Lady Wrayn Venture, the Witch of Edross, de facto Queen of the Independent Nation of Direland, woke up aching and miserable. She fumbled at her bedstand until her fingers curled around the small glass vial they’d been searching for. She undid the stopper and downed the contents in a gulp, burning the zinc as soon as it reached her belly. The nameless, unfocused ache subsided, but that failed to improve her mood overmuch.
After a few moments more nestled in the soft blankets, she arose and began the day’s work. She got out a large satchel and looked around for what needed packing. First things first: they would be gone for how many days? Seven? Eight? That would be...she did the math in her head quickly, at least 56 vials. Best make it a round 60 to be safe. She emptied the drawers in her room and counted out 37. Nowhere near enough. She hurriedly wrapped a robe around her bedclothes and raided the supply in her office. 22 in her desk, three more in a hollowed out book on the shelf (she’d found it there when she inherited the office from Harana, might as well put it to use), one in the vase that was a gift from some dignitary fifty years ago, and an envelope of dry zinc flakes behind the painting that hung behind her desk. She took them all. She wouldn’t be coming back here, anyway.
She went back to her room and packed up all the zinc. She took out her green traveling dress and a pair of tan trousers. They were sturdy and practical, but the dress was embroidered along the hems with a light, leafy pattern that made it look a little less pedestrian. Then she frowned, opened up her wardrobe a second time and called out “Maves? I need a second opinion in here.”
No one responded.
Shan took her with him, she remembered. All the skaa servants had left with the refugee groups or simply went home, and the last few nobles from House Venture had packed up yesterday. She suddenly became aware of the oppressive silence of the empty keep. For only the second time in so many weeks, she broke down and wept, not fighting the tears at all but letting the wave of loneliness and abject terror wash over her. After a few minutes, she dried the tears with her sleeve, splashed her face with cold water, and set back to getting ready.
She skipped the corset. Stockings, trousers, dress, traveling boots. She brushed her hair, braiding the sides to meet in the middle and tying them together with a ribbon. The rest of her blond hair she put up temporarily so it wouldn’t get tangled in her armor. She lifted the breastplate out of its drawer and admired it, not for the first time. The laminated wood plates had been painstakingly crafted from lighter and darker kinds of wood that fit together in a finely detailed pattern that subtly accentuated curves she didn’t really have. It had taken the skaa woodworker months to perfect, and she’d made sure Shan paid him generously for it. Jorred, she reminded herself. His name was Jorred, and she’d sent him south with Ladrian to teach the Renaux armorers how to make better metal-free armor and shields. He was gone too.
The shoulders, back, and front were one large piece connected with leather, which she hefted over her head. She tied together the thick leather straps on both sides, pulling it tight around her torso. It felt safe, comforting. She strapped on the upper and lower leg guards, leaving off the arms until she could find someone to help her. Falcom would have people for that.
Next she rifled through her jewelry drawer. Nothing metal, of course. Eventually she settled on a large glass pendant with a green abstract pattern at its center, hanging from a thin black ribbon. It plonked heavily on the breastplate, the weight strangely reassuring. Bethesia. She came up with the process for creating the clear glass panes for the greenhouses, which let in more light and shed the ash more cleanly than the older kind. She’d presented Wrayn with the pendant as a gift when she’d explained the greenhouse proposal. Now she was in Eastern Dominance with Vanir, building greenhouses to feed the refugees.
What else? She cast around the room, not sure how to pack for a trip like this. No one had covered this eventuality in etiquette class. She grabbed an extra change of clothing, a fresh journal, a pair of fountain pens and a well stoppered ink bottle. On a whim, she poked her nose back in the jewelry drawer, grabbing a necklace of glass beads, a pair of thick, wooden bracelets with leaf patterns etched into them, a braided rope belt with small painted clay beads on the tassels, and a heavily folded test printing from the first movable type press they had built. She knew the people who had made all of them. She’d sent all of them away already.
She went back into her office and started a fire, burning everything that named anyone from her house or the revolution. Shan had already destroyed the other copies around the house, but to be sure she went from room to room, examining the offices and libraries for anything incriminating. There were empty shelves everywhere. Finally, she went into the kitchen and packed her food. Hard bread, hard cheese, three wine bottles, a handful of summer squash (she smiled ruefully at these), the dregs from a container of dried fruit, some jerky, and a bag of nuts. It would last a week. She didn’t want to stop off in any towns along the way. The cupboards weren’t cleaned out entirely; there would be hungry people left after she was gone, and she believed the scavengers should have something to eat.
And then she was gone, too.
Roan greeted her in the square. Falcom and Valencia were already waiting, but Sybelle hadn’t arrived yet. Not last. That’s all she’d hoped for. Valencia was wearing a sturdy but ornately decorated dark red travelling dress with a belt of polished wooden rings and bright yellow ribbon. Falcom was wearing his own set of wooden armor. They hadn’t had time to make very many suits of the beautiful, allomancer-proof armor, but being on the ruling council came with some benefits. He walked over to Wrayn.
