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

By Decree of Queen Sesri, first of her name, she of no successor, I hereby declare that in the untimely event of my death…

I skimmed through the rest, several paragraphs of winding verbiage. Until I got to the end — the important part:

…crown shall pass to the Arch Commandant of the Order of Midnight and the Order of Daybreak, as one who is most committed to Ara and most qualified for the role.

And there, beneath it, was Sesri’s signature.

“But of course…” Without looking up, I could hear the smug, sarcastic smile in Zeryth’s voice. “None of this is a surprise to my dear Second. She didn’t fill you in?”

The realization fell over me like a cold shadow.

All this for what? For a thirteen-year-old’s throne? I’d asked that to Nura merely weeks ago, when we were traveling to Threll. Now, it all clicked together. They — Zeryth, and Nura — had been using Sesri. Using her to replace Lords with ones more favorable to their cause. Using her to make herself so horrifically unpopular that any alternative would be welcomed with open arms.

Nura wasn’t flinging knives at Zeryth because he’d stolen a crown. She was flinging knives at him because he did it without her.

My head snapped up. Tisaanah was giving Nura a piercing stare, but Nura’s eyes still looked at nothing but Zeryth, any reaction hidden beneath layers of ice.

“You still haven’t answered,” I ground out, “Why are we h—”

“If you’d have some patience, Maxantarius, you would hear me explain that we are here because there is still a great deal of work to do. Is no one going to eat? No?” He let out a sigh and stood, then grabbed a rolled up piece of parchment from the sideboard behind him, pushed his place setting aside with a dramatic flourish, and unrolled the fabric down the table. It was a map of Ara. Red paint marked various cities across it, and the largest red circle of all was around the Capital.

“As you all have seen,” Zeryth said, “Sesri declared the Arch Commandant — me — to be the rightful heir to the Crown in the event of her death. But as one might expect, many of Sesri’s cousins are not especially eager to accept the truth of the matter. Particularly Atrick Aviness. I came north shortly after the announcement to solidify my position with the Ryvenai nobles and gather loyal troops.” His gaze flicked to me. “We all know that Korvius, of course, is the military center of the north. Your Aunt Lysara was all too willing to host the new king, especially once she learned that you’re an ally.”

“Lysara,” I repeated.

Of-fucking-course. I wouldn’t put it past my miserable aunt to host Zeryth. Still, there was a certain… was it disappointment? For a second, there had just been a part of me that was wondering—

“Surely you didn’t think Brayan had invited me,” Zeryth said.

No. It was a ridiculous thought. “He wouldn’t have done that.”

Zeryth’s nose wrinkled. “No. He wouldn’t.”

As far as I knew, my elder brother had been gone from Ara for the better part of ten years. All too eager to leave the estate in the care of our aunt and go wander Besrith. Not that I could blame him.

“Anyway.” Zeryth cleared his throat, voice growing sour. “I admit it was a mistake to leave the Palace so soon. I underestimated the loyalty some in the Capital would have towards the royal bloodline. Aviness’s forces took control of the Palace while I was gone. Merely a stumbling block, of course. Given our superior resources.”

His gaze fell to Tisaanah, and I ground my teeth. She stared back at him with a cold glare.

“You knew what would meet us at the Mikov Estate,” she said, quietly. “You had fought with Ahzeen Mikov. You knew he was angry at the Orders. You knew that party invitation was a trap. And you told us none of it. Were you hoping that some of us would not make it back alive? Or was it just something to keep us busy, while you came to Ara to steal a crown?”

“I took the invitation at face value. Besides, I had great faith in your abilities. Rightfully, it seems. I heard some incredible tales of what happened that night.” His eyes flicked to me. “Very interesting things, actually.”

“And after all that,” Tisaanah said, “you expect us to go take the Capital, and give you your stolen throne.”

I could practically see the gears turning in her head.

“I object to that description,” Zeryth said, brushing the crown on his brow. It seemed to sit oddly on his head, like he wasn’t fully comfortable wearing it. “But yes. Of course we are to put down the rebels challenging the rightful line of succession.”

“Rebels?” Nura snorted. “You make it sound like we’re talking about a bunch of ragged militiamen. Atrick Aviness has one of the best armies in Ara, perhaps even the world. And I see at least five other old-blood houses on that map of yours.”

She was right. Some of the most oldest, most powerful districts in Ara were among those marked in red. It was no surprise to me that these would be the families to object most strongly to Zeryth’s reign. For some, the loss of a royal bloodline meant the loss of their own claim to power. But even beyond that, many would oppose on principle alone. Zeryth had gained great power within the Orders, yes, but he had come from nothing. For Aran nobility, a throne held by a nameless bastard would be seen as a threat to their very way of life.

“If you’re suggesting that we take the Capital back now,” I said, “then we’re looking at a bloodbath, no matter… how much power we have.” I did not miss the pleasure in Zeryth’s stare on Tisaanah. Or on me.

“And how would you do it?”

I was pointedly silent. I had an answer, of course. But I wasn’t about to advise Zeryth Aldris