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As her party excused themselves, Gabriela walked straight to the back of the main floor and took the servants staircase up into the towers of the Keep. She wanted to be alone, with the mists blanketing her skin with a dewy embrace. But she also wanted to see the renovations made to the Obligator’s suite. And because nightfall was still a few hours away, she padded on light feet up the second staircase, pewter doing a terrible job at keeping the nervous flutters out of her stomach.

She hadn’t done anything wrong per se… but you never knew with the Lord’s Obligators.

With a too eager leap, Gabriela bounded up the last six steps and gracefully landed on the well-worn rushes lining the stone hallway. Three doors down, her father stood awe struck in front of Draulin’s room. She glanced at him shyly, knowing she had broken at least two rules since the last time they’d seen each other. The first being the cause of the renovations, the second being the pewter-leap she’d just performed.

“W-well, Lord Draulin,” her father said after a minute pause, his face dignified once again and wearing an appreciative and satisfied look. “I take pleasure in your redecoration, my Lord. ‘Tis a wonderful sight, and a cause for celebration if we were not planning such evenings currently.” He turned slightly and caught sight of her, his unintentional rioting infectious. She stood a little straighter, smiled a little wider, and curtsied like the finest lady.

“Hello, father.” Gabriela said kindly, glancing around the corner with mock surprise. Well, not entirely mocked. The place had undergone such a change she felt her jaw drop too. The bare room had been replaced with plush furniture and rushes, priceless artwork and three new candle-light burners. As requested the Obligator’s desk was left untouched and it stood out like an Inquisitor. Gabriela could even see the dust lingering on the dark hardwood desk.

“Lord Draulin,” She mimed, her face masked with a pleasantly surprised smile. “Your quarters look lovely.”

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"Er," Draulin stammered in reply. "They do, indeed."

Even if I have no idea now where anything is. He stood just within the doorway, examining his quarters and study with a mildly frustrated expression, jaw working as he chewed the inside of his cheek. Why had he given Gaby permission to have his room cleaned? It was functional; it was comfortable. And he was an Obligator of the Lord Ruler; if he preferred a ... uniquely organized room, that was his prerogative.

Too late now. At least the desk remained untouched as per his instructions. He turned to Lord Elariel, dipping his head in small appreciation of the sentiment. The Rioting was certainly inappropriate, particularly on an Obligator, but Draulin had grown used to Lord Elariel doing it subconsciously. There was a certain obligation he felt toward him for the time spent as a Haze Killer and the almost preferential treatment he'd received, so Draulin occasionally overlooked what faux pas he could. Nevertheless, a celebration of the 'event' was ridiculous and likely just the lord's way of trying to soften what he perceived as a misstep on his skaa's part.

"My thanks, my lord. But even the ball aside, I can assure you that such a thing is not necessary. It was after all long overdue for a tidying up.

"But please excuse me," Draulin muttered, genuflecting slightly. "There are things to which I must attend; the ball must be the best we can make it."

With another dip of the head, he closed the door to his visitors. Turning, he leaned against the wooden frame, rested back his head against it, and sighed heavily. There were indeed 'things to which to attend"; the list was daunting. And not for the last time Draulin wondered why it was he'd left the comfortable position of Haze Killer to become an Obligator. Finally he pushed off the frame, lowered his hood, and set to work.
 
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Exactly one week had passed since the renovations in Draulin’s quarters, one week of mistless nights, of being trapped without actual restraints. Gabriela, already dressed in her mistborn gown, stalked through the Elariel Keep, most of her metals at a slow burn, searching… reaching for something unknown… Paranoia had soiled her dreams, her morning, her afternoon. It continued to seep into her evening. Footsteps sounded down the hall, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap reverberating through her bones. She should lower her tin, but she liked the pain. Gaby had a tendency to grow the more she tolerated it. And so she blared as often as she dared.

“Ah, Lady Gaby, you look wonderful.”

Gabriela of House Elariel turned round, a little too sharply and a little too quickly to be natural. She feigned surprise (she’d heard the woman’s small heels clicking down the third floor hallway since she stepped off the winding staircase.) with a quick hand to the heart and a whispered, “Oh!”

“Lady Lawlis,” Gaby said with a respectful dip of her head. “I see you’ve arrived for the intimate dinner my mother requested.”

The lower noble nodded her head and flushed ever so slightly. Curious, Gaby probed with her brass, dampening the woman’s anxiety and then with a dash of her zinc, rioted without singling anything out.

“Yes, yes,” Lady Lawlis said with a wave of her hand. “Odd, truly, that she would hold a small dinner with my husband, my daughter and myself when in two hours we’ll all be dining again with the lot of the aristocracy.”

Lady Lawlis fanned herself with an ornate, hand painted work of art, (probably done by a skaa artisan) and flushed again. It wasn’t her place to question the Lady Elariel, especially not after the incredible agreement of this ball. She flushed deeper, a crimson taint washing over her face. “Forgive me.” Lawlis whispered.

