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“Have to be honest,” Wax said, broaching the topic, “I’m a little surprised to see you leaving the constabulary behind. A part of me thought you’dnever walk away. It was your dream.”

“No,” she said. “My dream was to do more. Always has been.”

“I suppose you can do that as ambassador,” Wax said.

Marasi smiled, arms folded. He was happy to see how confident she’dbeen lately.

“You’re planning something,” Wax said, finding himself amused. “What is it, Marasi?”

“I realized a while ago that there was something I wanted to do, something I wanted to accomplish,” Marasi said. “But I needed experience I didn’t have yet. I think becoming ambassador will help.”

Wax frowned at that, trying to pick out what she meant. But before he could press further, Steris spoke.

“Hopefully you can calm the tensions,” she said. “If anyone can get them to start opening up trade with us again, it will be you.”

He agreed with the sentiment. Wax hadn’t been in the meeting where the Bands had been brought out and found drained, but it smelled of a setup to him. Unfortunately, since the events of the detonation, relations had grown increasingly tense. The Basin felt the Bands had been taken unjustly, and the Malwish claimed that the Basin had shown aggression by even considering using them.

But the Bands were merely a symbol. Part of a larger power play. A new faction in Malwish—the one in control of their unification—kept talking about how Northern disasters had caused them so much hardship over the centuries, and warned that the discovery of these bombs was only the next step. They saw the North as chaotic, unpredictable.

Listening to this group, the Malwish Consortium had forbidden things like tourism and even most forms of trade between continents. Most importantly, they’dforbidden any transfer of harmonium to Northern interests.

No harmonium meant no airships. And no Investiture bombs, though trellium was the rarer component of that particular device. Unfortunately, the Basin had enough of both metals squirreled away to be dangerous. And despite his arguments against it, the Basin had been looking into developing weapons using those remnants.

They’dentered a new age. War was one of the main disasters Steris had to spend her time preparing for. It wouldn’t come to that. Hopefully. If only he could figure out who had drained the Bands…

Don’t go down that path,he thought.

Yet if he didn’t ask those kinds of questions, who was he? Lawman? Father? Senator?

Questions were part of who he was. He just wished he knew for certain that the choice was his. Though, as he considered—his oldinstincts working on his behalf—he thought maybe he could piece together what Marasi was planning. Judging by the way she was glancing back at the line of political picket signs in the grass nearby. By the way she’dstrategically chosen such a high-profile appointment.

She said she needed experience. Negotiating, perhaps. Soothing egos. Trying to get people to get along…

“Rusts,” he said, pointing at her. “You’re planning to run for governor.”

She jumped at the exclamation. Then blushed.Thenshe raised her chin and nodded.

Wax looked to Steris, who was smiling. “You knew?”

“She needed help planning,” Steris said. “But the secret wasn’t mine to share.”

“I had to really decide,” Marasi said. “Had to know for myself, Wax. I need experience. I need to see if I’m anygoodat this sort of work. But… yes.”

Huh.

“I found I couldn’t content myself with a constable’s job,” she said, “after what I’dseen and learned. I needed to be able to change things.Actuallychange things.” She glanced at him. “Do you think I’m foolish? For years, in my youth, I thought maybe I was being trained to enter politics. I ran away from that, but now…”

They locked eyes. And she seemed to realize, for the first time, what she was saying. Who she was saying it to. Yes, he understood that feeling. He nodded to her, then glanced again at the quote on Wayne’s plaque. Those words he’dsaid, years ago now.You’re meant to be helping people.

Another figure approached, this one wearing a long black coat and hat. He stepped up beside them, inspecting the statue through spiked eyes.

“It looks good,” Death said.

“How is it,” Steris said, “you walk around without drawing attention?”

“Emotional Allomancy,” he said absently.

“You seem better,” Marasi said. “The treatment is working.”