فصل 9

9

Standing at the foot of ZoBell Tower, Wayne watched Wax and Steris disappear into the mists. He shook his head, then took a ball of gum from the tin in his pocket. He’d gotten himself some of the stuff. It was actually fun to chew.

He popped it into his mouth and thought about what a rusted fool his friend was. Obviously, Wax persisted with this whole engagement-to-Steris mess because he missed Lessie so much. So Wax had chosen a marriage that demanded no emotional investment. That was easy to see as the bottom of your own glass at a pub with watered-down ale, that was.

Wayne held out his hand to help Marasi down from their coach. “You look nice,” she told him. “I’m surprised you agreed to wear that.” Wayne glanced down at his sharply tailored suit, chewing absently. Marasi acted amazed that he had a suit, matched by a fancy bowler on his head and a dark green cravat. Why wouldn’t he have a costume like this? He had beggar costumes, constable costumes, and old lady costumes. A fellow needed to be able to blend with his surroundings. In the Roughs, that meant having some pale brown cowhand’s costume. In the city, that meant having a fancy twit costume.

The stupid line was so long that aluminum could have rusted in the time it took them to reach the halfway point. Rusting Wax and his cheating ways, Wayne thought. The man could have at least taken Wayne instead of Steris.

Up ahead, oddly, a couple was turned away, forced to trudge back toward their carriage despite all the waiting. What’s going on up there? Fancy people like this didn’t get turned away from parties, did they? Everyone had an invitation, even if his was forged. It was just like the one he’d given to the old tyrant at the school though.

Well, no telling until they arrived. And this line was still moving sloooooooowwwww.

“That fellow you caught ever say anything useful?” he asked Marasi.

“No,” Marasi said. “He isn’t all there, mentally. We did find what seems to be a Hemalurgic spike in him though.” “Rusts. You know ‘bout that too?”

“I got to read the book,” Marasi said absently. “Death did give it to me first, and Waxillium let me make a copy. Our captive had a piercing on some skin in his chest. After we removed that, he calmed. But he still won’t talk.” Eventually, after seven crop rotations or so, they reached the front of the line. Marasi presented their invitation. The bouncer here looked it over, his face grim. “I’m afraid that we’ve been ordered to deny any nameless invitations not in the possession of the people they were sent to. With the attempt on the governor’s life, only guests named on our list can be allowed in.” “But—” Marasi said.

“Here now,” Wayne cut in. “We’re important people. Don’t you see how fancy my cravat is?” Near the door, men in black coats stepped forward, threatening. Rusting government security. Constables, they were real people—oh, they might bust a man’s neck now and then, but they came from the streets same as anyone. These spooks though … they barely had any soul to them.

“I saved the governor’s life today,” Marasi said. “Surely you won’t turn me away.” “There’s nothing I can do, I’m afraid,” the bouncer said, his stern face completely expressionless.

Yeah, something was going on here. Wayne grabbed Marasi’s arm, towing her aside. “Let’s go. Rusting fools.” “But—”

Wayne glanced over his shoulder and, just at the right moment, tossed up a speed bubble. “Alrighty, then,” he said. “New plan!” “You sound excited,” she said, glancing at the borders of the speed bubble. It was more distinct than usual, as the mist inside the bubble continued to shift and move while that outside hung frozen in the air like gauze.

“I’m an excitable type,” Wayne said, hurrying back to the lectern where the bouncer stood. Wayne had managed to catch the lectern in his speed bubble, but not the bouncer. Right fine precision on his part. That little pedestal had a name manifest on it.

“I think you gave up too easily on getting in the ordinary way,” Marasi said, folding her arms.

“Our names are on here,” Wayne said, careful to keep moving as he read it over. “In a column of people specifically to be kept out. Wouldn’t have mattered how well you argued.” “What?” she demanded, shoving up beside him. “Damn. I saved his life, the bastard.” “Marasi!” Wayne said, grinning. “You’re startin’ to talk normal-like.” “Because of you,” she said, then paused. “Bastard.”