“Let us go.” Gabriela said, ignoring the matter completely. She’d do her duties later, when everyone had retreated for the night and her father would sit each of them down, wanting to hear every detail of their night. He’d riot their emotions while her mother soothed the room. Her, her brother, and her nine year old fraternal twin siblings. They’d do the same with the skaa, each and every one, and all were rewarded if just one shred of information was gathered. Over the years this tactic had grown into something deeper, something akin to loyalty from both sides. Skaa and nobles, able to work together as one. It was revolutionary.

Walking up to the Lady with an outstretched hand, the pair walked together, silently, to the kitchen. When they arrived, everyone was already seated. Heads turned as they entered and broke apart to seat themselves. Gabriela took her seat, opposite of Draulin, and nodded her head in respect. Lady Lawlis apologized for their tardiness by way of crooning over Gabriela’s ball gown. She watched her mother frown in suspicion and listened as her father excused them with a wave of his hand. There was ornate dishware upon the enormous hardwood table, her father’s favorite pewter silverware ever-gracing it as well. He’d use silver above, but this set, an heirloom from his great-great-great grandfather, were always used down here.

“Lord Obligator,” Larsyn Elariel said from the end of the table. “Will you grace us with a prayer of the Sliver of Infinity?”

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Draulin glanced up at Lord Elariel petitioned him for his fulfillment of the honorary duty. He smiled, a practiced smile, as false and as passionless as his enthusiasm for being an Obligator had become. Genuflecting, he stood, as one did when petitioning the Lord Ruler, not directing but still expecting the others present to follow suit. Raising his hands, Draulin began chanting.

As we are each but one moment in our lives, so the Sliver of Infinity touches the world.
Lord Ruler, he that has given life to the lifeless and justice to the unjust, I beseech you on behalf of those present.
As it be your will, grant those present your blessing in their endeavors, your guidance in their choices, and your protection from their enemies.
And may we in time earn the right to join you in your great Infinity.

There was the briefest moment of silence, then Draulin lowered his hands. His left went to his side, and his right went to his breast. Turning, the Obligator nodded his head to Lord Elariel. Larsyn in turn bowed thankfully and sat into his chair, signaling the rest present to do the same, and with a clap from the Lady Elariel instructing the skaa to bring the food to the table, dinner began.
 
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It was a small affair, the main course being served in exactly two hours, and yet the small affair still included three courses of food. Thankfully the food was light and airy and didn’t fill the stomach; zesty broths, a multitude different flavored baywraps, and a small taste at the basted meat that would be served as the main course. Waiting patiently, Gaby waited until both her father and the Lord Obligator had begun eating before taking her first bite.

Small talk was shared across the table, but Gabriela did not take part. She kept a politely occupied expression upon her face as she delicately ate her allotted food and yet it was the complete opposite of how she actually felt. Paranoia still ate away at her insides, and in between bites she stole glances at the faces of those gathered. Why did she feel such an unease?

She felt her reserves, realizing with a surprise that she had been flaring almost all of her metals… Perhaps, the flooding of sensations was causing her unease...

Time passed slowly and then Lizela arrived, bowing before them all. Walking up to her mother and speaking softly in her ear, Gaby inhaled deeply, trying with all her might to dispel the bad vibes. The ball was nearing its conception and if anything were to happen this night, she’d need to be ready…

Her father stood, bowed at the Lord Obligator and then excused himself with an explanation of checking for any last minute preparations. Her mother stood then too and she, Lady Lawlis, her husband and daughter, excused themselves as well; most like to find the best seats of the night. That left her alone with her older brother, her younger twin siblings, and Draulin. The latter Gabriela eyed suspiciously, a flicker of something unusual gracing her bronze pulses.

Ignoring whatever it was, Gabriela stood herself just as the first carriage rolled onto the cobble drive of Keep Elariel.

“Let’s greet our guests.” Gaby said softly, more to herself than to the room.

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Another night; another ball. Draulin participated in this kind of pre-dinner mechanically. His hands gripped utensils and lifted the small delicacies to his lips almost involuntarily. His tongue partook in conversation with drab formality, the interest expressed in his smile undermined by the sheer force of will it took to do so as expressed by the lethargy in his eyes. The dinner was not long; it was after all merely an appetizer for the hosts, that they might have sustenance for the upcoming hours of greeting and small talk that were expected to do before they would find time to dine again themselves. Yet it drug on endlessly.

It was with great relief then that Lord Elariel excused himself, with the other lords and ladies following suit. Nodding in acknowledgement to Larsyn, Draulin took a last sip from his wine glass, taking a moment to observe the Elariel children. Three of them seemed utterly unfazed, excited even. It was after all an event often anticipated with eagerness by the younger nobles, breaking the patterns their monotonous sheltered lives granted them. It was a predictable reaction from them: Zander, the eldest, was well into eligibility, and balls were the perfect opportunity to flirt with eligible young women; and Finn and Fey, the twin youngest siblings, always enjoyed the chance to dance and debate circles around those that might offer friendly opposition, their feet and minds alike dexterous and strong.

But the middle child, Gaby, looked distinctly uncomfortable, and no amount of training or poise could hide it. Though he knew her to not be much for such events, still Draulin glanced at her more than once with concern.

