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

The darkness of the bedchamber was replaced by the silver-dipped shadow of the mountains at night, moonlight falling over their peaks like spilled nectar. We stood on one of the outposts, a wall sprawling in either direction. We were surrounded by Syrizen. Their faces were all tilted to the horizon.

At first, topography of the landscape disguised what I was really looking at.

And then, all at once, it snapped into focus. I fought the urge to curse.

How many men was that? A thousand? Two? They spilled from between the rocky ridges in the distance, on horseback and foot, bloody-red torches dotting their lines.

“How they hell did they make it here so fast?” Nura bit out.

“Stratagrams. The shelter of the mountains.” Anserra shot me an appraising look. “At least we have our great savior.”

“Savior indeed,” a familiar voice purred, and I turned to see Zeryth approaching, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his long white coat and a smile twisting his lips. And yet, as he stepped closer, I could see something simmering beneath the surface of that smooth voice, that smirk, souring them to an off-color pantomime of his usual manner.

“Do you know the things I laid at Esmee Varnille’s feet in exchange for Kazara’s alliance? And this is how she repays me for my generosity.”

“Word spread fast,” Anserra said. “They’d know that your armies had left yesterday.”

“So they think I’d be stupid enough to present myself up like a little lamb for slaughter. They don’t know who’s on the butcher block.”

When his gaze fell to me again, all traces of that smooth exterior were gone, replaced only with ragged steel. Something was different about him, rougher, sharper, less carefully controlled. He pulled close, and when he did I saw nothing but hatred in his eyes — eyes that were ringed with uncharacteristic darkness.

“I saw what you did to those slavers,” he snarled. “I want what you do to them to be worse.”

Reshaye shivered, stirred to hunger by my fear or the promise of blood, or both.

I looked to the armies. Thousands of men. Thousands of lives.

“The slaver hub was fifty men,” I said. “These are thousands.”

{Nothing, compared to what we can do,} Reshaye hissed, as if insulted by my hesitation.

Zeryth let out an ugly chuckle. And his fingers tilted my chin towards him, as he leaned close enough to have kissed me. “Don’t act as if I don’t know exactly what you’re capable of.”

This close, I could see spiderwebs of dark veins beneath the pale skin around his eyes.

He released me and turned to the others.

“They’re coming through the Ervai Pass,” Zeryth said. “If you bring down the cliffs there, you can crush them.”

Crush them.

Literally crush them.

Bile rose in my throat. Suddenly my nostrils were filled with the overwhelming scent of smoke.

“That would be a waste,” I said. “If Esmee Varnille surrenders to you, you take Kazara and all of its armies. Why would you destroy what would be yours?”

“Esmee Varnille, and the people that populate her city, made it very clear that they have no interest in being of any use to me.”

“You’re allowing your spite to cloud your decisions,” Nura said. “Tisaanah is right. You’re throwing away precious resources.”

Zeryth let out a low chuckle. “My, Nura. To think, is that a soft heart I hear beating beneath your cold little breast?”

“These are Arans, Zeryth,” she hissed. “The very people you’re trying to lead. Think about this.”

These are people, Nura. The memory hit me fast, gone as soon as it had arrived. Max’s words in Sarlazai, before Nura forced him to slaughter a city.

{And they never forgot him,} Reshaye whispered. {He showed them what he was capable of. Now, he is remembered. Those deaths bought victory.}

“Are you questioning my decision, Second?” Zeryth’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “I have thought about it. I thought about it every time Varnille threw my negotiations back at me. I thought about it every time she called me low-blooded trash. Bring down the cliffs. Give me a victory that shocks the world.” He reached into his pocket and shoved a vial into Eslyn’s hand. “Go with her,” he said. “And use this to help.”

Eslyn frowned at her hand. “Is this—?”

“You know what it is,” Zeryth said, but I could barely hear him, my blood now pounding in my ears.

“This is a mistake, Zeryth.”

He whirled to me, anger finally sparking. “Do not question me. These are your orders. And I invoke your Pact, Tisaanah.”

A rough gasp escaped my lips. The words snapped something around my throat, like a leash yanked suddenly taut. I could feel Zeryth’s magic, too, reaching for me — reaching for my mind, and squeezing, squeezing.

“Give me a victory, Tisaanah. Give me a victory that leaves Varnille and all of her noble-blooded friends quaking in fear at my name. Make me someone to fear. And do whatever it takes. Those are your orders.”

Those are your orders.

Those are your orders.

Every word was a link in a chain, one that bit into my skin, sawed at my thoughts. Everything was suddenly foggy.

Zeryth was gone fast, leaving me swaying as he strode away. Just as quickly, Eslyn was beside me.

“Looks like we have our commands,” she muttered.

“Wait,” I said. My head was pounding. “Wait, I—”

I can’t do this.

I couldn’t speak the words aloud — they got caught somewhere between my mind and my lips, like flies stuck in honey.

{Yes we can. We can do all he asked, and more.}

That was what I feared.

{Humans. Always so afraid of what you are capable of.}

The soldiers were spilling through the pass, faster and faster. Eslyn gave me a look that veered on pity.

“What did you think you signed up for?”

Nura yanked me aside, pulling me close.

“I know it’s hard,” she said. “Believe me, I do. But what he is asking for is a decisive victory. The more force we show today, the sooner the war will be over. And the sooner you can go fight your war in Threll, Tisaanah. Just think