The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,34
some prostitutes about it—”
“Wait. You did?”
“Yes. A trio of very nice young ladies; met them for tea, but they clammed up the moment they discovered who I was—they even got strangely protective, and wouldn’t give me any details either. I get the impression they thought I was cute. What about being a spinster could possibly be cute? Do you realize I’m almost thirty?”
“One foot in the grave, obviously,” Wax said.
“It’s easy to joke when you’re a man,” she snapped. “You’re not on a deadline to provide something useful to this arrangement.”
“You’re worth more than your ability to bear children, Steris.”
“That’s right. There’s my money too.”
“And all I am to this arrangement is a title,” Wax said. “It goes both ways.”
Steris settled back, breathing in and out through her teeth for a few moments. Finally she cracked one eye. “You can shoot things too.”
“What every proper lady needs in a man.”
“Murdering is very traditional. Goes all the way back.”
Wax smiled. “Actually, if you want to be strictly traditional—going back to the Imperial Pair—it was the lady in the relationship who did the murdering.”
“Either way, I apologize for my tirade. It was completely uncalled for. I shall endeavor to be firmer with myself following our union.”
“Don’t be silly,” Wax said. “I like seeing moments like this from you.”
“You like it when ladies are in distress?”
“I like it when you show me something new. It’s good to remember that people have different sides.”
“Well,” she said, taking the book, “I can continue my research at another point. Our wedding has been delayed, after all.”
This was to be the night, he realized. Our first night of marriage. He’d known, of course, but thinking about it made him feel … what? Relieved? Sad? Both?
“If it eases your mind,” Wax said as she tucked the book into her suitcase, “we won’t need to be … involved with any real frequency, particularly once a child is provided. I don’t imagine your research will be necessary for more than a dozen or so occasions.”
As he said it she wilted, shoulders slumping, head bowing. She was still facing away from him, digging in her suitcase, but he spotted it immediately.
Damn. That had been a stupid thing to say, hadn’t it? If Lessie had been here, she’d have stomped on his toe for that one. He felt sick, then cleared his throat. “That was injudicious of me, Steris. I’m sorry.”
“The truth should never be the wrong thing to say, Lord Waxillium,” she said, straightening and looking toward him, composed once again. “This is exactly as our arrangement was to be, as I know full well. I did write the contract.”
Wax crossed the train car, then sat next to her, resting his hand on hers. “I don’t like this talk from you. Or from me. It’s become a habit for us to pretend this relationship is nothing more than titles and money. But Steris, when Lessie died…” He choked off, then took a deep breath before continuing. “Everyone wanted to talk to me. Speak at me. Blather about how they knew what I was feeling. But you just let me weep. Which was what I needed more than anything. Thank you.”
She met his eyes, then squeezed his hand.
“What we are together,” Wax said to her, “and what we make of our future need not be spelled out by a piece of paper.” Or, well, a large stack of them. “The contract need not set our bounds.”
“Pardon. But I thought that was exactly the purpose of a contract. To define and set bounds.”
“And the purpose of life is to push our bounds,” Wax said, “to shatter them, escape them.”
“An odd position,” Steris said, cocking her head, “for a lawman.”
“Not at all,” Wax said. He thought for a moment, then crossed to his side of the chamber again and dug into Ranette’s box, getting out one of the metal spheres wound with a long cord. “Do you recognize this?”
“I noticed you looking at it earlier.”
Wax nodded. “Third version of her hook device, like the one we used to climb ZoBell Tower. Watch.”
He burned steel and Pushed on the sphere. It leaped from his fingers, streaking toward the bar on the luggage rack, trailing the cord behind—which he held in his hand. As the sphere reached the rack, Wax Pushed on a specific thin blue line revealed by his Allomantic senses. It pointed to a latch hidden inside the sphere, like the one inside Vindication that turned off the safety.