The concern lessened when she stood, going about her duties as tertiary hostess behind her mother and Lady Lawlis, and the Obligator smiled. Maybe she would be okay. Gabriela's siblings stood from the table, excusing themselves to ready themselves for the guests, and Draulin followed suit. Yet his path was different than theirs, for where they went to the ballroom entrance with Gaby to lavish welcomes and best wishes upon those that entered, not to mention to begin making alliances between Houses and heirs to their petty House conflicts the nobility so often partook in, the former Haze Killer stalked to a place of honor toward the back of the space. There, those nobles that wished him to officiate agreements and other such matters would have to make the effort to come to him. It would need to be purposeful. Draulin hoped against hope that the effort would be deemed too much for them, though he was keenly aware that it was a fool's hope.

For all his desire to be elsewhere, however, even he had to admit that ballroom was a sight to behold. Though not so lavish as House Venture's, it was neverthelessa thing of beauty at its core, and the decorations which had been so carefully set up or placed down only magnified the impression. With draperies of rich purples, tall lamp stands of bronze, the candles upon each crown sitting easily nine feet off the ground, tables of dark stained pine covered in silk of pure white, columns of marble and windows of stained glass, it was a sight to see. 'Opulent' was the term that came to Draulin most readily, and it was perfectly fitting.

A cough at his side drew his attention. As he had introspected, guests had begun filing in, and a fair amount milled about the floor, chatting and bantering as ever they did. To his side stood Zander, the eldest Elariel child at twenty-four years and heir to the family. A bit perhaps on the short side of average, Zander nevertheless made up for it with immaculate attention to the care of his physics appearance. His clothes, fairly straining against the toned muscles of his arms and chest, were always neatly pressed, boots shined to a mirror's surface, raven hair combed back diagonally from his left eye, and skin without blemish. He stood now to Draulin's left, facing behind the Obligator with his back positioned toward the crowd. Clearly he did not wish his business to be generally known. Raising his eyebrows but smiling in a welcoming manner, Draulin inclined his head.

"How are you this evening, my lord?"

"I am- well, my Lord Obligator. In fact, I have come to ask something of you, and your reply in the affirmative could only stand to make my evening one of exceeding joy."

"And how might I do that?"

"My lord..." Zander stalled, clearly embarrassed but eager to speak. "I wish to be engaged this evening, and I would have your presence that it might be official and none give rebuttal."

Draulin huffed silently in surprise. If this was to set the precedent for the night, it would perhaps not be so dull after all.

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The ball was pathetically traditional. It was grandiose and untouched in beauty, but it was the same, as every ball in Luthadel. They were all too afraid of reaching out, of stretching too far and shattering whatever fragile stability they had. And it’ll be the talk of the city for the next three months if Lady Venture arrived with her husband. Gabriela sighed internally and dabbed a silk napkin to her lips. Excusing herself, Gabriela danced her way through the crowd and locked herself into a servants powder room. No one, no one from the ball at least, would look for her here.

She took three deep breaths, carefully splashed some water on her heated cheeks and saved the mess that was her make up. From within her clutch-like purse Gaby pulled out a small container of khol for her eyes and more lip stain for her fading, once cherry-red lips. She knew she’d hear it from her mother and father both… but something was wrong.

She could feel it in her bones. She could feel it in the mists- the mists!

With a burst of pewter she fled from the powder room and out into the cool embrace of the eastern courtyard. It was a skip and a jump away, if one was a Mistborn and covered by the dim light in the empty servant corridor. Outside, in the moments preceding the evening, soft, tender tendrils of mist formed and she breathed.

With her instincts still screaming but having drawn courage from the mists, Gaby walked back inside. She mingled with the small, clique-like crowds, stopping here and there, planting seeds and harvesting fruits, berries, and thorns in turn. Doing your duties was one thing, she supposed, liking them, an entirely different matter.

And then, with her tin-enhanced ears she heard her brother’s voice and Drau’s and then his request. She stood there dumbfounded, half a dancefloor away, stunned mid-step, shock plastered across her face. “What?” She said aloud, though more to herself than anyone else.

She turned and found the gaze of Drau, the Haze Killer wearing an Obligator’s face. For a moment she forgot she was a Mistborn. She forgot she shouldn’t have heard and shouldn’t be looking at him -- shock evident in her face.

Gaby jerked her gaze away as an almighty crash rent through the ballroom.
 
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What did one say to that? Zander had been, for a lord practiced in manipulation and machination, oddly forthright. Perhaps he could have been nothing but; his companion in dialogue was after all an Obligator, a member of a faction notoriously difficult and exceedingly dangerous to try to deceive. Yet the honesty wasn't of fear, it seemed to Draulin, but rather of respect. The Elariel heir wanted his approval, his blessing. The Obligator mused over this as he scanned the crowd.

Which likely meant an unfavorable alliance.

Draulin frowned. Even should this merger withstand the tests of parental and societal disapproval, it was likely to haunt both Zander and his intended the rest of their lives, never mind that of their offspring. The boy, as yet not quite wise in the way of things, had probably not considered this. And who was the lady that had caught his eye?