“Do you need help with the arms?”
“Yes.”
He did not have anyone with him, and simply went to work himself tying the straps along her shoulder and arms. It would have been scandalous just a few weeks ago, even with her dress between them, but now no one noticed or cared. He was a friend of Vanir, and she trusted him implicitly.
Sybelle Tormander arrived in a carriage drawn by a pair of horses. The driver stepped down and assisted her as she exited carefully. All around them, skaa workers and craftsmen were filtering into the square. They didn’t know exactly what was happening, but Lady Venture was going to address them and that was always worth watching. There was a magic in her words, like the warmth of a strong drink. They didn’t know what they would do without her.
“They say he is invincible. They say he has survived beheading, been burned to a skeleton, they say armies crumble before him. The Lord Ruler is coming, and he is coming for me. He is jealous of the work we have done, he is scared of the limitless potential of the people of Direland. We sent away his armies at great cost to ourselves, and now he is coming himself.” Wrayn pulled on the crowd hard, not flaring for fear that the people would notice, but firmly. Courage. Pride. Patriotism. Love. She hadn’t intended the last one to go out but it swelled within her. She loved these people. She hadn’t even known them before, just faceless skaa. She hadn’t hated them, but they were smaller things that needed to be saved, interchangeable. Now she knew these people. She knew their strengths and their sadness, the work they did and the things they had lost along the way. They believed in her, and their belief had changed her.
“I have heard our enemies call me ‘witch,’ and they believe I control this land, but it is not true. What has transpired here, the good that has been done, is thanks to the common people working together for the common good. We have written ourselves into the history books through the sweat on our brows, through shared burdens and enabling every man to reach his potential. But we have not had enough time.” She didn’t cry. She was not going to cry. “I will buy you that time. If the Lord Ruler thinks I am the mastermind of the revolution, then he will not be satisfied until he has vanquished me. If he believes the ruling council is the source of Direland’s progress, then he will hunt us down like dogs. Instead, we ride to meet him. And though we may not hope to defeat him in battle, we know we will die on our feet. We will not kneel to a cruel and feckless Emperor. We will not allow him to invade our land unanswered. We are free people, not merely in our land but in our hearts, and he cannot take this from us.
“Those of you who choose to stay in Edross, I pray you keep your heads down for the times ahead. Do not fight him, do not call attention to yourselves. Keep the farms and the greenhouses working, build where you can and teach your children when no one is listening. Keep alive the dreams of Direland. And one day, one day soon, we will be powerful enough to take on even the shard of infinity and win.
“I want you all to live to see that day.” No, not going to cry. “I want you to know that I will be with you, in spirit if I cannot be there in the flesh. I want you to know that I love this place, and I would do anything to save it. I would not trade these few months we have had for anything in creation.” Pride. Selflessness. Duty. Love. It washed out of her and her audience, more than a few of them visibly weeping. No fear. Courage. They were a proud people. She would not let herself question whether they would still be proud without her, they had done too much, changed too much together and as individuals. The skaa walked upright like lords, cleaned their faces of soot in the mornings and evenings. They paid the washerwomen to repair the holes in their garments and the cobblers for proper shoes. They learned to read and write and argue, knew the law and dabbled in ethics and philosophy. Of course, they worked too. They were practical people and these were desperate times, but they approached their problems in a way that was new in this world: not like a hopeless peasant, not like a spoiled noble, not even like the ambitious craftsmen. They collaborated. It was the one thing the Lord Ruler worked so hard to prevent, and it was making them great. It wasn’t moving fast enough, but it was happening. Even if this land fell, even if they had to run to the four corners of the empire, their fearlessness and intelligence would live on, and infect others.
They were free.
Falcom and Wrayn opted to sit atop the carriage, Falcom taking the reins. She pulled on the crowds as they left town, the familiar patterns of pride, patriotism, selflessness, and courage blooming in the people one last time. When they were finally past the outskirts of town and there was no one left to pull on, she kept burning zinc anyway. Just in case.
“I never properly thanked you for doing this,” she finally said.
“Couldn’t very well leave you to die on your own,” he answered. “Wouldn’t look right.”
She nodded, and they rode in silence for a while.
“When we get there, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to have to mess with your head.”
“The thing you were going to do for the Kandra?”
“It should help us, too. Not completely stop him from using emotional allomancy, just make it less effective. The only problem is I can’t use it on myself.”
He nodded. “If it comes to that, I’ll do my best to take care of you.”
“Thank you.”
They did not speak again until they stopped for the night. Small talk about food, building a fire. Wrayn felt the last of her zinc for the day burn out in her belly, and decided to turn in for the night. Something hit her in the back of the head, hard. She tried to spin around to face her attacker but strong hands held her, and the second blow sent her into darkness.