He grinned, chewing his gum loudly. “You saved the governor’s life, yeah, but it’s probably his security who want to keep you out, not him. They’ve got mud on their faces because one of their own went rotten, and you embarrassed them by noticing first.” “But that’s petty! They’re playing with the governor’s life!”

“Men are petty.” He danced to the side.

“Why are you moving like that?”

“If I stay too long in one place, they have a chance of seeing me, even with how fast we’re moving inside this bubble. If we keep moving we’ll be a blur, and out in the mists that should be unnoticeable.” She reluctantly started moving.

Wayne glanced over the lists again, recognizing a name. “Here now. That one will work.” “Wayne, you’re going to get us into trouble, aren’t you?”

“Only if we get caught!” He pointed. “They have two lists—people they’re to turn away no matter what, and people they’re to allow. See the notes? Fourth name down? Says he sent word he might not come, and they’re to make certain nobody else uses his invitation.” “Wayne,” Marasi said, “that’s Professor Hanlanaze. He’s a brilliant mathematician.” “Hm,” Wayne said, rubbing his chin. “From the university.”

“No, from New Seran. He’s been behind some of the discoveries in combustion technology.” Wayne perked up. “From outside the city. So people might not know him.” “They will by reputation.”

“But personally?”

“He’s somewhat reclusive,” Marasi said. “He often gets invited to things like this, but rarely comes. Wayne, I see that look in your eye. You can’t imitate him.” “What’s the worst that could come of it?”

“We get caught,” she said, still walking with him around the speed bubble. “We get thrown in prison, prosecuted for conspiracy, embarrass Waxillium.” “Now that,” Wayne said, striding back to where he’d been standing when he’d sped up time, “is the best damn argument for trying this that anyone could make. Come back so I can drop this speed bubble. After that we’re gonna need to find us some weapons.” Marasi paled, joining him. “If you are thinking of sneaking guns in—” “Not guns,” Wayne said with a grin. “A different kind of weapon. Math.” * * *

“So that kandra is in here,” Steris said softly from her place on Wax’s arm as she scanned the party room. “Somewhere.” The penthouse of ZoBell Tower encompassed its entire top floor, with windows ringing the outside. Light from a dozen dim chandeliers played off wineglasses, diamond jewelry, sequins on sleek dresses. The dress style was new. Was he so oblivious to fashion that he had missed such a dramatic shift?

Steris wore more traditional attire—a kind of gauzy, draping white dress with a very small bustle and a distinct waist. However, it had sequins lining the collar and cuffs, and was more filmy—lighter than what she normally wore, and actually quite pretty on her. With the sequins, it shared something with these modern gowns.

The party attendees moved around several bars and numerous small displays set up on the red-carpeted floor. Wax and Steris passed one, a stand with a glass box enclosing a raw copper nugget as big as a man’s head. Light glimmered on its surface.

Allomantic metals, Wax thought as they passed another display. Dozens of specimens, with plaques talking about where the nugget or vein had been mined. They provoked conversations around the room, clusters of people chatting as light played off the colorful drinks in their fingers.

“You’re drawing attention,” Steris noted. “I’m not certain wearing the coat was a wise move.” “The mistcoat is a symbol,” Wax said. “It is a reminder.” She’d talked him out of the hat, but not this.

“It makes you look like a ruffian.”

“It’s supposed to. Maybe they’ll think twice about lying to me; I don’t want to be part of their games.” “You are already part of their games, Lord Waxillium.”

“Which is why I don’t like coming to the parties.” He held up his hand, cutting her off. “I know. It’s important that we be here. Let’s go chat with the partygoers you’ve planned for us to approach.” She always had a list, carefully prepared. Steris was the only person he’d ever heard of who brought an agenda to a cocktail party.

“No,” she said.

“No?”