A face caught his eye, one of countless within the twirling and waltzing throng. It was Gabriela, mingling as was expected of her. Well no, not mingling. Gaping, mouth hanging open in response to something. The Obligator felt his brow furrow, instincts honed from his training pressing upon him the convenient timing of the thing. She of course was in the very center of inexorable movement, surrounded by the almost deafening clash of voices and music, each trying to be heard in despite of the other. Certainly others nearer to he and Zander had shown no such convenient reaction, and certainly not while looking their direction. Yes, it was odd, and the furrowed brow soon moved farther south, narrowing the man's eyes.

The thought process was suddenly interrupted. Like a dozen cymbals thrown to a rocky slope, the sound of violently shattering glass cut through the ambient noise. Shards like daggers flew into the room as stained glass windows broke into pieces, their metal frames launched forward into the room by an unseen force, burying themselves in table and tendon alike. Screams replaced the breaking sound, and the carefully constructed and painfully maintained demeanor of most every noble there disappeared like the mist in the dawn, leaving naught but panicked animals, scrambling for shelter from a danger they neither understood nor identified.

It had taken two or three seconds for Draulin to comprehend what had happened. It might have come sooner, but his duties left little in the way of free time to keep his instincts honed. But once he understood, he acted. He turned away from the danger, hand hooking into Zander's jacket in the motion, and sprinted for the nearest cover he could manage. Zander was by no means a small man, despite his shortness, yet he was to Draulin no heavier than a child. He chalked it up to adrenaline.

"Zander!" There was no need for subtly of address; the entirely ballroom was in chaos. The heir leaned against the pillar, hand griping his heart at the sudden shock. Draulin shook his arm. "Come to! The guards will handle this, but we must still get you safe!"

Zander nodded an affirmative, unable to speak for his ragged breathing. Suddenly he found his voice again and, despite the Obligator's protestations, peeked around the pillar.

"Frinet! Where is my Frinet?"

Impatience mixed with irritation came alive in Draulin's chest. So. Zander had chosen to wed the youngest Hasting lady. It was foolish and arrogant, and it gave no thought to either House's wellbeing.

Yet there was no time for chastisement. The guards had finally begun to act, and a small group moved forward toward the scene of the entry. Three new figures stood within the ballroom, each standing just past the broken windows. Barefoot and hooded, they bore no steel yet were covered in cloaks like ribbons, as if the gray mist itself covered them. Draulin's heart sank.

Mistborn.
 
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She heard both simultaneously; allomantic pulses and the deafening crash of metal and glass against wood, stone, and flesh. Flaring her pewter and tin, Gaby barrelled her way through the massive, hysteria stricken throng. Recognizing the red-gold hue of the twins hair, she reached out and snagged Finn by the collar. She hooked him under an arm, like they’d done when they were children, and repeated the process with Fey. In less than thirty seconds they were across the ballroom and in the formal entry way. Screams, screeches, and allomantic pulses thrummed inside her skull as she kicked open a secret passage behind the staircase and shoved the twins inside.

“Get down there, now!” Gabriela whispered harshly. Fear tasted foreign on her tongue, it mingled with her sense of doom and from it blossomed an ugly creature. “Lizella will be there soon with Mother. Go! Lock yourselves in.”

And then she closed the passage, made sure it was concealed and then pulled on the third floor railings. They were much heavier than she and the floor beneath her whisked away as she shot into the air. Despite it being entirely the wrong time to do so, Gaby admired the ball gown the Seamstress had made. It twirled around her heels as she landed tip-toe on the banister, and though it wasn’t as bulbous as the current fashion dictated, it certainly aided in her movement. From within a fold of layers she produced a vial and downed its contents, refilling her metal reserves.

She took off running down the hallway, and as she did, ripped the bottom half of her gown. Gaby had noticed the stitching when her mother was helping her into the gown. When she had pointed it out, her mother had strictly forbidden it… but with three Mistborn attacking the Keep, there was a distinct possibility she’d get over it. Before discarding it, she tore another length of fabric and used it to wrap her face and conceal her distinctive red-gold hair. She made sure her peripherals were intact and then jumped out of the window.

Pulling on a bit of metal from the window frame to lessen her fall, Gaby waited until the last moment to flare her pewter and make contact with solid ground. Mists swirled around her now-broken heels, and kicking them off, Gaby smiled. Doom she still felt, but the mists were all she needed to feel calm.

After pulling herself to the roof, Gaby dislodged her mistcloak from it’s hiding spot and went to greet the Keep’s assailants. She dropped down in front of them and launched herself over their heads in one fluid motion, landing acrobatically in the center of the ballroom. With a predator's grace all her own, she stalked to the nearest wall, where her father kept an array of Ministry approved weapons on display. She chose her second favorite: the hardwood staff.

She stood, twirling the staff expectantly, and waited for them to make their move.
 
