The Bands of Mourning by Brandon Sanderson Read Free Book Online Page B

think they could pronounce that?”
    “Wayne…”
    “I slapped ’em around already, Marasi,” Wayne said. “Promise I did.”
    “He’s going to figure it out,” Marasi said. “What will you do then?”
    “Nah, you’re wrong,” Wayne said, finally coming out of the cupboard with a large glass jug. “Wax has a blind spot for things like this. In the back of his noggin, he’ll be relieved that I stopped the wedding. He’ll figure it was me, deep in his subcontinence, and will pay for the damages—no matter what the assessor says. And he won’t say anything, won’t even investigate. Watch.”
    “I don’t know.…”
    Wayne hopped up onto the kitchen counter, then patted the spot beside him. She regarded him for a moment, then sighed and settled onto the counter there.
    He offered her the jug.
    “That’s cooking sherry, Wayne.”
    “Yeah,” he said, “pubs don’t serve anything this hour but beer. A fellow has to get creative.”
    “I’m sure we could find some wine around—”
    He took a swig.
    “Never mind,” Marasi said.
    He lowered the jug and pulled off his chef’s hat, tossing it onto the counter. “What’re you so uptight for today, anyway? I figured you’d be whooping for joy and runnin’ around the street pickin’ flowers and stuff. He’s not marrying her. Not yet, anyway. You still got a chance.”
    “I don’t want a chance, Wayne. He’s made his decision.”
    “Now, what kinda talk is that?” he demanded. “You’ve given up? Is that how the Ascendant Warrior was? Huh?”
    “No, in fact,” Marasi said. “She walked up to the man she wanted, slapped the book out of his hand, and kissed him.”
    “See, there’s how it is!”
    “Though the Ascendant Warrior also went on and murdered the woman Elend was planning to marry.”
    “What, really?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Gruesome,” Wayne said in an approving tone, then took another swig of sherry.
    “That’s not the half of it,” Marasi said, leaning back on the counter, hands behind her. “You want gruesome? She also supposedly ripped out the Lord Ruler’s insides. I’ve seen it depicted in several illuminated manuscripts.”
    “Kind of graphic for a religious-type story.”
    “Actually, they’re all like that. I think they have to put in lots of exciting bits to make people read the rest.”
    “Huh.” He seemed disbelieving.
    “Wayne, haven’t you ever read any religious texts?”
    “Sure I have.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, lots of the things I read have religious texts in them. ‘Damn.’ ‘Hell.’ ‘Flatulent, arse-licking git.’”
    She gave him a flat stare.
    “That last one is in the Testimony of Hammond. Promise. Least, all the letters are.” Another swig. Wayne could outdrink anyone she knew. Of course, that was mostly because he could tap his metalmind, heal himself, and burn away the alcohol’s effects in an eyeblink—then start over.
    “Here now,” he continued, “that’s what you’ve gotta do. Be like the Lady Mistborn. Get your murderin’ on, see. Don’t back down. He should be yours, and you gotta let people know.”
    “My … murderin’ on?”
    “Sure.”
    “Against my sister.”
    “You could be polite about it,” Wayne said. “Like, give her the first stab or whatnot.”
    “No, thank you.”
    “It doesn’t have to be real murderin’, Marasi,” Wayne said, hopping off the counter. “It can be figurative and all. But you should fight . Don’t let him marry her.”
    Marasi leaned her head back, looking up at the set of ladles swinging above the counter. “I’m not the Ascendant Warrior, Wayne,” she said. “And I don’t particularly care to be. I don’t want someone I have to convince, someone I have to rope into submission. That sort of thing is for the courtroom, not the bedroom.”
    “Now, see, I think some people would say—”
    “Careful.”
    “—that’s a right enlightened way to think of things.” He took a swig of sherry.
    “I’m not some tortured,