“That is what we commonly do,” Steris said, giving a specific smile—she practiced different ones—to Lady Mulgrave as they passed. “Tonight’s purpose is yours. Let us be about it and find that killer.” “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she said, waving to another couple. “It behooves a wife to be interested in, if not involved in, the passions of her spouse.” “You don’t need to do that, Steris. I—”

“Please,” she said softly. “I do.”

Wax let the argument drop. Truth was, he was pleased. With the possibility that Bleeder was here somewhere, Wax wouldn’t be able to relax anyway.

So how to find the creature? More importantly, how would he beat someone who could move in a blur? Unlike Allomancy—which burned at a few standard rates—Feruchemical powers could be used up all at once. Bleeder could drain her metalminds in a single burst of speed—and could probably take down dozens of people in an eyeblink. Maybe even hundreds. And Wax wouldn’t be able to do a thing.

But perhaps she wouldn’t have enough left for that. She couldn’t just pop more metal in, like an Allomancer, and refill her reserves. She’d have to rely on what speed she had been able to store up, and she’d only stolen her spike recently. Killing the people at Winsting’s party would have expended a large amount of what she’d theoretically been able to save up over the last few weeks.

So he had two options. Kill her before she moved, or somehow get her to waste her Feruchemical reserve without hurting anyone.

He stepped up to the bar, ordering drinks, then turned to scan the crowd. It had been two decades since he’d been a part of high society, and his two years back in Elendel hadn’t yet polished off all the rust. Everyone here had the same counterfeit way about them—they chatted with a studied air of merriment while secretly pursuing their own agendas. There was no better place for a murderer to blend in than this.

Drinks in hand, Wax stepped down from the bar and turned on his steel bubble.

It wasn’t something he’d always been able to do, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he did it. Oh, the basic mechanics were obvious: he burned steel, then Pushed lightly outward from himself in all directions at once. But how had he learned to exempt metal he himself carried? He still didn’t know. It was just something that had happened, over time.

With the bubble on, his Allomantic instincts searched out any bits of metal moving quickly toward him, and would Push on those with increasing force as they drew closer. He was getting better and better at that. Standing and letting Darriance shoot at his chest while wearing about twelve inches of padding and armor had helped. He couldn’t dodge bullets, but the bubble helped.

“What did you just do?” Steris asked as he reached her. “My bracelet wants to leap off my arm.” “Remove it,” Wax said. “If there’s an Allomantic fight, I don’t want you wearing any metals.” Steris raised an eyebrow, but took off the bracelet and dropped it in her handbag. Wax mentally added an exception for it.

“I don’t know that it will matter,” Steris said. “This place is positively teeming with metal. What are you doing with your drink?” Wax looked up. He’d just finished covertly dumping a bit of brown powder into his cup. “I got water,” he said. “The powder will make it look like I’m drinking brandy. If I can feign drunkenness later, it might give me an edge.” “Fascinating,” Steris said. She seemed genuinely impressed.

They moved through the room, passing under a chandelier. The separate bits of crystal—which had wires suspending them—moved subtly away from Wax, like the needle of a compass confronted by a magnet’s matching pole. He accidentally knocked a nugget off a pedestal as they passed. Rusts. Against his better judgment, he dampened his steel bubble.

“Let’s find the governor,” Steris said.

Wax nodded. He couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter which way he turned, someone had a gun pointed at his back.

Someone else moves us, lawman.

Red on the bricks. Lessie in his arms, already dead. His hands stained with her blood.… No. He’d moved past that. He’d grieved. He wouldn’t be sucked down into that spiral again. As they continued through the party, a pair of lesser nobles wearing dark colors moved to intercept them, but Wax gave them a glare, which was enough to get them to back off.

“Lord Waxillium…” Steris said.

“What?” Wax asked. “You said we were going to the governor.”

“That doesn’t mean you can growl at everyone else.”

“I didn’t growl.” Did he?

