Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

black. Fortunately, it didn’t seem Steris intended to drag him over to wait with those intent upon congratulating the newlyweds at the earliest possible moment.
    Soon, the first tables were served their meals. Silverware began to clatter. Steris sent for a servant to prepare their table; Waxillium passed the time by inspecting the room. There were two balconies, one at each shorter end of the rectangular ballroom. There appeared to be space for dining up there, though no tables had been set up. They were being used for musicians today, a group of harpists.
    Majestic chandeliers hung from the ceiling—six enormous ones down the center, outfitted with thousands of sparkling pieces of crystal. Twelve smaller ones hung at their sides. Electric lights, he noted. Those chandeliers must have been a horrible pain to light before the conversion.
    The sheer cost of a party like this numbed his senses. He could have fed Weathering for a year on what was being spent for this single evening. His uncle had sold the Ladrian ballroom a few years back—it had been a separate building, in a different neighborhood from the mansion. That made Waxillium happy; from what he remembered, it had been as large as this one. If they’d still owned it, people might have expected him to throw lavish parties like this.
    “Well?” Steris asked, holding out her arm for him again as the servant returned to lead them to their table. He could see Lord Harms and Steris’s cousin Marasi sitting at the table already.
    “I’m remembering why I left the City,” Waxillium said honestly. “Life is so damn hard here.”
    “Many would say that of the Roughs.”
    “And few of them have lived in both,” Waxillium said. “Living here is a different kind of hard, but it’s still hard. Marasi is joining us again?”
    “Indeed.”
    “What is going on with her, Steris?”
    “She’s from the Outer Estates and badly wanted the chance to attend university here in the City. My father took pity on her, as her own parents haven’t the means to support her. He is allowing her to reside with us for the duration of her studies.”
    A valid explanation, though it seemed to roll out of Steris’s mouth far too quickly. Was it a practiced excuse, or was Waxillium assuming too much? Either way, further discussion was interrupted as Lord Harms rose to greet his daughter.
    Waxillium shook hands with Lord Harms, took Marasi’s hand and bowed, then sat. Steris began speaking with her father about the people she’d noted to be attending or absent, and Waxillium rested elbows on the table, listening with half an ear.
    Hard room to defend, he thought absently. Snipers on those balconies would work, but you’d need some on each one, watching to make sure nobody gets beneath the other. Anyone with a strong enough gun—or the right Allomantic powers—could take out snipers from below. The pillars below the balconies would also be good shelter, though.
    The more cover there was, the better the situation for the one who was outnumbered. Not that you ever wanted to be outnumbered, but he’d rarely been in any fight where he wasn’t. So he looked for cover. In the open, a gunfight came down to who could field the most men with weapons. But once you could hide, skill and experience started to compensate. Maybe this room wouldn’t be too bad a place to fight after all. He—
    He hesitated. What was he doing? He’d made his decision. Did he have to keep remaking it every few days?
    “Marasi,” he said, forcing himself into conversation. “Your cousin tells me you’ve entered into university studies?”
    “I’m in my final year,” she said.
    He waited for a further reply, and didn’t get one.
    “And how go your studies?”
    “Well,” she said, and looked down, holding her napkin.
    That was productive, he thought with a sigh. Fortunately, it looked like a server was approaching. The lean man began pouring wine for them. “The soup will be along presently,” he explained with a faint Terris accent, lofty vowels, and a slightly nasal tone.
    The voice froze Waxillium stiff.
    “Today’s soup,” the server continued, “is a delightfully seasoned prawn bisque with a hint of pepper. You shall find it quite enjoyable, I think.” He glanced at Waxillium, eyes twinkling in amusement. Though he wore a false nose and a wig, those were Wayne’s eyes.
    Waxillium groaned softly.
    “My lord doesn’t like prawns?” Wayne asked with horror.
    “The bisque is quite