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Frinet Hasting stood stupidly at the center of the dance floor, mouth agape and eyes wide in paralyzing shock. Her beautiful red dress, a sharp and appealing contrast to her bright blue eyes, was worse for the wear, bits of glass and window frame having ripped it to shreds in many places. The exposed skin was streaked in a red nearly matching the tone of her dress, and she bore several shallow cuts on her cheeks and forehead where small shards had found their way past the woman's shielding arms. Yet despite the pain, despite the chaos of fleeing patrons, Frinet remained completely stationary. One of the Mistborn was approaching, stalking slowly as if concerned with startling its prey. And a figure was sprinting toward them, desperately trying to unsheath his dress sword.

Draulin cursed. As he had turned to lay eyes upon the object of Zander's concern, the fool had rushed into the thick of things, plunging ahead in a brave by thoroughly idiotic bid to save his intended from whatever deed the approaching Mistborn now sought to accomplish. And with a blade of steel, no less! The Obligator's instincts had always railed against the noble habit of wearing metal in both arm and decor. Yet Lord Elariel was for all his liberal philosophy about skaa still traditional in many ways, and the thought of forgoing such things for the safer wood was anathema to him.

Screaming himself in wild concern for the Elariel heir, Draulin speed off after him. Though he bore no metal, Draulin was nevertheless unequipped to fight a single Mistborn, let alone three, and he hadn't a clue as to what he might do. Yet forward he ran anyway, determined to do a duty that he had abandoned in favor of others.

Suddenly another form wrapped in mist-like ribbons dropped to the ground, almost but not quite between Frinet and the assault team. The figure spoke no word but twirled a wooden staff expertly, having ripped it from a small display to one side of the floor. Still running, Draulin narrowed his eyes, assessing. They shot open, comprehension dawning. Gabriela. It was Gabriela. And his heart sank. Yes, that Gabriela should be Mistborn was a wonderful and welcome surprise. Yet now House Elariel stood to lose its first and second eldest.

Arms pumping and sandaled feet pushing his to speeds he didn't know he had in him, Draulin barreled ahead.
 
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The new pulse took her off guard and Gaby snatched her head around and looked, sensing another Mistborn… but no, they were pewter pulses… and if she wasn’t mistaken, they emanated from Draulin.

She turned her head back just in time to see one of the Mistborn shoot a handful of coins in her direction. Afraid of firing them off into the crowded room, Gaby flared her pewter and jumped, easily missing the coins. With a thud they lodged themselves into the marble wall behind her and using the momentum from her jump, she made her way back to the display case. Snatching the other hardwood staff, Gaby flared her pewter once more and leaped across the room, landing near a lone figure and… Was that Zander?

Gaby growled as she took a defensive stance in front of the Hasting heir and her brother and listened, with tin enhanced ears, to Drau’s heavy footfalls. She waited until he grew near, flipped backwards in the air and stealthy removed her second-to-last vial. With a pull she dislodged the coins and sent them flying at at least two of the Mistborns. Hoping they were distracted enough, Gaby shoved both staff and vial into Draulin’s hands.

“Drink it.” She commanded, her voice harsh and authoritative. At the moment, she hardly cared for pleasantries, even when talking to one of her Lord’s Obligators. “Protect him.”

And then she was off. The one Mistborn remained near the trio while the others followed her up and out into the front gardens. The lone assailant stalked forward, never wavering in his step. He hesitated however, having seen the exchange between the veiled Mistborn and the Obligator in front of him. The man cocked his head slightly, wondering if he’d drink the vial that’d been given to him.
 
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Draulin stared stupidly at the staff and vial for a moment, comprehension slow to come that it was Gaby herself that had provided them. The purpose of the staff was reasonably straight forward; even if the newest Mistborn had no clue as to his history, at the least it could be inferred that they expected him to defend both himself and Zander with it. But the vial? He'd not a clue.

There was little time for assessment. The enemy Mistborn still advanced on them, pulling knives of obsidian from hidden sheaths, eyeing Draulin's new staff hesitantly but still focused on the task at hand. Beside him, Zander had finally managed to pull his sword free and now pointed it at their opponent, having positioned himself between Frinet and the enemy. The Obligator scowled from beneath his hood; the fool was going to get both himself and quite likely his intended killed. And Draulin likely along with him. Yet he had no way of combating the Mistborn to give them time to flee. No way accept trusting Gabriela. Frowning that he had no option otherwise, he popped the cork off the vial and swallowed its contents.

Suddenly there was a warmth in his stomach he couldn't explain, and instinctively, without really knowing what he was doing, he began drawing energy from it. Strength filled his limbs, quieting the tremor of panic he'd been feeling. Unsure of where this new found power had come from, Draulin stepped in front of Zander and leveled his staff at the still stalking Mistborn. It stopped, hesitant, and Draulin gave a command over his shoulder.

"Drop the steel and run!" Zander shifted, hesitating at looking the coward before the Hasting lady. The Obligator growled. "Now!"

The sword clattered to the ground. Zander turned and ran, grasping Frinet by her hand and virtually dragging her along.
 
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It’d been a long time since she’d fought another mistborn. Perhaps too long of a time.