“Let me handle it next time,” Steris said, guiding them around a pedestal displaying—oddly—nothing at all. The plaque read: ATIUM, THE LOST METAL.

As they neared the governor—who stood holding court near the windows on the north side—a man in a bright yellow bow tie noticed Wax. Great. Lord Stenet. He would want to talk about textile tariffs again. But of course he wouldn’t say that, not at first. People never said what they meant around here.

“Lord Waxillium!” Stenet said. “I was just thinking about you! How are your wedding arrangements proceeding? Should I look forward to an invitation soon?” “Not too soon,” Steris said. “We’ve only just settled on a priest. What of you? Your engagement is the talk of the city!” His face fell. “Oh. Now, about that…” He cleared his throat. Steris prodded, but in a moment Stenet had found an excuse, changed the topic, then politely retreated.

“What was that about?” Wax said.

“He’s been cheating on her,” Steris said absently. “Naturally, the topic makes him uncomfortable.” “Nice work,” Wax said. “You’re very good at this.”

“I’m proficient at it.”

“I believe that’s what I said.”

“There is a distinction,” Steris said with a shake of her head. “In this room there are true masters of social interaction. I am not one of them. I studied social norms, researched them, and now I execute them. Another woman might have sailed through that conversation and left him happy, but distracted. I had to use blunt force, so to speak.” “You are a bizarre woman, Steris.”

“Says the only man in the room with guns on his hips,” she replied, “a man who is unconsciously trying to Push the earrings out of the ears of every woman we pass. You didn’t notice Lady Remin losing her ring into her drink, did you?” “Missed that.”

“Pity. It was entertaining. Here, step this way; we don’t want to get into a conversation with Lord Bookers. He is dreadfully boring.” Wax followed her down three steps, passing a display shining with nuggets of tin that rattled at his passing, alongside pictures of famous Tineyes, including several sketches of the Lord Mistborn—who had been a Tineye before the Catacendre. Funny, that Steris would remark on someone being boring.… “You’re thinking,” Steris said, “that it is ironic that I would note that someone is a bore—as I myself have a reputation for the same personality flaw.” “I would not have phrased it like that.”

“It’s all right,” Steris said. “As I have said many times before, I am aware of my reputation. I must embrace my nature. I recognize another bore as you might recognize a master Allomancer—as a colleague whose arts I don’t particularly wish to sample.” Wax found himself smiling.

“As a side note,” Steris said softly as she steered them toward where the governor was speaking with the lord of House Erikell, “if you do find the murderer, steer me in her direction. I shall endeavor to fascinate her with details of our house finances. With luck, she’ll fall asleep in her drink and drown, and I shall have my first kill.” “Steris! That was actually amusing.”

She blushed. Then she got a conspiratorial look on her face. “I cheated, if you must know.” “… Cheated?”

“I know you enjoy witty conversation,” she said, “so I prepared earlier, writing myself a list of things I could say that you would find engaging.” Wax laughed. “You have plans for everything, don’t you?”

“I like to be thorough,” she said. “Though admittedly, sometimes I can be so thorough that I end up needing to plan how to best make my plans. My life ends up feeling like a beautiful ship in dry dock, built with eighteen rudders pointing in different directions to be extra certain that a steering mechanism is in place.” She hesitated, then blushed again. “Yes. That quip was on my list.” Wax laughed anyway. “Steris, I think this is the most genuine I’ve ever seen you.” “But I’m being fake. I prepared the lines ahead of time. I’m not actually being diverting.” “You’d be surprised at how many people do the same thing,” Wax said. “Besides, this is you. So it’s genuine.” “Then I’m always genuine.”

“I guess so. I just didn’t realize it before.”

