Children of Fallen Gods (The War of Lost Hearts Book 2) by Carissa Broadbent (good english books to read .TXT) 📕

We could see it from the shore, just barely, though the evening sky was misty enough that it was reduced to a sunset silhouette. We were greeted by a quiet, polite old man — Fey, I noted — who manned a small boat that would take us to the city.

We were all silent through that boat ride. The city emerged from the fog like a painting refined layer by layer. I hadn’t been expecting it to be so beautiful, even from a distance. It rose up into the air in a series of delicate spires, trees flourishing between them, as if nature and stone were tangled in the same dance. As we grew closer, I could see the shine of silver lining the walls that surrounded its shores, and the glint of gold at the peaks of its spires.

I glanced at Siobhan, who stared up at the sight with a single wrinkle between her brows. She looked the part of a Wyshraj noble — her freckles, combined with the loss of her tattoos, gave her a certain elegant girlishness. Then my gaze slipped to Ishqa, who looked considerably more concerned, his mouth drawn tight.

“No one ever spoke of it like this,” he muttered.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

He frowned. “Yes. I suppose it is.” He said it as if it were an admission that didn’t make sense.

He was nervous, I realized. That was a strange thought. Ishqa seemed perpetually confident, so at ease with being exactly what he should be. But then again, perhaps he wasn’t. Trusted Wyshraj military nobles, after all, were not supposed to go visit excommunicated half-breeds.

It took only a couple of hours to reach the shore of Niraja, and when we disembarked we were greeted by two Fey guards. They bowed their heads to us and led us down the pier, to a set of tall, golden gates. We strode into the city on private pathways lined with twisted vines and brightly-colored, unfamiliar flowers, then we were led up winding sets of stairs towards the castle in the center of Niraja’s cascading spires. While the walls on either side of our pathway were quite tall, there was one turn where they came low enough to peer over, and down on the streets below I could see people bustling about a marketplace, getting ready to close for the day.

“It looks very normal, doesn’t it?” Caduan muttered, and I nodded, watching him.

I wasn’t sure what I would do, if I were him. Coming here and having to speak to humans, after what they had done to my people.

At last, we were guided into the palace. The ceilings were high, and I realized only after we were inside that the tops of some of the peaks were glass, letting light spill inside and cascade over the floor like pools of water. The same ivy that covered the walls of the pathways crawled up the walls in here, and I even heard the chirp of birds.

And there, ahead of us, against a wall that was covered in vines and flowers, were two glass thrones upon a dais of uncut stone. On the left, there sat a woman with long, smooth hair spilling over her shoulders. It was black, but streaked with grey. She was beautiful, though she had lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She wore not a gown, as one might expect for a queen sitting in such a throne, but a long green velvet jacket embroidered with threads of gold, and tight leather breeches with boots that laced up to her knees. A delicate crown of silver sat over her brow.

Beside her, a Fey man sat, his hand laid over hers. Unlike hers, his face was smooth and unlined, with fair skin and blond hair, so gold that it nearly clashed with the silver of his crown. His clothing resembled hers in style, though his jacket was bronze and slightly more ornate — and with the addition of a surprisingly-practical-looking sword that hung at his side.

A third figure stood at their side, a man with dark hair and eyes that were the color of feyblood. He wore simpler clothing than the royals, fine but practical battle clothing, and a blade hung at each hip. His ears were pointed, but not as sharply as most Fey, making me wonder if perhaps he was mixed-blooded. He stood with his hands behind his back, watching us. He had a piercing stare. I could feel it digging into me from the moment I walked in the room.

“King Ezra and Queen Athalena,” one of the guards announced, as we approached, “I introduce the King of the House of Stone, Caduan Iero, and representative of the House of Wayward Winds, Ishqa Sai’Ess, and his wife, Ashmai, along with their traveling companions.”

We all dropped into bows. “It is an honor to be welcomed into your home,” Ishqa said.

We straightened. The guards had already disappeared, save for the slight echo of their footsteps down the hall. There was a long, brutally uncomfortable silence as Ezra and Athalena surveyed us.

Could any of us really blame them if they chose to skewer us where we stood? Maybe they would know who I was. It would be fair, by any measure, for them to take my life in exchange for all the ones my father took from them.

Athalena stood, slowly. Ezra followed.

And finally, a smile broke over Ezra’s face.

“It is a pleasure to have visitors of the old blood after so long,” he said, warmly. “Come. You must be hungry. Let us talk.”

The dinner table was incredibly ornate, with platters of every type of meat and vegetable, decadent sauces drizzled over artfully arranged plates. My mouth watered. I wasn’t sure how long it had been since I’d eaten so well. Yet, there was a knot in my stomach where my hunger should be. While we all graciously accepted the Nirajans’ food, it remained largely untouched.

Our dinner was private, attended only by Ezra, Athalena, and the dark-haired