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

staid, factual words on a page. As if such bland words could capture Tisaanah’s incredible performance, and brilliant — stupid — brilliant bravery.

It was almost funny, to read it written so plainly:

Tisaanah Vytezic collapsed the cliffs and shielded the city with an illusion of wings. The display of power was enough to spur the Kazarans to retreat.

Oh, I didn’t doubt it.

The memory of her voice caressed my ear: We will find a way, she’d whispered. And she had. She used the weapon she knew best, the weapon of a perfect performance, to win a bloodless battle.

Brilliant.

But that moment of pride lasted only for a second. The report ended with tallies of military losses and damaged property. I flipped it over to find nothing but a blank page. There was no information on Tisaanah, or her state. A knot formed in my stomach.

I knew too well the toll that Reshaye’s magic demanded. And what was described here? It could have been enough to kill her.

I read the report again. Put it down. Then withdrew a plain sheet of parchment and a pen. I hesitated — what would I write? What would I ask? I struggled with words at the best of times, and now, I had too many of them to capture in a stroke of ink.

Finally, I wrote:

Tisaanah,

Tell me you’re alright, you wonderful idiot.

Max.

I stared at the page. Then, I wedged one additional word in between the lines:

Tisaanah,

Tell me you’re alright, you wonderful idiot.

Love,

Max.

It would win no poetry awards. And the words were far too weak to describe what I felt. But I folded the letter up anyway, scribbled a Stratagram, and sent it away.

The city of Antedale was heavily fortified, surrounded by tall stone walls that were lined with golden spires. A wolf, the crest of the Gridot family, loomed over the gates. It was a disgustingly gaudy thing, large enough to be seen even from nearly a mile away, and polished with such verve that it gleamed beneath the waning late-afternoon light.

Gridot, it seemed, had been well aware we were on our way to pry his title from his hands. When we reached the city, we found that the standing army of Antedale was already waiting for us, lines of soldiers surrounding the gates.

Wonderful.

We halted, just far enough away to avoid being an immediate threat while making it very clear that we greatly overpowered them. That much was obvious even at a glance — our numbers were evenly matched, but I had hundreds of skilled Wielders behind me, while the Antedale forces were mostly volunteer militiamen.

This was not a comfort to me.

I sent a messenger to their head of guard bearing a letter, demanding their surrender and Gridot’s sworn fealty to (and here, I nearly gagged) the rightful king Zeryth Aldris. An hour later, my letter was returned to me, crumpled and smeared with what I chose to believe was mud. The reply was only one line:

The great city of Antedale rejects Zeryth Aldris’s baseless command.

I really could not blame them.

“A stupid decision,” Essanie remarked.

Stupid or brave. I wasn’t sure which.

“They won’t last an hour,” Arith agreed.

Undoubtedly true.

“My men are ready to march,” Essanie said. “Better to strike at nightfall, anyway. We can wield light and fire, and they don’t have many Wielders.”

One more advantage that we could use to slaughter as many of those poor bastards lining the gates. And slaughter them we would, surely.

Arith nodded. “By breakfast, we’ll be on our way out.” He let out a laugh. “’Scended, my wife’ll be pleased to know that I’ll be making back for our anniversary after all. You know, she—”

“Probably not,” I said. I held the map of Antedale, examining runny ink lines that represented the city’s winding streets.

“Sir?”

“Don’t get your wife’s hopes up.” I set down the map and turned to my captains. “We’re not going to march tonight.”

“With all respect, why not?” Essanie asked. She was looking at me as if I had announced that I was quitting the military to go breed exotic birds. “What are we waiting for? We would win.”

When I answered, I was acutely aware of Essanie’s loyalty to Zeryth, and the promise that bound me to him. “We will win,” I said. “But it won’t help the King’s reputation if we overpower them so completely. He would become another Sesri. Is that what you want?”

Essanie and Arith exchanged a perplexed glance.

“I believe that a show of power is exactly what the King needs right now,” Essanie said. “If we prove that we are not to be trifled with, it will serve as a warning to the other rebels. And with respect, General, that is the King’s chosen strategy.”

Of course it was.

“We can’t disobey his orders,” Arith said.

Of course we couldn’t.

“We won’t.” I stood and stretched. “Make no mistake, our illustrious king will have his victory. But he won’t have it tonight. Return to your soldiers and tell them they’re welcome to turn in for the night if they wish. And they’ll get further orders in the morning.”

Deafening silence. I slid my hands into my pockets and regarded Essanie and Arith. They did not move.

“Well? Is there something else you want to say?”

Going by the looks on their faces — Essanie’s withering disapproval and Arith’s abject confusion — there was plenty more that they wanted to say. But they were both well-trained, competent soldiers, and well-trained, competent soldiers did not argue with their commanding officers. So they bowed their heads, saluted, and left me alone in my tent, where I sagged back into my chair and stared at the draped fabric above me.

Zeryth was right. I was a naturally cautious man, and this was a gamble. He would not be pleased.

But I thought of Tisaanah, and all that she had managed to accomplish with a glorious facade. I thought of my old friend Rian, and his brother, whose life was now balanced in my care. I thought of all those men lined up outside the gates, who just as easily