They stepped toward Innate, putting them close enough that the governor would notice them waiting. Nearby, other couples and groups shot them covert looks. As the lord of a major house, Wax outranked almost everyone in the room. Old noble titles were coming to matter less and less, but with Steris’s money backing him, he’d been able to dig himself out of many of his debts. That in turn had allowed him to avoid foreclosures, and he’d been able to hold out until other investments came through. House Ladrian was again one of the wealthiest in the city. Increasingly, that was more important than a noble pedigree.

He found it unfortunate, though not surprising, how often noble birth aligned with economic and political power. The Lord Mistborn’s laws, based upon the Last Emperor’s ideal, were supposed to put power into the hands of common men. And yet the same groups just kept on ruling. Wax was one of them. How guilty should he feel?

Already I fear that I have made things too easy for men.…

Drim, the governor’s chief bodyguard and head of security, stepped up to Wax. “I suppose you’ll be next,” the thick-necked man growled. “My men at the doors let you keep your guns, I hear.” “Let me tell you, Drim,” Wax said, “if the governor is in the slightest bit of danger, you want a gun in my hands.” “I suppose. A gun doesn’t mean much to you anyway, does it? You could kill with the spare change in your pocket.” “Or a pair of cuff links. Or the tacks holding the carpet to the floor.” Drim grunted. “Too bad about your deputy.”

Wax snapped his attention on Drim. “Wayne. What about him?”

“He’s a security threat,” Drim said. “Had to turn him away down below.” Wax relaxed. “Oh. All right, then.”

Drim smiled, obviously feeling he’d won something from the conversation. He backed up to take his place by the wall, watching those who came to speak with the governor.

“You’re not concerned about Wayne?” Steris asked softly.

“Not anymore. I worried he’d find the party so boring, he would wander off. Instead, the good man there kindly gave Wayne a challenge.” “So … you’re saying he’ll sneak in?”

“If Wayne isn’t in here somewhere already,” Wax said, “I’ll eat your handbag and try to burn it for Allomantic power.” They continued to wait. The governor’s current interlocutor, Lady Shayna, was a long-winded blowhard, but after the political and financial support she’d given him, even the governor couldn’t turn her away. Wax looked around, wondering where Wayne would be.

“Lord Waxillium Ladrian,” a feminine voice said. “I’ve heard about you. You’re more handsome than the stories say.” He raised his eyebrows toward the speaker, a tall woman waiting to see the governor. Very tall—she had a few inches on him at least. With luscious lips and a large chest, she had creamy skin and hair the color of gunpowder, and she was wearing a red dress missing most of its top half.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Steris said, her voice cool.

“I’m called Milan,” the woman said. She didn’t bother to look at Steris, but inspected Wax up and down, then smiled in a mysterious way. “Lord Waxillium, you wear sidearms and a Roughs-style mistcoat to a cocktail party. Bold.” “There is nothing bold about doing what one has always done,” Wax said. Flirting with a man while his fiancée stands beside him, however … “You have an interesting reputation,” Milan continued. “Are the things they say about you true?” “Yes.”

She pursed her lips, smiling, expecting more. Instead, he met her eyes and waited. She shuffled, moving her cup from one hand to another, then excused herself, walking off.

“Wow,” Steris said. “And they say I can make people uncomfortable.” “You learn the stare early,” Wax said, returning his attention to the governor. In the back of his mind, he assessed the woman Milan and decided to keep an eye on her. Had that been Bleeder in disguise, trying to feel him out? Or had it been just another foolish partygoer with a bit too much wine in her and an inflated opinion of how men would respond to her?

Rusts, this is going to be tough.

Wayne sauntered about the party, his tiny dining plate stacked with food as high as he could get it. Why did they always use such tiny plates at fancy parties? To keep people from eating too much? Rusts. Rich folk didn’t make sense. They gave away the most expensive booze in the city, then worried about people eating all of the little sausages?

Wayne was a rebel. He refused to play by their rules, yes he did. He quickly laid out a battle plan. The ladies with the little sausages came out from behind the east bar, while the west bar was preparing the salmon crackers. Tiny sandwiches to the north, and desserts of various sorts to the south. If he made a round of the penthouse room in exactly thirteen minutes, he could hit each station just as the servants were entering with fresh platters.

