The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn, #6)

by Brandon Sanderson

’Cuz in my experience, marryin’ is the one thing people seem to get worse at the more they do it. Well, that and bein’ alive.”

“Lord Ladrian,” the man said, “could I have a moment, please?” “Take them all,” Wax said. “But do it without me.”

“I just … feel better when I try,” Steris finally said. “It’s like, if everything goes wrong, at least I tried. Does that make any sense?”

“Do you ever wonder if perhaps the cosmere is out to overwhelm you, Lord Waxillium?” “The cosmere? You mean Harmony?” “No, not Him,” Steris said. “Just cosmic chance rolling the dice anytime I pass, and always hitting all ones. There seems to be a poetry to it all.”

Because people were people, and if there was one thing you could count on, it was that some of them would be weird. Or rather that all of them would be weird when circumstances happened to align with their own individual brand of insanity.

Holding your brain hostage against your own stupidity—that was how to get stuff done.

“Here’s the thing,” he said to one of the urchins, a girl not seven. He settled down on his haunches. “I ain’t travailed enough.” “… Sir?” the girl asked. “In the old stories of quests, you gotta travail. That’s like traveling, but with an ailment stapled on. Headaches and the like; maybe a sore backside too.”

It was unnerving, and it was such a waste! If you had to shoot a man, society had already failed.

“I had assumed they might try to poison us,” Steris said. “Though I considered it only a small possibility, it’s best to be prepared.” She laughed uncomfortably. Then she downed the whole thing. Wax reached for her arm, but too late. He watched in horror as she stoppered the empty vial and tucked it into her purse. “You might want to get out of the splash radius, so to speak.” “But … Steris!” he said. “You’ll end up humiliating yourself.” She closed her eyes. “Dear Lord Waxillium. Earlier, you spoke of the power of not caring about what others thought of you. Do you remember?” “Yes.” “Well, you see,” she said, opening her eyes and smiling, “I’m trying to practice that skill.” She proceeded to vomit all over the table.

“I might, uh, need your help getting the thing off.” He knelt down, realizing that she’d used approximately seven rolls of tape to strap the gun in place. Also, being Steris, she’d worn shorts under the dress—in case she had to do what she was doing. Two pairs, judging by the bit of cloth he saw peeking out from under the top one. Wax set to work extricating the gun. “I see you didn’t want this coming off accidentally.” “I kept imagining it falling out and firing,” Steris said, “mid-dance.” Wax grunted, working at her thigh beneath her dress. “You realize that if this were a play, this is exactly the point where someone would walk in on us.” “Lord Waxillium!” Steris said. “What kind of theater have you been attending?”

“It’s only appropriate,” Steris said, “that you would make a smuggler out of me.” “Just as you try to make a gentleman out of me.” “You’re already a gentleman,” Steris said. Wax looked down at her as she held to him while trying to stare in every direction at once. He suddenly found something burning in him, like a metal. A protectiveness for this woman in his arms, so full of logic and yet so full of wonder at the same time. And a powerful affection. So he let himself kiss her. She was surprised by it, but melted into the embrace. They started to drift sideways and arc downward as he lost his balance on his anchors, but he held on to the kiss, letting them slip back down into the churning mists.

A man found himself when he was alone. You only had one person to chat with, one person to blame.

Felt like he could do something impossible, run up a mountain, or eat the entire boar and chips plate at Findley’s all on his own.

The difference between good and evil men is not found in the acts they are willing to commit—but merely in what name they are willing to commit them in.”

“Perhaps,” Harmony said softly, “I have already done just as you suggest. You do not see it, because the worst never reaches you.”

“I don’t believe it’s nothing,” God said. “There is something beyond. Though perhaps my belief is merely my own desire wishing it to be so.”

“But sometimes the only way to win is to refuse to fight.”

“Steris, I think we’re all like that. Shuffled from place to place by duty, or society, or God Himself. It seems like we’re just along for the ride, even in our own lives. But once in a while, we do face a choice. A real one. We may not be able to choose what happens to us, or where we’ll stop, but we point ourselves in a direction.” He squeezed her hand. “You pointed yourself toward me.” “Well,” she said, smiling, “being near you is generally the safest place.…”

He cupped her face with his hand, all callused and rough. Another adventure.

“I was wondering, Steris,” Wax said, “if you’d be willing to be my bride.”

🥹😭

“I can’t remember a time when I missed something for one of my lists, only to have it be so wonderful.”