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

the country in a grief-and-drug-induced haze, Meriata had welcomed me with a lover’s open arms. After all, there was no better place to lose yourself, and myself was the only thing I had left to lose.

I remembered very little from that time. Still, once we got there, the atmosphere dredged up memories that I thought I’d long ago buried. Even from a distance, the city was beautiful — glittering glass spires lit with strings of lights, all rising to the city’s famous domed peak, which was topped with flower arrangements that spilled down its sides. That dreamy, glamorous excess trickled down the streets, which were winding and narrow, teeming with music and the scent of sweat and perfume.

That was what got me. The little things. The faint whiff of those Meriatan flowers, the twang of a song, the misty image of inns lit up with warmth. All painfully-sharp shards of memories I thought I had discarded, but still couldn’t assemble.

The soldiers dispersed almost immediately upon entering the city limits, though Moth lingered by my side.

“Ever been here before?” I asked him, even though his round-eyed staring made the answer very obvious. He shook his head.

“It’s easy to find trouble here. So don’t go wandering into any— no, Moth, definitely don’t go there,” I grumbled, yanking his arm. He had slowed a bit too much while walking past a gaudily decorated building surrounded by even more gaudily decorated women. Still, even as I dragged him along, his neck craned as he turned back to wave back at the giggling ladies.

I rolled my eyes. Sammerin was a bad influence.

“Listen,” I said, “this is probably the only time off we’re going to have for quite awhile. So you’d be smart to use the chance for some actual—”

“Ey! Moth! Moth!”

We both turned to see one of my soldiers, Jorge, a teenage boy just a few years older than Moth, waving wildly from down the street. Without another word, Moth was already hurrying off to meet him.

“See you tomorrow, Max!”

“Don’t do anything idiotic!” I called after him, somewhat insulted to be so easily abandoned. I watched him go, and fought an inexplicable tension in my chest as I considered all the trouble that one especially accident-prone teenage boy could get into in a city as seedy as Meriata.

Ascended above. I was getting old.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned out towards the streets. Crowds surrounded me, which, of course, I hated. If Tisaanah was here, it might — might — have been worth putting up with it just to watch her as she experienced it all. It would have delighted her. I remembered her face the day I had brought her to the Capital. She’d gotten this look in her eyes, this gleeful, overwhelmed amazement, and for the first time I had thought to myself, I suppose I could get used to seeing that look.

I allowed myself the wistful memory, then shrugged it away and started walking. There was a reason I had come here, after all. I had work to do.

The city was quieter as I left downtown, venturing beyond the throngs of partying visitors. In these neighborhoods, sparkling lights meant to entice were replaced by shadows meant to conceal. My memories of my time in Meriata may have been a blur, but my footsteps still knew the path. The building looked exactly as it had seven years ago, though perhaps a little more run down. The peeling paint around the arched door was now covered up with velvet fabric, perhaps in some attempt at sophistication. Fake, gold-sprayed flowers adorned the windowsills. There was no sign. But then, it had never needed one.

When I stepped inside, I was hit with the scent of rose so strong it made my nostrils burn. Slightly-off-key music hung, too-loud, in the air. It was so dark that it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Even the arrangement of the place hadn’t changed — the small lounge lined with benches topped with velvet pillows, little chipped cafe tables, and the suspicious couches that, even back when I was out of my mind on Ascended-knew-what, I knew better than to sit on.

I sat down at an empty table — wooden chair, of course, hard surfaces only — and watched the room. They were doing good business tonight. Topless women and topless men leaned over their shadow-draped patrons, dispensing honeyed whispers.

“Good evening, soldier. What can I—”

I pulled away from a set of hands sliding over my shoulders. “No, thank you.”

The woman arched an eyebrow, pushing blonde curls behind her ears. “Are you sure about that?”

“Very much so, I’m afraid.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she muttered, wandering off to a more accommodating patron.

“After so many years,” a familiar voice purred from behind me, “you really have so little interest in seeing what you’ve been missing, Lord Farlione?”

I turned to see an old friend standing behind my chair, her arms crossed and lips pursed. She was swathed in silky, brightly-colored fabrics, a low neckline cradling several gold and silver necklaces. Her grey-streaked, chestnut hair was pinned away from a regal face that hadn’t aged much since I had last seen her.

“If I remember correctly,” I said, “paid affection wasn’t my particular vice.”

“I’m surprised that you remember anything at all about the years you spent passed out on my floors.”

I winced. “That does sound more familiar.”

Her eyes narrowed at me, and she regarded me for a long moment. Then her face broke into a grin, and she waved to the barkeep. “Come. Tell me what you’re drinking these days. And tell me why you’re wearing an Ascended-damned military uniform.”

“Let’s talk somewhere more private.”

She paused, eyebrow raising. “That’s very flattering, Maxantarius, but I’m long retired.”

Still, I saw the concern in her gaze. Concern— and interest, like a hungry cat with its appetite piqued. Prostitution wasn’t the only thing that Eomara was “long retired” from.

She sighed, then waved me to the back of the room. “Oh, fine. Come. I’m getting us