They were starting to give him glares. A fellow knew he was doing his job right when he got those kinds of glares.

Marasi stayed nearby, playing the part of Professor Hanlanaze’s assistant. Wayne scratched at his beard. He didn’t like beards, but Marasi said the few evanotype pictures of Professor Hanlanaze showed him wearing one. Hanlanaze was far thicker at the waist than Wayne was too. That was great. You could hide all kinds of stuff in padding like that.

“I still can’t believe you had all of this in the carriage,” Marasi whispered, then she stole one of his sausages. Right off his plate. Outrageous!

“My dear woman,” Wayne said, scratching his head, where he wore a colorful Terris cap, a proud emblem of Hanlanaze’s lineage. “Being a qualified academic depends, before anything else, upon suitable preparation. I would no sooner leave my home without appropriate equipment for every eventuality than I would work in my lab without proper safety precautions!” “It’s the voice that truly makes the disguise, you know,” Marasi said. “How do you do it?” “Our accents are clothing for our thoughts, my dear,” Wayne said. “Without them, everything we say would be stripped bare, and we might as well be screaming at one another. Oh look. The dessert lady has chocolate pastries again! I do find those irresistible.” He stepped toward them, but a comment cut him off. “Professor Hanlanaze?” Wayne froze.

“Why, it is you!” the voice said. “I didn’t believe you’d actually come.” A tall man approached, wearing so much plaid that you could have strung him up on a pole and made a war banner out of him.

On one hand Wayne was pleased. He’d only had Marasi’s description of Hanlanaze to go on in creating his disguise, so the fact that he fooled someone who had obviously seen the professor’s picture was impressive.

On the other hand … damn.

Wayne handed Marasi his plate, giving her a stern glare that said “Don’t eat these.” Then he took the newcomer’s hand. That suit’s fabric really was something. The mill that made it must have used up an entire year’s quota of stripes.

“And you are?” Wayne asked, pinching his voice. He’d found that big men like Professor Hanlanaze often had voices that sounded smaller than the person was. He was glad he’d been studying southern accents. Of course he also injected some of a university accent into it, and set both on a base of Thermolian “v” sounds, from the outer village where the professor had grown up.

Getting a good accent was like mixing a paint to match one already on a wall. If you didn’t blend just right, the flaws could look much worse than if you’d chosen a different color entirely.

“I’m Rame Maldor,” the man said, shaking Wayne’s hand. “You know … the paper on the Higgens effect?” “Ah yes,” Wayne said, releasing the hand and stepping back. He gave a good impression of being nervous around so many people, and it sold better than two-penny drinks the day after Truefast. Indeed, Maldor was perfectly willing to give the supposed recluse plenty of space.

That let Wayne speed up time around him and Marasi only.

“What in Harmony’s wrists is he talking about?” Wayne hissed.

From her bag, Marasi retrieved the book that she’d purchased at a nearby shop while Wayne was getting into his costume. She soon found the page she wanted. “The Higgens effect. Has to do with the way a spectral field is influenced by magnets.” She flipped a few pages. “Here, try this.…” She rattled off some gibberish to Wayne, who nodded and dropped the speed bubble.

“The Higgens effect is old news!” Wayne said. “I’m much more interested in the way that a static electric field produces similar results. Why, you should see the work we are near to completing!” Rame got pale in the face. “But … But … I was going to study that effect myself!” “Then you’re behind by at least three years!”

“Why didn’t you mention this in our letters?”

“And reveal my next discovery?” Wayne said.

Rame stumbled away, then dashed for the lift. Wayne had never seen a scientist move so quickly. You’d have thought someone was handing out free lab coats in the lobby.

