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

in confused terror. I felt Max’s grief in the time after. And I felt Reshaye’s confusion and regret, stretching between us like a sea.

{The curse demands a life. I do not know if this thing that I have is a life at all. But if it is, I give it. I give it for yours.}

I was almost gone. But whatever was left of me recoiled in surprise.

Reshaye pulled me closer. Perhaps it smiled.

{You promised me death.}

A promise I had always intended to fulfill.

“Why?” I choked out. “Why did you choose me?”

{Choose? Is it a choice, for a warm body to search for shelter from the storm? You are so many pieces. I have seen so many others, the space between their fragments filled with ice or iron, so hard they can pretend they are not broken at all. But you…}

Its fingers reached deeper, caressing my mind as if in a final farewell.

{What a perfect shape,} it murmured, {for a lost soul.}

And we were out of time.

{Goodbye, Tisaanah.}

“Goodbye, Reshaye,” I whispered.

It happened fast. With the last of my strength, I drew my magic across the threads that connected Reshaye to me like a razor, slicing it from me. In the same moment, I felt Reshaye release me — felt it throw itself towards the ravenous pit.

All while the thread of light consumed me, and the draining magic released me, and suddenly, life came roaring back.

The air hit my lungs so hard it felt like a brick had been thrown onto my chest. My eyes flew open. My blood went rushing back into my veins.

I was in an unfamiliar room, lying on a cluttered table. But my eyes fell only to the person beside me, his hand clutched around mine. I did not look at our bloody hands, or our skin, which had turned black and rotted, dark veins reaching nearly to our elbows.

I looked only at Max, who was leaning over me, eyes open and dark and wet with tears. His second eyelids slid closed, and his magic withered away, and we fell upon each other, his forehead pressed to mine — weak with exhaustion and delirious relief at the way our pulses felt pressed against each other, beating the steady, miraculous song of a second chance.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Aefe

We would, of course, go to the meeting. That had been decided quickly. This was, after all, exactly the sort of information that I was hoping that we would gain here. Now we knew the motive behind the humans’ sudden aggression, and had a possible path forward for how we might meet it in kind.

But an important question still remained. We would go. But what would we do once we got there?

I hated the idea of negotiating with these people — hated it down to my bones. I wanted blood for what they had done.

And yet…

Killing their leaders, surely, would not avoid another war. Others would rise up to take their place. It seemed equally likely that we would find ourselves on the opposite end of a vengeance as we would find ourselves facing a scattered army that collapsed without leadership.

And even with that aside… would we be able to win such a battle? The five of us, against who-knew-how-many humans, with who-knew-what-kind-of power?

“We will crush them,” Ashraia said, after long hours of discussion wound in circles. “I do not understand why this is a debate. What else is there to do with a group who has done such things?”

“If we do that,” Caduan murmured, “we’ll only be instigating another war. Right now, we’re incidental to them. If we do that, we become their enemy.” His thumb was tracing the curve of his lower lip, eyes lost in thought.

“I would think that you of all people would be ready to slaughter them,” Siobhan said.

“I want to win more than I want revenge.”

“Noble thought,” Ishqa said. He went to the window, face hard. “But soon, I fear, we will have lost so much that the two will become the same. There will be no revenge without victory, and no victory will be meaningful without revenge. And that is a dark, dark place to be.”

After so many hours of discussion, it soon became clear that we would not reach a conclusion that night. We retired, but I didn’t even bother trying to sleep. My mind was too loud. Instead, I slipped out into the streets of Niraja.

The liveliness that made the city so beautiful persisted even in the middle of the night. It was too late for even the latest of night owls, and not yet close enough to dawn for the earliest of risers. Still, the birds chirped persistent, mournful songs, and the wind through the ivy sounded like breathing.

It seemed strange to think that this place was thought of by so many as dangerous and sinful. It was beautiful. I paused at a blossom growing on the vines. I thought I had seen the same one earlier that day, then closed up as if sleeping. Now, it was wide open, cerulean blue petals so bright they seemed to glow beneath the moonlight. I brushed its petals and thought of what Ishqa had said of the people here — that they were born already dying.

The blossom would be gone tomorrow. But did that make it any less beautiful?

Behind me, a twig snapped.

My awareness narrowed to the sound. This was the third time I had heard it. The first two, I had dismissed as the wind.

Not anymore. I was being followed.

Slowly, I turned. There was no one behind me, nothing but moonlight-dipped cobblestones and ivy-covered garden walls.

I was still wearing Wyshraj clothing, wrapped in swaths of chiffon. But now my hands were around my blades, which I had carefully hidden in the gathered fabric at my hips. As soon as I withdrew them, I felt a warm voice in my ear.

“I know those blades.”

I was surrounded by rolling smoke. I leapt back and whirled around, bearing my blades, pressing