The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn, #6)

by Brandon Sanderson

“Do you ever wonder if perhaps the cosmere is out to overwhelm you, Lord Waxillium?”

“Ah, no,” VenDell said. “Breeze did say I could have them after he died. Excellent metacarpals. I bring them out for special occasions.”

“Gotta grow up sometime, right? I’ve found that … well, a man wantin’ something don’t make it true, you know?”

“Like the whole world has been upended,” Steris said, looking toward the ceiling. “Like the laws of nature and man no longer hold sway. They’re suddenly flexible, like a string given slack. We’re the spheres.… I love the idea that I can break out of it all—the expectations, the way I’m regarded, the way I regard myself—and soar.

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.”

Tales of men with red eyes who visited in the night. She added the stories to her files of research about Trell, the ancient god that people were somehow worshipping again. A god that had crafted spikes to corrupt the kandra Paalm, and whose name was on the lips of many of the prisoners.