“Oh dear,” Marasi said. “You realize the chaos this might cause in their field?” “Yup,” Wayne said, taking his plate of food back. “It will be good for them. It’ll stop them from sittin’ around and thinkin’ so much.” “Wayne, they’re scientists. Isn’t that their job?”

“Hell if I know,” Wayne said, stuffing a little sausage in his mouth. “But rusts, if it is, that would explain so much.” * * *

Governor Innate finished his conversation and turned toward Wax. Drim, the bodyguard, waved them forward. He didn’t like Wax, but from what Wax knew of the man, Drim was solid, loyal and dependable. He understood that Wax wasn’t a threat.

Unfortunately, Drim didn’t know the threat they were facing. A kandra … it could be anyone. Wax wouldn’t have been so trusting.

Wouldn’t I? he thought, shaking the governor’s hand. What if the kandra is Drim? Have I considered that?

That was how Bleeder had gotten in to kill Lord Winsting, after all. She had been wearing the face of someone Winsting’s men trusted. Rusting iron on a hillside, Wax thought. This is going to be very, very hard.

“Lord Waxillium?” Innate asked. “Are you well?”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Wax said. “My thoughts were called away for a moment. How is Lady Innate?” “She had a moment of passing nausea,” the governor said, kissing Steris’s hand. “And went home to lie down. I will tell her you asked after her. Lady Harms, you look lovely this evening.” “And you are ever a gentleman,” Steris replied, giving him a genuine smile. Steris liked the governor, though politically they were opposites—Steris calculatedly progressive, as she figured would be expected of new money looking to advance, while Innate was conservative. But that sort of thing didn’t bother Steris. She liked people whose motives made sense, and she felt Innate’s political record was orderly. “I hope Lady Allri will recover soon.” “It is an ailment of nerves more than anything else,” Innate said. “She did not react well to what happened today.” “You seem to be doing remarkably,” Wax said. “All things considered.” “The would-be assassin was one of our newer guards, and was mentally unhinged. He had terrible aim, and likely didn’t even actually intend to kill me.” The governor chuckled. “Would that the Survivor would always send such enemies to me, and often around election season.” Wax cracked a forced smile, then glanced to the side. That woman from before, the pretty one with the large eyes, stood nearby. Who else was suspiciously near?

Bleeder won’t be someone I can spot easily, Wax thought. The Faceless Immortals have centuries of practice blending into human society.

“What is your take on it, Lord Waxillium?” Innate asked. “What were the man’s motives?” “He was provoked to the attack,” Wax said. “It was a distraction. Someone else killed your brother; they will try again for you.” Nearby, Drim stood up straight, glancing at him.

“Curious,” Innate said. “But you’re known for jumping at shadows, are you not?” “Every lawman follows a bum lead on occasion.”

“I believe you’ll find Lord Waxillium to be right far more often than he is wrong, my lord,” Steris said. “If he warns of danger, I would listen.” “I will,” Innate said.

“I want to meet with you,” Wax said, “so we can discuss important matters. Tomorrow at the latest. You need to hear what we’re dealing with.” “I will schedule it.” From Innate, that was a promise. Wax would have his meeting. “Lady Harms, might I ask after your cousin? I’ve yet to thank her for what she did today, even if the man’s aim was off, and I would have been safe anyway.” “Marasi is well,” Steris said. “She should be coming up here tonight to—” Look at them.

The thought forced its way into Wax’s head. Steris and the governor continued to speak, but he froze.

They dress in painted sequins. They drink wine. They laugh, and smile, and play, and dance, and eat, and quietly kill. All part of Harmony’s plan. All actors on a stage. That’s what you are too, Waxillium Ladrian. It’s what all men are.

A chill moved over Wax, like ants running across his skin. The thoughts in his head were a voice, like Harmony’s, but rasping and crude. Brutal. A terrible whisper.

Wax was still wearing his earring. Bleeder had found out how to communicate with someone wearing a Hemalurgic spike.

The murderer was in his head.