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

{There is nothing before that.}

What about the other people who carried you?

{Before Maxantarius, there was only white and white and white. There were others. But now, they are nothing more than shattered windows into other lives.}

The smell of the sea. A woman peering into a mirror, drawing copper hair back from her face. The taste of raspberries.

And before?

{Before what?}

Before you were with others. Is this what you always were?

Silence. A mournful emptiness. {I do not think so,} it whispered. {Perhaps once I was something. But I do not remember what. And maybe I have never been anything but the discarded remains of others.}

Hands through the fields. Again and again. Gold beneath the sun. A sheet of glossy black, and a reflection within it with a face that would never come into focus, no matter how Reshaye clawed at the memory.

It felt almost… human. That sadness.

What do you want, Reshaye?

It seemed silly, now, that it had taken me so long to ask. Perhaps I thought I knew what Reshaye wanted — love, or its dark, twisted version of it. Unyielding loyalty, with no demands.

There was a long pause. I felt it grapple with this question.

{I want a story.}

A story?

{A story is the thing that proves something existed between life and death. I have lingered in-between for so long. I want…} It groped for the right word, reaching and failing. {I want something that is real. And I want life, or death, but not this nothingness between.}

I blinked back my surprise. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t for Reshaye to wish for death. But then, wouldn’t I, if I lived as it did?

We have work to do, I murmured. We will need to show them all what we’re capable of. And we will need to do it very carefully. But if you help me, Reshaye, I will find a way to give you a story. And I will find a way to give you death.

{Why should I listen to you? You have betrayed me many times.}

In the sparring ring. Max’s hands on my body. The way I had shut it out in the Mikov estate.

I cannot prove my truth to you. You will just have to trust me.

{Trust,} Reshaye spat, with an ugly laugh. {How humans treasure such things. To believe in something without reason.}

Or you will fight me, and I will win. Just as I won when we were in Threll.

Though sometimes I did wonder — did I win? Or did I do what Reshaye, or some part of it, had wanted me to do?

A long silence.

Your choice, I said, then drew the curtains of my mind up tight.

I had a choice, too.

It wasn’t my choice to fight Zeryth’s war, true. But just because I couldn’t control everything didn’t mean I couldn’t control anything.

I would win. And I would win quickly. I had spent my life stealing little fragments of power from the gluttonous hands of the Threllian Lords. I knew how to manipulate scraps into something more.

I was made for this.

Chapter Ten

Aefe

“What are you doing here?”

I awoke to a scraggly voice, sandpaper over my throbbing headache.

I forced my eyelids open. My neck hurt. My cheek rested against black silk, and I was wrenched awkwardly over at the waist, face pressed to the edge of a bed. My memories, clouded by last night’s alcohol, were a smear.

An old healer woman looked down at me with disdain.

“You should not be here.”

“I asked her to stay.”

The words came from beside me, smooth even through the rasp of disuse. I forced myself to sit up more. I looked at my hand — a hand that was still resting over delicate, long fingers. And then I followed that hand to an arm, and a shoulder, and a face… and a pair of green eyes that peered down at me before turning back to the healer.

The Stoneheld man.

The memories came back all at once. Embarrassment flooded me. I jerked my hand away and pushed from the bed.

“I’m sorry, I—”

But the healer was only looking at the Stoneheld, eyes round. “Forgive me. We did not expect you to wake so soon. The Teirna wished to see you as soon as you rose. Let me send word.” She gave her a colder stare. “Your father will not be pleased you are here. I recommend you leave before he arrives.”

I looked away.

She hurried off, leaving the Stoneheld and I in awkward silence. With significant effort, I stood.

“I apologize,” I said.

“You shouldn’t,” he replied. He was giving me an odd look. “Your father, the healer said.”

I winced. Sometimes — most times — it was easier if they did not know.

“Then,” he asked, “am I addressing the—”

“No. The Teirness is my sister.” I spoke too quickly. “I will leave you,” I said, and began to turn away.

“Wait. What is your name?”

I paused. Turned. His voice was so raspy that I had not noticed before, but he had a Stoneheld accent, giving the words a strange, melodic texture.

“Aefe,” I said. “Aefe Ei’Allaugh.”

“Aefe,” he repeated, slowly, as if my name was wine he was rolling over his tongue. His eyes were ringed with darkness, his gaze tired, but somehow that only made his stare more intense. I felt like I was being seen — being examined — more carefully than anyone had in a very, very long time.

A shiver ran up my spine. I could not tell whether I found it intriguing or uncomfortable.

“And what is yours?” I asked.

“Caduan Iero,” he said.

Iero. I did not know the surname, but then, it had been such a long time since I had needed to know the court structures of other houses, let alone one as small as the House of Stone.

“I’m glad we got the chance to meet, Caduan Iero,” I said, quietly. “For a time I wasn’t sure we would.”

Something I could not read flickered across his face.

“Stay,” he said.

“My father would prefer if I did not.”

“But I would prefer if you did. You