It took Gaby three minutes of fleeing to finally acclimate. And then, with a deep breath, she went on the attack. She pushed a handful of coins back at their owner with a flip and dash to miss his partner’s coins. Hers bit into flesh. His didn’t.

She used her momentum to hurl herself back into the air and with an overhand strike, brought the staff down across the head of the Mistborn whose collarbone was now embedded with three coins. The force of her blow did awful things to the man’s head and disgusted, wiping blood from her eyes, pulled herself to the roof.

Gaby refused to let herself stay still and just as she pushed herself to another window, she felt the air ripple with flying coins, hell bent on kissing her flesh. They danced, back and forth, never reaching each other until finally Gaby pulled and got lost in the spires atop Keep Elariel. She knew the dips and rises better than anyone else and she used this knowledge to her advantage.

Ripping free her last vial, Gaby downed its contents and pushed it away, using its sound and metal as distraction as she weaved through the spires, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

-​

The Mistborn with the glass daggers stalked forward casually, his head still slightly cocked, witnessing the Obligator tap into his reserves. It was a curious thing, an Obligator who was also a Thug.

He sent a few coins at the man, wondering how he’d fare and then with an arching leap, started the assault.
 
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It was as if time slowed. Small glints of light, Draulin counted three of them, exited the Mistborn's grip as he opened his fingers, and they approached Draulin with a disturbing inevitability. His mind screamed in confusion; the Obligator within was both appalled that someone would dare raise a hand against an official of the Lord Ruler and terrified to the point of paralysis for its inability to decide or even determine his options.

Left to their own devices, his muscles did what seemed most expedient; arms and legs went limp, and Draulin fell backwards onto the marble floor, staff clacking against it, as the chips whizzed above him with staggering speed. His head fortunately avoided impact, yet some small amount of breath escaped his chest from the shock, and only slightly dazed, he glanced up. The Mistborn hung in the air at the top of his leap. The points of his daggers gleamed wickedly, pointed down toward him, and with a yell the Mistborn descended, suddenly picking up pace as he Pushed against the steel beams of the ceiling above. Frantic, Draulin brought up his staff.

He winced, expecting the shattering of glass against wood, yet there was none. His enemy had reacted to the defensive maneuver, twisting to the right in descent and meeting the staff with his right arm. The Mistborn hissed in pain; the staff was made of an exceedingly hard wood grown especially for dueling, and he had fallen at a higher rate than natural. His Pewter would likely had saved him from an outright break, but it was likely that there was a fracture, or at the least a wicked bruise. Draulin shoved with a growl, trying to rotate them as he did in order to exchange positions with his opponent.

It was entirely successful, as the Mistborn managed to roll away. But now Draulin was on hands and knees, staff gripped in his fists, in a kind of runner's stance. The hooded figure was picking himself off the ground, still recovering from his self-inflicted injury. The Obligator grinned wickedly, mind finally catching up to instinct; this had been sorely missed. With a yell, he exploded forward, swinging the staff out and catching the Mistborn in his stomach. The Mistborn screamed.

***

Frinet tried to slow her breathing, tried to find a moment to catch it, to steady the overwhelming panic that threatened to seize her limbs and drop her to the floor in a heap. Bare feet padded along, heels long abandoned, doing their best to keep their mistress in pace with Zander. With her beloved. He'd leapt to her defense, sword in hand, ready to die. For her. Among so many other things, it was what had drawn her to him: his devotion. It was why she loved him.

Love. It was something neither of their parents seemed to understand. Something none of the older generation did. Everything was about alliances, about business, about winning. It made her sick, the way they schemed and machinated, the lives of their children little better than tools used to better their own standing. Why couldn't they see that an Elariel/Hasting union was a benefit? That all involved would be so much better off? Yet her father spoke nothing but spite of Lord Elariel, and her mother as a rule made a point of avoiding the lady. Over some stupid, love forgotten disagreement most likely. It was no reason to come between their love.

Frinet felt her hand tugged a different direction. She looked up; Zander was taking a hard left, ducking down a side hallway. It was an exterior hallway, lined with the simple windows of the servants. Surely they might find safety here.

The air was filled with a sudden whistle, folded by a wet thud, and Zander pulled up short. Frinet slowed her pace to a stop, bringing her even with her beloved. And she screamed. On Zander's left breast was a perfect button-sized hole, placed just over his heart as if it were a badge. Yet the rich cloth of his short began darkening, turning a deep red. Zander coughed once, blood dying his lips the same color as his shirt, and he collapsed. The sound of padding steps filled the air, and a figure hooded in Mistcloak emerged from farther down the hallway.

"There is no joy in this deed, Netty." The male voice was deep and dispassionate. "But you brought us to it."


Frinet continued screaming.
 
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She’d caught the trail of the Mistborn following her just as a woman screamed two floors below. It was a hollow scream, desperate, one full of fear and anguish. Her instincts flickered and in her haste to find it’s source, she nearly tripped off the roof. Jerking herself upright just as her feet met air, she pulled on her descent and landed in the soft ruddy grass with an almost silent thud. With tin enhanced senses she searched, looked…

One of the second floor windows was shattered and two lone figures stood within the shadow expanse of the servant's corridor. Hesitantly, withdrawing one of her own glass daggers, Gaby pulled herself to the window. The mistborn that was chasing her stood right in front of the Hasting Heir, speaking words that chilled her to the bone.

