Demoux seemed a bit confused, but spoke no further. Elend eyed his desk, considering some studying, but found it hard to motivate himself in the chill room. Instead, he pushed open the door and strode out into the hallway. His guards followed.
He stopped himself from turning toward Vin's rooms. She needed her rest, and it didn't do her much good to have him peeking in every half hour to check on her. So instead he turned to wander down a different passageway.
The back hallways of Keep Venture were tight, dark, stone constructions of labyrinthine complexity. Perhaps it was because he'd grown up in these passages, but he felt at home in their dark, secluded confines. They had been the perfect place for a young man who didn't really care to be found. Now he used them for another reason; the corridors provided a perfect place for extended walking. He didn't point himself in any particular direction, he just moved, working out his frustration to the beating of his own footsteps.
I can't fix the city's problems, he told himself. I have to let Penrod handle that—he's the one the people want.
That should have made things easier for Elend. It let him focus on his own survival, not to mention let him spend time revitalizing his relationship with Vin. She, however, seemed different lately. Elend tried to tell himself it was just her injury, but he sensed something deeper. Something in the way she looked at him, something in the way she reacted to his affection. And, despite himself, he could think of only one thing that had changed.
He was no longer king.
Vin was not shallow. She had shown him nothing but devotion and love during their two years together. And yet, how could she not react—even if unconsciously—to his colossal failure? During the assassination attempt, he had watched her fight. Really watched her fight, for the first time. Until that day, he hadn't realized just how amazing she was. She wasn't just a warrior, and she wasn't just an Allomancer. She was a force, like thunder or wind. The way she had killed that last man, smashing his head with her own. . .
How could she love a man like me? he thought. I couldn't even hold my throne. I wrote the very laws that deposed me.
He sighed, continuing to walk. He felt like he should be scrambling, trying to figure out a way to convince Vin that he was worthy of her. But that would just make him seem more incompetent. There was no correcting past mistakes, especially since he could see no real "mistakes" he had made. He had done the best he could, and that had proven insufficient.
He paused at an intersection. Once, a relaxing dip into a book would have been enough to calm him. Now he felt nervous. Tense. A little. . .like he assumed Vin usually felt.
Maybe I could learn from her, he thought. What would Vin do in my situation? She certainly wouldn't just wander around, brooding and feeling sorry for herself. Elend frowned, looking down a hallway lighted by flickering oil lamps, only half of them lit. Then he took off, waking with a determined stride toward a particular set of rooms.
He knocked quietly, and got no response. Finally, he poked his head in. Sazed and Tindwyl sat quietly before a desk piled high with scraps of paper and ledgers. They both sat staring, as if at nothing, their eyes bearing the glazedover look of someone who had been stunned. Sazed's hand rested on the table. Tindwyl's rested on top of it.
Sazed shook himself alert suddenly, turning to regard Elend. "Lord Venture! I am sorry. I did not hear you enter."
"It's all right, Saze," Elend said, walking into the room. As he did, Tindwyl shook awake as well, and she removed her hand from Sazed's. Elend nodded to Demoux and his companion—who were still following—indicating that they should remain outside, then closed the door.
"Elend," Tindwyl said, her voice laced with its typical undercurrent of displeasure. "What is your purpose in bothering us? You have already proven your incompetence quite soundly—I see no need for further discussion."
"This is still my home, Tindwyl," Elend replied. "Insult me again, and you will find yourself ejected from the premises."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.
Sazed paled. "Lord Venture," he said quickly, "I don't think that Tindwyl meant to—"
"It's all right, Sazed," Elend said, raising a hand. "She was just testing to see if I had reverted back to my previous state of insultability."
Tindwyl shrugged. "I have heard reports of your moping through the palace hallways like a lost child."
"Those reports are true," Elend said. "But that doesn't mean that my pride is completely gone."
"Good," Tindwyl said, nodding to a chair. "Seat yourself, if you wish."
Elend nodded, pulling the chair over before the two and sitting. "I need advice."
"I've given you what I can already," Tindwyl said. "In fact, I've perhaps given you too much. My continued presence here makes it seem that I'm taking sides."
"I'm not king anymore," Elend said. "Therefore, I have no side. I'm just a man seeking truth."
Tindwyl smiled. "Ask your questions, then."
Sazed watched the exchange with obvious interest.
I know, Elend thought, I'm not sure I understand our relationship either. "Here is my problem," he said. "I lost the throne, essentially, because I wasn't willing to lie."
"Explain," Tindwyl said.
"I had a chance to obscure a piece of the law," Elend said. "At the last moment, I could have made the Assembly take me as king. Instead, I gave them a bit of information that was true, but which ended up costing me the throne."
"I'm not surprised," Tindwyl said.
"I doubted that you would be," Elend said. "Now, do you think I was foolish to do as I did?"
"Yes."
Elend nodded.
"But," Tindwyl said, "that moment isn't what cost you the throne, Elend Venture. That moment was a small thing, far too simple to credit with your large-scale failure. You lost the throne because you wouldn't command your armies to secure the city, because you insisted on giving the Assembly too much freedom, and because you don't employ assassins or other forms of pressure. In short, Elend Venture, you lost the throne because you are a good man."
Elend shook his head. "Can you not be both a man who follows his conscience and a good king, then?"
Tindwyl frowned in thought.