of his thigh. He’d taken a shot to the leg too, but that didn’t matter. He’d broken that leg in his fall anyway.
The shot near his neck was the worst. He knew this without even touching it, knew it by the way his body worked—by the way pieces of him were growing numb, the way certain muscles didn’t respond right.
That light. A soft blue. Not a candle, but one of the built-in lights of the building. He crawled toward the light, dragging his broken leg, scraping on stone, sweat streaming down the sides of his face and mixing with the blood he spilled to the ground.
“Harmony,” he whispered. “Harmony.”
No reply. Now he prayed? What of his hatred?
For a time, that light was everything to him. An hour could have passed as he crawled, or perhaps it had been only a minute. As he neared, he saw sentries in the darkness. People sitting arrayed before the light, casting long shadows into the depths of the room. The ceiling was low, barely taller than a man could stand. That was why … why the people had to sit.…
Focus! he thought at himself, flaring his metal. The sentries had metal on them. And … yes, one other faint line, pointing toward a spot on the floor up ahead. Another trap.
The flared metal seemed to bring him clarity, helping him push back the muddled sensation. Blood loss. He was fading quickly. Still, a shade more alert, he saw those sentries for what they were. Corpses. Seated, somehow, draped in warm clothing. He passed the first row of them and looked in on frozen faces, shriveled with the passing of time but remarkably well preserved. Each held a mask in its lap. They sat in four concentric rings, looking at the light up ahead.
Here, the ones who had built this place had died. Then how … how had word of the key to the door been passed on.…
Wax crawled among the huddled dead, frozen despite their warm clothing. He could imagine them seated here, waiting for the end, as the heat in their metalminds dwindled. The cold, creeping in as night does after sunset, a final, consuming darkness.
And ahead, another pedestal. Smaller, carved of white rock. A simple light glowing on its top revealed a set of metal bracers. No fancy trimmings here, just the silent reverence of the dead.
Something sounded behind him, a scrape of boots on stone; then a light flooded the room from there.
“Waxillium?” Edwarn’s voice called.
Wax huddled down.
“I know you’re here, son,” Edwarn said. “That’s quite the trail of blood you’re leaving. This is over, as you must realize.”
He’s an Allomancer now, Wax thought, remembering what Edwarn had done to Marasi’s gun. The man carried a pistol, the aluminum one that Telsin had used.
Telsin … How long had she been working with them? He hated that he’d guessed, hated that his first instinct—even if he’d been right—had been to pull a gun on his only sibling. It just made too much sense. She’d caused Wayne to knock the backpack out the door. She’d killed the brute in the warehouse, when he’d been about to speak—potentially addressing her, outing her as a member of the Set.
Suit wouldn’t … wouldn’t have come into the temple with them unless he had the upper hand.…
He needed to stay focused. Edwarn was approaching. Wax was tempted to Push a bullet toward the man, but held himself back. Edwarn raised the light, illuminating the vast emptiness and looking slowly around himself. He didn’t seem to have spotted Wax, and the bodies all had some metal on them, so Edwarn’s steelsight wouldn’t reveal Wax. But the blood trail would soon betray him.
Still, Wax waited. He bowed himself, huddling down in the line of figures, imitating their stooped postures.
Have to get those bracers …
He’d get shot before he could reach them. If he could even make it that distance without passing out.
“I did try to protect you,” Suit said.
“What did you do to my sister?” Wax demanded, his voice echoing in the darkness.
Suit smiled, walking forward, scanning the bodies. If he could draw the man closer …
“I didn’t do anything to her,” Suit said. “Son, she recruited me.”
“Lies,” Wax hissed.
“The old world is dying, Waxillium!” Edwarn said. “I told you that a new one will soon be born, a world where men like you don’t belong.”
“I can find my place in a world of airships.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Suit said. “I’m talking about the secrets, Waxillium. The