"There is no joy in this deed, Netty.” There was a small pause and then, “But you brought us to it.”

For a moment she didn’t know what he was speaking of, but then she saw the body slumped on the ground, the bloodied body of her older brother Zander. With a scream that rivaled Frinet’s, she lunged forward. All of her metals flared seemingly on their own. Anger overcame her, became her. She saw nothing but red. Wanted nothing but blood.

The Mistborn turned, distracted by the tears of the Hasting Heir, but it was too late. Her glass dagger plunged into his throat. The man coughed blood into her face and Gaby swore a stream of vulgarities before yanking the dagger back out and stabbing him again. She carried a primal satisfaction within her heart as the life faded from his eyes. The rational side of her was horrified, horrified at the thought of taking the life of another and enjoying it.

But she was a mistborn. And a part of her craved this.

Through the rage Frinet continued to scream. In her ears it turned from desperate to annoying and Gabriela stalked forward, eyes murderous and hard as steel.

“You did this! YOU DID THIS!” Gaby screamed repeatedly, her voice growing hoarse. When the woman refused to stop screaming Gaby struck out with the back of her hand, knocking her straight off her feet.

“I heard what the man said,” Gaby spat. “I know what you’ve done.”

She reached for her, without mercy, and seized her curly hair. Gaby dragged her to the window, held her shaking frame against the broken glass. No more fear emanated from Gaby, only cold fury. A sense of betrayal. And somewhere deep down inside her, the loss of Zander.

“You have thirty seconds to explain what he meant or your head’ll be kissin’ that ground.”

-​

The mistborn screamed again, clutching his midsection. Even with his pewter flaring he could feel the damage inside his body. The Obligator-thug and that damn hardwood staff had done a ringer to his insides. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Obligator raise the staff once more.

“W-wait…” He coughed out, spittle and blood coming up. “Show mercy and I’ll speak… please... I don’t wish to die, not yet…”
 
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Frinet's gaze was distant. Distracted. Not present. Her delicate mouth hung slack, a stream of blood flowing from her lips and more than one tooth missing from the violence of the Pewter fueled slap. Tears of despair and frustration and hopeless fury streamed down her cheeks. She didn't see Gabriela, did not hear her demands, did not feel the grinding stone against her back nor the pain of being nearly suspended by her hair. Her eyes saw only the hole in Zander's chest. Her ears only heard the knives delving deeply into the Mistborn's flesh. Her heart only felt an overwhelming sorrow at the loss.

The hallway fell silent, the bodies neither breathing nor moving, and two steadily growing pools of red brought color to cobblestones that hadn't seen such vividness of tone in ages. The Mistborn's form gave a final twitch before falling truly still. It broke Frinet's haze, and slowly her eyes moved to behold the body, ignoring Gaby entirely. The Mistborn's hood had fallen back as he crumpled to the ground. His hair was slicked back with oil, an identical shade to Frinet's, with streaks of gray above the ears. Empty eyes were locked on the ceiling, set within a handsome face aged with years of care. There was a moment or two as she just stared before she took a sobbing breath and closed her eyes, saying a word with her exhale.

"Da."

***

"Then explain yourself!" Draulin did his best to steady his breath; he hadn't kept up his physical regimen after he'd become an Obligator, and he was paying for it. Yet he wasn't nearly so exhausted as he should have been, and how was the Mistborn to the point of surrender already against a single, former Hazekiller?

He took a step closer, allowing his fury to give him focus, and shoved at end of the staff at his opponent's face.

"What do you mean by breaking in like this?! For what purpose?!" The he'll had Gaby gone? And Zander as well? He'd have to speak with the young man; Draulin hadn't meant to simply run off haphazardly.
 
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Her fury wasn’t satiated. But she knew the death of the weak creature in front of her wouldn’t suffice it’s cold ache. Frinett, her mind whispered to her, not creature. Gaby growled and yanked her away from the window, back to her father. To the mistborn that murdered her brother. She threw her into the pool of crimson that continued to seep from his neck, staining her ragged and torn gown.

It was all the mercy Gabriela could bare.

Leaping over the woman’s father, she reached Zander and froze. Memories from the past burst into her mind’s eye. Good ones, bad ones, ones that cut through the haze of anger and released the rational side of her. She heaved in a wretched sob and stepped forward. Bare feet stepped into warm blood. Swallowing back bile, she knelt down and scooped the completely limp form of Zander. As she did the scarf finally unravelled itself and revealed who the last Mistborn was.

Gabriela Elariel. Mistborn. The second born. Second in line for the Elariel fortune.

Now she was the Heiress. A murderer. A true Mistborn.

She walked around the lifeless body, Gaby took a small leap to jump over the windowsill. Pulling on the rafters above and flaring her pewter, Gaby landed gracefully, her red hair flaring around her shoulders. Tears pricked her eyes and with a sigh that penetrated her psyche, she let them flow.

