's tent. Zane tossed the man a bag of coins, then moved off into the darkness, passing the canal waters with their supply barges on his way to Straff's tent.
    His father had some few limitations. Straff was fine at large-scale planning, but the details—the subtleties—often got away from him. He could organize an army and crush his enemies. He, however, liked to play with dangerous tools. Like the atium mines at the Pits of Hathsin. Like Zane.
    Those tools often ended up burning him.
    Zane walked up to the side of Straff's tent, then ripped a hole in the canvas and strode in. Straff waited for him. Zane gave the man credit: Straff watched his death coming with defiance in his eyes. Zane stopped in the middle of the room, in front of Straff, who sat in his hard wooden chair.
    "Kill him," God commanded.
    Lamps burned in the corners, illuminating the canvas. The cushions and blankets in the corner were rumpled; Straff had taken one last romp with his favorite mistresses before sending his assassins. The king displayed his characteristic air of strong defiance, but Zane saw more. He saw a face too slick with sweat, and he saw hands trembling, as if from a disease.
    "I have atium for you," Straff said. "Buried in a place only I know."
    Zane stood quietly, staring at his father.
    "I will proclaim you openly," Straff said. "Name you my heir. Tomorrow, if you wish."
    Zane didn't respond. Straff continued to sweat.
    "The city is yours," Zane finally said, turning away.
    He was rewarded with a startled gasp from behind.
    Zane glanced back. He'd never seen such a look of shock on his father's face. That alone was almost worth everything.
    "Pull your men back, as you are planning," Zane said, "but don't return to the Northern Dominance. Wait for those koloss to invade the city, let them take down the defenses and kill the defenders. Then, you can sweep in and rescue Luthadel."
    "But, Elend's Mistborn. . ."
    "Will be gone," Zane said. "She's leaving with me, tonight. Farewell, Father." He turned and left through the slit he'd made.
    "Zane?" Straff called from inside the tent.
    Zane paused again.
    "Why?" Straff asked, looking out through the slit. "I sent assassins to kill you. Why are you letting me live?"
    "Because you're my father," Zane said. He turned away, looking into the mists. "A man shouldn't kill his father."
    With that, Zane bid a final farewell to the man who had created him. A man whom Zane—despite his insanity, despite the abuse he'd known over the years—loved.
    In the dark mists he threw down a coin and shot out over the camp. Outside its confines, he landed and easily located the bend in the canal he used as a marker. From the hollow of a small tree there, he pulled a bundle of cloth. A mistcloak, the first gift Straff had given him, years before when Zane had first Snapped. To him, it was too precious to wear around, to soil and use.
    He knew himself a fool. However, he could not help how he felt. One could not use emotional Allomancy on one's self.
    He unwrapped the mistcloak and withdrew the things it protected—several vials of metal and a pouch filled with beads. Atium.
    He knelt there for a long moment. Then, he reached up to his chest, feeling the space just above his rib cages. Where his heart thumped.
    There was a large bump there. There always had been. He didn't think about it often; his mind seemed to get distracted when he did. It, however, was the real reason he never wore cloaks.
    He didn't like the way that cloaks rubbed against the small point of the spike that stuck out of his back just between the shoulder blades. The head was against his sternum, and couldn't be seen beneath clothing.
    "It is time to go," God said.
    Zane stood, leaving the mistcloak behind. He turned from his father's camp, leaving behind that which he had known, instead seeking the woman who would save him.

Alendi believes as they do .

47
    A PART OF VIN WASN'T EVEN bothered by how many people she had killed. That very indifference, however, terrified her.
    She sat on her balcony a short time after her visit to the palace, the city of Luthadel lost