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

of interlocking brass rings that went on in perpetual motion. The night the capital of Nyzerene was conquered, I had been standing in his study, my fingers clutching the edge of the desk, watching those rings swing, swing, swing, the only thing in my world that remained a certainty.

That was what my mind felt like, now. Something that needed to keep whirring away, because if it stopped, too much would shatter.

My fists were curled at my sides, fingernails biting my palms.

Zeryth’s words echoed in my ears.

If I die, so does she.

How casually he said it. How easily my life became a piece in his game, something to be played with and bartered away, something that ceased having value the minute it was no longer useful to him.

{It has always been that way,} Reshaye whispered. It reached for a memory — Esmaris’s face as he told me, You are worth one thousand gold.

Max walked fast, his eyes straight ahead, as if by not looking he could avoid his surroundings. Not that I could blame him. I could see the ghosts of his family out of the corners of my eyes, edges of Reshaye’s frayed memories catching on every doorway or hallway or painting we passed. And still, the beauty of it was undeniable — mind-boggling, even, to see it firsthand for the first time. Every inch of the interior displayed the same delicate, elegant craftsmanship on the outside. Brass, carved columns separated the hallways from the ballroom below, the floors composed of complex mosaics, the doorways immaculately crafted from mahogany. Art adorned all of the walls, paintings that I could only catch glimpses of as we walked.

His hand found mine and held tight, as if he was afraid I would be pried away.

Without hesitating, he led us down a spiral staircase, then through a stunning atrium filled with light flooding in from a glass ceiling until we reached a set of double doors, which he barreled through immediately.

A wall of cool, moist air hit me. The sky was overcast, darker now than it had been when we arrived. Max’s pace slowed slightly. We were in a garden, crossing a large stone patio with pathways shooting off. Mountains loomed over us. I could see what looked like military forts dotting the horizon, less than a mile away. There was more activity out here than I expected. Uniformed soldiers clustered across the landscape, and many more still were traveling to the bases in the distance.

“Zeryth said he came here to gather loyal troops,” Sammerin muttered. “I suppose that was accurate.”

Max swore beneath his breath. His stride did not break. Heads turned as we passed, whispers rising. Is that Maxantarius Farlione? I didn’t believe he’d really…

“Now what?” Max finally ground out, so low I almost didn’t hear him.

Now what? That was the wrong question to ask. I knew exactly what would happen next. I would fulfill the pact I made to the Orders. I would fight Zeryth’s war, even though he betrayed me, even though he now used my life itself to manipulate the people I loved most. Even though I hated him almost as much as I had hated the Mikovs.

He would do all of that to me, and I would still hand him everything he’d ever wanted.

But I didn’t get the chance to voice this, because suddenly, Max stopped short. His gaze snapped to one of the groups of soldiers in the distance, brow furrowed, a look on his face that made my heart still.

“What is it?” Sammerin asked, just as Max began striding across the path.

“Moth!” he bellowed.

Moth?!

I followed Max’s gaze, and there he was, standing with a cluster of young men in deep green jackets. At the sound of Max’s voice, Moth whirled around so fast that his blond curls went flying, his face lighting up. He gleefully abandoned his conversation and half-ran to meet us, grinning.

“You’re back! They said you’d come here, but I didn’t think it would be so soon. So did you do it? Did you kill the slavers?”

“Moth,” Sammerin said, calmly, but in a tight voice that betrayed something deeper. “Why are you—”

“What are you doing here?” Max barked. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Max was not listening to Moth. He wasn’t even looking at his face. He was looking down — down at Moth’s jacket. At the sun emblem at the lapel, and the embroidered name, and those familiar brass buttons.

My confusion soured to dread. That was a military uniform.

Moth’s glee faded. “Well…you were all gone, and Helene wasn’t a very good teacher, and two weeks ago they offered us a lot of money to…”

“You enlisted,” Sammerin murmured.

“What. The hell. Were you thinking?” Max’s voice began quiet, then slowly rose. “Sammerin leaves you alone for two weeks and you run off and join the military?”

Moth was the only person I’d met in Ara who had such little control over his emotions that I still felt every ripple, and now, I tasted excitement turn to hurt. “I— I just thought— you and Sammerin were both members, so— I thought—”

“You weren’t thinking. This was a stupid decision, Moth. Reckless.”

“I— I just—”

“You just what?”

“Max,” I murmured, putting my hand on his arm, and he let out a breath through his teeth.

Moth’s eyes darted between us, landing on Sammerin.

“I thought you’d be glad,” he said in a small voice, and Sammerin looked as if someone had actually struck him. I felt it, too.

“Why would you think that?” Sammerin said, and Max scoffed.

“Glad. No, Moth. We just thought better of you than to—”

“Max.” My hand closed around his wrist, and his gaze snapped to me. “Enough.”

For a brief moment, he just looked at me, and I could see all of the invisible words neither of us could tackle hanging there in that split second of connection. Then he pulled from my grasp, turned away, and began striding down the path.

Moth looked as if he were actively holding back tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, as if it were the only thing