Gaby walked around the Keep until the shattered, stained glass windows of the ballroom came into view. Two pulses emanated from within and without worrying, she leapt through them. Draulin stood over a Mistborn, hardwood staff still in his grip. There was a sense of pride, deep within her, that the Hazekiller she knew was still in there in somewhere. But still…

Drink it, She had said, Protect him. She had demanded.

Was it that, then? Was this her punishment for speaking out of term to her Lord’s Obligator?

She continued to stalk forward, anger blazing in her heart once more. She laid Zander down gently, on a bench of white silk, not far from the pair.

-​

“I-i-it was Lord Hasting! I swear! He paid my brother and I to help him - help him kill the Elariel heir. S-Said the filth would never marry his daughter.” The mistborn breathed out, still clutching his stomach. “Please… I don’t have anymore vials, please… my metals are running low.”

 
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Frinet looked up from where she'd been thrown, eyes drawn not to the former Lord Hasting but rather to Zander. Her eyes seemed as empty as those of the corpses, and there was as little life in them. She stared, simply stared, as Gabriela lifted his body from the floor and left, throat raw from her screams and eyes following the retreating Mistborn, a small glimmer of sorrow mixed with hate.

***

Movement stole Draulin's attention, even as his opponent was begging for mercy. It was an unwise thing to do, turning his gaze; he had no way of knowing whether the Mistborn were in such a bad way as he claimed. Yet the Obligator remained safe, and the Mistborn didn't attack.

Draulin's brow furrowed at the sight of Zander's body. One of the two who'd pursued Gabriela must have split away. That, or there were more enemies. But that seemed unlikely; such attacks rarely constituted more than an assassination, and for such a deed, a few Mistborn was more than enough. The question was whether the other two had gotten away. No; rather, which of the other two. Gaby was sprayed with blood not her own. She'd killed at least one of them.

At the last enemy's final plea, Draulin turned a cold gaze to stare at him. It was a young man, practically a boy, and tears wet his cheeks. He'd likely taken the job as a thrill, looking to establish himself as a Mistborn. And his lack of wisdom in accepting the endeavor showed in the comprehension of being out of his depth that was evident on his face.

"Go, then." It was not the command of a victor, but the word of one of the Lord Ruler's Obligators. "And hurry; some others present might feel less than inclined to give you the-"

The boy had already turned and was sprinting toward the nearest window. Growling in unresolved fury, Gabriela sprang forward in pursuit. But Draulin had anticipated, and his staff came up to block her path with the speed of a Thug.

"He had no part in Zander's death; let him go."
 
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Gabriela snatched the hardwood staff away with a growling scream, hands shaking with rage. Eyes rimmed with red, blood smeared from her face to her collarbones, she drew in a deep breath and looked away from the window. She could still hear the Mistborn retreating but her focus was on the Obligator in front of her. Gaby took a step back, shaking her head, trying her hardest to clear it. But it was futile. Anger still surged within her.

She threw the staff across the ballroom, unsure of what she’d do with it in her hands. Taking a step forward, eyes tear-stained but hard, she met the gaze of Draulin. He’d been her friend, her Hazekiller, a training partner, and now one of her Lord’s Obligators. She spoke from her heart, without a care for noble pleasantries.

“He deserves to die. Like the others. Like her.”
 
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"Many that live deserve death," he muttered in apparent agreement. Even as she had yanked his staff away, Draulin had retained his composure. He watched the lad flee, impassive, the inexperienced Mistborn scared out of his mind for the depths he'd found himself in. He might yet try some similar feat of daring upon some other House, though doubtless after he'd himself gained training and only upon some much less defensible keep. He would almost certainly never agree to aid as large a House as Hasting again; their disputes concerned experts in their fields.

House Hasting. Sorrow sat in the Obligator's stomach, a veritable stone for the discomfort it brought him. That family had caused much in the way of sadness tonight, and he felt it no less than Gabriela did. Zander may not have been his brother, nor was Draulin as close to him as to his sister in days past, yet the former Hazekiller had felt part of the family. A family open and inviting. A family that didn't deserve this tragedy. A family that might have included Frinet Hasting. There was no telling what had happened to her; he hoped it wasn't the girl's blood on Gaby's face.

"And some that die deserve life." His eyes turned to regard Zander's form, expression softening in regret. "Don't be too eager to deal death and judgement. Only the Lord Ruler can see all ends."

The ballroom had taken on an eerie quiet, broken on rare occasion only by a hurried and fearful whisper of some noble hiding under table of behind column. As yet, only Draulin and Gabriela stood openly. Yet servants and skaa had begun to filter in, seeing if it was safe to begin the task of restoration, and a few guards did the same. Draulin snapped his fingers at the closest one, not bothering that he himself bore no actual authority to be commanding soldiers of any kind.

"You! Guardsman! Frinet Hasting is somewhere within this Keep; she should not be far from here. Find her, and escort her safely to a guest room. Ensure that she is tended to."

The guard saluted and marched off to do as bidden, and no complaint was forthcoming.
 
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