Children of Fallen Gods (The War of Lost Hearts Book 2) Carissa Broadbent (best book recommendations txt) 📖

never known suffering. But Vos’s was heavy with dark knowledge. He was afraid of death, yes. But he knew what pain was. He knew what it was to suffer.

{It would be a mercy to give him death after all he has endured. To give him the fate that he deserves, for what he did to us. He bends beneath the weight of it.}

It would be a lie to say that a part of me didn’t crave vengeance. Reshaye found it in me, a little shard of white-hot anger. That part of me hated Vos for what he did to me.

Perhaps just as much as Vos hated me for that one lie. That one lie that destroyed his life.

I did not look away from him as I said, “Let him live.”

Reshaye’s surprise rippled, at the same moment that Zeryth’s face snapped to me.

“You begged me for his life. You sold away half your soul to ensure he was provided for. Then he turns you over to Aviness to be killed. Or tortured, or dissected. And you tell me ‘Let him live?’” He whirled to Max. “What about you, then? I take it you would just love to do it.”

Max was visibly tense, his jaw tight. “You’re acting insane, Zeryth.”

Zeryth barked a rough laugh. “Insane?! I’m saner than I’ve ever been! It’s amazing, actually, how sane getting everything you’ve ever wanted makes you.”

“Exactly,” I said. “You have everything that you want. You are the king.” I went to the window and lifted my chin, nodding to the partygoers below. “Now give them what they want. Perhaps now, they will be reluctant to love you. But show them you can be the king they need. Show them you know mercy.”

Zeryth stilled, almost thoughtful, letting out a faint scoff. “Mercy, hm? Is that what they want?”

“Your war is over, and you won,” Max said. “Take your victory, and let it be.”

Those words seemed to snap some thread of restraint in Zeryth, because every angle of his body went hard, eyes flashing, mouth twisted into a sneer.

“My war is not over. Not when I’m surrounded by Ascended-damned traitors. My war has barely begun.”

My stomach dropped.

Nura stepped forward, her eyes darting between us.

“We discussed this, Zeryth—”

“We?” he snarled. “There is no ‘we.’ Don’t think that I don’t know what you have been up to, my dear, loyal Second. Don’t think I don’t know exactly what your help has done to me.”

Nura’s eyes widened.

But Zeryth was back to me again before she could react. He moved in fits and starts, like a collection of limbs held together by fraying strings. “Execute them,” he commanded.

And with those words, the bind of my pact tightened around me like a noose. My fingers were forced closed around the hilt of the knife.

{He deserves this,} Reshaye whispered, and it would be so easy, but—

No, I didn’t want to do this. No matter what Vos had done to me.

“No,” I choked out.

Still, every muscle in my body pulled to obey Zeryth’s command. I held it off for seconds.

Then Zeryth rolled his eyes, let out a scoff, and the next thing I knew, the dagger was no longer in my grasp.

“Fine. Then stay there.”

Two smooth strides, and he was behind Lady Erksan, yanking her up by her hair, and her scream was splitting the air, and then there was blood everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, spattering across my face, the floor, the window. Her scream became a gargle. Zeryth’s beautiful white suit was awash in crimson.

The body fell in a heap. Vos scrambled away from it, slipping on blood.

Do something.

But Zeryth’s command froze me: Stay. Stay. Stay.

Zeryth reached for Vos, the blade lifting—

And then Max was between them, his hand catching Zeryth’s wrist.

“Is this really how you want to start your reign?” he said. “Hiding from the people you rule and drowning in paranoia?”

“That’s a rich statement, coming from you. After you lied to me as you have.” His gaze darkened with feral hatred. “You told me the stories from Threll were exaggerations. And you tell me that I’m not surrounded by traitors, when you are one of them?”

“I never—”

“You lied to me.” The two of them were locked like that, each pushing against the grip of the other. Magic began to crackle at Zeryth’s skin — strange, sickened magic unlike any I had ever seen. Pain flickered across Max’s face.

“I thought I needed you,” Zeryth sneered. “Needed your name, your nobility. So pathetic.”

Nura began to approach and Zeryth barked, without looking away from Max, “Don’t you fucking move.”

She lurched to a stop. She couldn’t fight his commands, either, whether it be due to his magic or her own pact, or both. His magic was toxic in the air, so thick my vision blurred with it.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

As a last resort, my magic reached for Zeryth’s mind, and I nearly gasped.

He was so, so far gone.

His mind was a maggot-infested, rotting thing. He didn’t even bother to shield his thoughts, if they could even be called that. There was nothing left but pain and rage. He didn’t care that he had won. Whatever he had hoped to claim still eluded him. Whatever hole within him he had hoped to patch with the stitches of power still gaped.

A horrible realization fell over me: he would never stop. This was a man capable of anything.

I tensed, bracing for the worst.

But Zeryth drew in a long breath. Then let it out. He dropped the knife. Stepped back.

I almost let myself feel relief.

“The truth is,” Zeryth said, calmly, “it’s a relief not to need you anymore.”

I wouldn’t have had time to react, even if I could.

The strike was like a crack of lightning, splitting the room in two. Pain cleaved through my head, my vision going white. When I could see again, Max was on the ground, blood soaking his shirt. Zeryth stood over him, noxious magic peeling from his skin, as thick as his hatred.

And I still could not move.

Max countered fast, pushing himself to his feet, fire