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

in my soiled clothes, my jacket stained red, Il’Sahaj still in my hands. I had been summoned straight here from the battlefield.

“I did exactly what you commanded me to do,” I said. “You wanted victory, and I gave it to you.”

“You let them retreat.” Zeryth whirled to face me. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes. The look that glinted there reminded me of an edge of broken glass. Rawer than I’d ever seen them before. Stranger.

“Did you want me to kill all of those people, Zeryth?”

“They need to understand the consequences of what they’ve done.”

“They were certainly afraid.”

“Not afraid enough.”

The pacing resumed.

I watched him carefully. This was not the behavior of a man in control of the situation.

“Did you expect me to hand you a mountain of corpses, Zeryth?” I said, quietly. “What makes you think they would appreciate that from you any more than they appreciated it from Sesri?”

His mouth thinned. For a moment, I saw conflict war across his face. Fear. Gone as soon as I could identify it.

“You should know better than any of these other people here,” he snapped. “Do you think if you stood in my place, they would ever respect you unless you forced them to? You, a foreign slave? Do not patronize me, Tisaanah. You know as well as I do that they won’t get on their knees in front of a no-name bastard unless I force them there. Just like they forced me.”

His voice rose until it was nearly a shout, then echoed in the air, sticky with something resembling shame. He turned away.

All at once, I understood.

This was the real reason why Zeryth had chosen Max, of all people, to lead his armies. It was because Max had what Zeryth wanted most: not just a military mind, but a family name respected by the Aran upper class

Max had told me about the competition for Arch Commandant, all those years ago. Now, the memory returned, clicking another piece into place. There had been four candidates, he had told me. One had been killed in the war. Max had withdrawn after the deaths of his family. And Nura had been unable to continue while she recovered after Sarlazai.

And that had left Zeryth, and so he became Arch Commandant. Not because anyone chose him. But because he was the only one left standing.

The whole world shifted a little as I realized exactly how perilous Zeryth’s position was.

“You’re dismissed,” he said. He didn’t turn around, as if he didn’t want to let me see his face. Maybe he knew that I saw the truth.

By the time I got back to my room, blood was pooling in my footsteps. I’d been careful to remain steady when I was in the halls. But as soon as I closed my door, every seam snapped at once.

I didn’t even make it to the bed. I hit the floor in a heap.

I was in Esmaris’s office, lounging on a velvet couch, butterflies twisting from my fingers. On the battlefield, they had been ominous — here, they were little wisps of silver. Merely decorations, just like me. Esmaris had his general by the throat, and the other slaves and I acted as if nothing was wrong, as if a man’s face was not pressed against the table, as if we weren’t trapped in a box with a monster that could turn its rage on us at any moment.

One day it would turn on me.

“What will I do with a thousand dead men?” Esmaris snarled. “Dead men don’t remember your name.”

I looked up.

Suddenly the room was empty. The general was gone, as were the women. Esmaris’s dark stare turned to me — as if, all at once, he had realized how carefully I had been watching.

“Do you find yourself clever, Tisaanah?” he said.

I smiled. “Only a little.”

“You are still a slave. You always will be.”

I stood and crossed the room. I could see every tiny wrinkle on his face, every freckle, every silver thread of hair. Even in my dream, I knew these parts of him. While he had looked at me and seen another decorative possession, I had been memorizing him.

“Dead men don’t remember your name,” I murmured, “but tell me, do you remember mine, wherever you are?” I tipped his chin up, the reversal sending a thrill thought me — I loved the way it felt to look down on him. “There was a time when I had been eager to show you everything I had learned from you. I thought you would be proud of me. Isn’t that funny?”

No, it had not been pride in his eyes the day he tried to beat me to death for exceeding his expectations.

“But I am still eager to show you, Esmaris,” I whispered. “And I hope that you can see it. I hope you can see it when I destroy your world with the knowledge I stole from you.”

And only then did he smile.

Suddenly it was Zeryth’s face cradled in my hands, dark veins beneath his eyes.

“But they never told us the cost, Tisaanah,” he said. “What does it cost to climb from so low? Are you willing to pay it?”

Blink.

Zeryth was gone. Esmaris was gone. The estate fell away, replaced by a familiar embrace. The scent of ash and lilac filled my lungs, the sear of heat trilling across my skin — lips, on my shoulders, my breasts, my throat, my mouth.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, to burn together,” Max murmured, lips against my ear. “Would it? You want that. I know you do.”

He spoke the truth that I was too afraid to acknowledge. Exactly how much I wanted to give up for him. Exactly how much I feared losing him.

And I had already let him go.

A breath, and he was gone.

I was alone.

{Not alone. Never alone.}

I turned and saw a figure shrouded in the dusk. Reshaye, as I had seen it in the Mikov estate, a shadow of a shadow of a person. Its face was tilted away