Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

suitable heir is provided. After that, the same numbers apply to a two-week span.”
    “Ah, of course,” Waxillium said. “Page thirteen.” He glanced at Wayne. Was that a bullet the other man had taken from his pocket? Wayne was rolling it between his fingers.
    “If that is not enough to satisfy your needs,” Steris added, “the next page details proper mistress protocols.”
    “Wait,” Waxillium said, looking away from Wayne. “Your document allows mistresses ?”
    “Of course,” Steris said. “They are a simple fact of life, and so it’s better to account for them than to ignore them. In the document, you will find requirements for your potential mistresses along with the means by which discretion will be maintained.”
    “I see,” Waxillium said.
    “Of course,” Steris continued, “I will follow the same guidelines.”
    “You plan to take a mistress, my lady?” Wayne asked, perking up.
    “I would be allowed my own dalliances,” she said. “Usually the coachman is the object of choice. I would abstain until heirs were produced, of course. There mustn’t be any confusion about lineage.”
    “Of course,” Waxillium said.
    “It’s in the contract,” she said. “Page fifteen.”
    “I don’t doubt that it is.”
    Lord Harms coughed into his hand again. Marasi, Steris’s cousin, maintained a blank expression, though she looked down at her feet during the conversation. Why had she been brought?
    “Daughter,” Lord Harms said, “perhaps we should move the conversation to less personal topics for a span.”
    “Very well,” Steris said. “There are a few things I wanted to know. Are you a religious man, Lord Ladrian?”
    “I follow the Path,” Waxillium said.
    “Hmmm,” she said, tapping her fingers against her contract. “Well, that’s a safe choice, if somewhat dull. I, for one, have never understood why people would follow a religion whose god specifically prohibits worshipping him.”
    “It’s complicated.”
    “So Pathians like to say. With the same breath as you try to explain how simple your religion is.”
    “That’s complicated too,” Waxillium said. “A simple kind of complicated, though. You’re a Survivorist, I assume?”
    “I am.”
    Delightful, Waxillium thought. Well, Survivorists weren’t too bad. Some of them, at least. He stood up. Wayne was still playing with that round. “Would anyone else like some tea?”
    “No,” Steris said with a wave of her hand, looking through her document.
    “Yes, please,” Marasi said softly.
    Waxillium crossed the room to the tea stand.
    “Those are very nice bookshelves,” Wayne said. “Wish I had shelves like those. My, my, my. And … we’re in.”
    Waxillium turned. The three guests had glanced at the shelves, and as they turned away, Wayne had started burning bendalloy and thrown up a speed bubble.
    The bubble was about five feet across, including only Wayne and Waxillium, and once Wayne had it up he couldn’t move it. Years of familiarity let Waxillium discern the boundary of the bubble, which was marked by a faint wavering of the air. For those inside the bubble, time would flow much more quickly than for those outside.
    “Well?” Waxillium asked.
    “Oh, I think the quiet one’s kinda cute,” Wayne said, his accent back in place. “The tall one is insane, though. Rust on my arms, but she is.”
    Waxillium poured himself some tea. Harms and the two women looked frozen as they sat on their couch, almost like statues. Wayne was flaring his metal, using as much strength as he could to create a few private moments.
    These bubbles could be very useful, though not in the way most people expected. You couldn’t shoot out of them—well, you could, but something about the barrier interfered with objects passing through it. If you fired a shot in a speed bubble, the bullet would slow as soon as it hit ordinary time and would be moved erratically off course. That made it nearly impossible to aim from within one.
    “She’s a very good match,” Waxillium said. “It’s an ideal situation for both of us.”
    “Look, mate. Just because Lessie—”
    “This is not about Lessie.”
    “Whoa, hey.” Wayne raised a hand. “No need to get angry.”
    “I’m not—” Waxillium took a deep breath, then continued more softly. “I’m not angry. But it’s not about Lessie. This is about my duties.”
    Damn you, Wayne. I’d almost gotten myself to stop thinking about her. What would Lessie say, if she saw what