The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn, #6)

by Brandon Sanderson

“A good plan that one was, eh?” “It was the same plan you always have,” Wax said. “The one where I get to be the decoy.” “Ain’t my fault people like to shoot at you, mate,” Wayne said as they reached the coach. “You should be happy; you’re usin’ your talents, like me granners always said a man should do.” “I’d rather not have ‘shootability’ be my talent.” “Well, you gotta use what you have,”

“Here now,” he continued, “that’s what you’ve gotta do. Be like the Lady Mistborn. Get your murderin’ on, see. Don’t back down. He should be yours, and you gotta let people know.”

Your Investiture is keyed to your soul—indeed, it might be a part of your soul, much as your blood is a part of your body.”

It seemed to him that the smarter a man was, the more likely he was to pretend he knew more than he did.

“You said I was going to die!” “Of course you’re going to die,” MeLaan said, cocking her head. “You’re mortal. Can’t turn you into a kandra by just— Oh, you thought today. Hell, girl. That shot barely clipped you.” “You’re an awful person,” Marasi said. “You realize this.”