I wonder if Valette’s out yet. . . . He’d tried to find her once his meeting was over, but apparently she’d been in a private gathering of her own.
That girl, he thought lazily, is far too interested in politics for her own good. Perhaps he was just jealous—only a few months in court, and she already seemed to be more competent than he was. She was so fearless, so bold, so . . . interesting. She didn’t fit any of the courtly stereotypes he’d been taught to expect.
Could Jastes be right? he wondered. She certainly is different from other women, and she did imply there were things about her I didn’t know.
Elend pushed the thought out of his mind. Valette was different, true—but she was also innocent, in a way. Eager, full of wonder and spunk.
He worried about her; she obviously didn’t know how dangerous Luthadel could be. There was so much more to politics in the city than simple parties and petty intrigues. What would happen if someone decided to send a Mistborn to deal with her and her uncle? Renoux was poorly connected, and none of the court’s members would blink twice at a few assassinations in Fellise. Did Valette’s uncle know how to take the proper precautions? Did he even worry about Allomancers?
Elend sighed. He’d just have to make certain that Valette left the area. That was the only option.
By the time his carriage reached Keep Venture, Elend had decided that he’d drunk too much. He made his way up to his rooms, looking forward to his bed and pillows.
The hallway to his bedroom, however, passed by his father’s study. The door was open, and light still spilled out despite the late hour. Elend tried to walk quietly on the carpeted floor, but he’d never really been all that stealthy.
“Elend?” his father’s voice called from the study. “Come in here.”
Elend sighed quietly. Lord Straff Venture didn’t miss much. He was a Tineye—his senses were so keen that he’d probably heard Elend’s carriage approaching outside. If I don’t deal with him now, he’ll just send the servants to pester me until I come down to speak with him. . . .
Elend turned and walked into the study. His father sat in his chair, speaking quietly with TenSoon—the Venture Kandra. Elend still wasn’t used to the creature’s most recent body, which had once belonged to a servant in the Hasting household. Elend shivered as it noticed him. It bowed, then quietly retreated from the room.
Elend leaned against the doorframe. Straff’s chair sat in front of several shelves of books—not a single one of which, Elend was confident, his father had ever read. The room was lit by two lamps, their hoods mostly closed to allow out only a bit of light.
“You attended the ball tonight,” Straff said. “What did you learn?”
Elend reached up, rubbing his forehead. “That I have a tendency to drink far too much brandy.”
Straff was not amused by the comment. He was the perfect imperial nobleman—tall, firm-shouldered, always dressed in a tailored vest and suit. “You met with that . . . woman again?” he asked.
“Valette? Hum, yes. Not for as long as I would have liked, though.”
“I forbade you from spending time with her.”
“Yes,” Elend said. “I remember.”
Straff’s expression darkened. He stood, walking over to the desk. “Oh, Elend,” he said. “When are you going to get over this childish temperament you have? Do you think I don’t realize that you act foolishly simply to spite me?”
“Actually, I got over my ‘childish temperament’ some time ago, Father—it just seems that my natural inclinations work even better to annoy you. I wish I had known that earlier; I could have saved a great deal of effort in my younger years.”
His father snorted, then held up a letter. “I dictated this to Staxles a short time ago. It is an acceptance of a lunch appointment with Lord Tegas tomorrow afternoon. If a house war does come, I want to make certain we are in a position to destroy the Hastings as quickly as possible, and Tegas could be a strong ally. He has a daughter. I’d like you to dine with her at the luncheon.”
“I’ll consider it,” Elend said, tapping his head. “I’m not sure what kind of state I’ll be in tomorrow morning. Too much brandy, remember?”
“You’ll be there, Elend. This is not a request.”
Elend paused. A part of him wanted to snap back at his father, to make a stand—not because he cared about where he dined, but because of something far more important.
Hasting is the second-most-powerful house in the city. If we made an allegiance with them, together we could keep Luthadel from chaos. We could stop the house war, not enflame it.
That’s what his books had done to him—they had changed him from rebellious fop into would-be philosopher. Unfortunately, he’d been a fool for so long. Was it any wonder that Straff hadn’t noticed the change in his son? Elend himself was only starting to realize it.
Straff continued to glare at him, and Elend looked away. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
Straff waved his hand dismissively, turning.
Trying to salvage something of his pride, Elend continued. “You probably don’t even have to worry about the Hastings—it seems that they’re making preparations to bolt the city.”
“What?” Straff asked. “Where did you hear that?”
“At the ball,” Elend said lightly.
“I thought you said you didn’t learn anything important.”
“Now, see, I never said anything of the sort. I just didn’t feel like sharing with you.”
Lord Venture frowned. “I don’t know why I even care—anything you learn is bound to be worthless. I tried to train you in politics, boy. I really did. But now . . . well, I hope I live to see you dead, because this house is in for dire times if you ever take control.”
“I know more than you think, Father.”
Straff laughed, walking back to sit in his chair. “I doubt that, boy. Why, you can’t even bed a woman properly—the last, and only, time I know about you trying it, I had to take you to the brothel myself.”
Elend flushed. Careful, he told himself. He’s bringing that up on purpose. He knows how much it bothers you.
“Get to bed, boy,” Straff said with a wave of his hand. “You look terrible.”
Elend stood for a moment, then finally ducked out into the hallway, sighing quietly to himself.
That’s the difference between you and them, Elend, he thought. Those philosophers you read—they were revolutionaries. They were willing to risk execution. You can’t even stand up to your father.
He walked tiredly up to his rooms—where, oddly, he found a servant waiting for him.
Elend frowned. “Yes?”
“Lord Elend, you have a guest,” the man said.
“At this hour?”
“It’s Lord Jastes Lekal, my lord.”
Elend cocked his head slightly. What in the Lord Ruler’s name . . .? “He’s waiting in the sitting room, I assume?”
“Yes, my lord,” the servant said.
Elend turned regretfully away from his chambers, walking back down the hallway. He found Jastes waiting impatiently.
“Jastes?” Elend said tiredly, walking into the sitting room. “I hope you have something very important to tell me.”