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

“We will have to find other ways to get answers,” I said. “The terms of exile are clear. And the Teirna would never allow it.”

Caduan flinched. He turned away — back to the corpse on the table.

“We will find another way,” I said.

“Of course,” Caduan replied, dryly. “I’m sure we will.”

We rode out that day, our route unchanged. It felt strange, to do anything as planned when the world seemed to have shifted so suddenly. We barely spoke, and at night, we set up camp and retreated to our respective tents with little discussion.

I lay there, sleeplessly, for a long time. Finally, I crept from my tent and into the woods. I found Caduan easily. I thought he would be practicing tonight. Instead, he sat on a fallen tree, head tilted up to the sky.

I paused.

His eyes were closed, the moonlight spilling down over his cheeks, illuminating his profile. It occurred to me that he had a beautiful face, all those sharp angles perfectly balanced, so still that he looked as if he could be a painting.

I was still, not approaching him. Until Caduan said, without opening his eyes, “So. I suppose we now know why you are not the Teirness.”

My cheeks heated, and I was grateful that the darkness hid it.

“You aren’t practicing tonight?” I said.

Caduan’s eyes opened, and he looked at me. It was a look that could slice through stone.

“How old were you?” he asked.

I hesitated.

I didn’t want to talk about this. I rarely spoke of it with anyone, even at home. “How old was I when I found out what I am?”

“When you found out that you are an Essnera.”

I flinched — the word always felt like a strike.

“What?” Caduan’s eyes searched my face. “You dislike the term?”

As always, he saw more than I wanted him to.

“Of course I dislike the term,” I muttered. I considered walking away. It would be easier. It was what I usually did, when I was asked uncomfortable questions.

Instead, I found myself settling beside Caduan.

“I was ten years old,” I said. “A priestess found it in me. She felt it in my magic.”

I still remembered it in flawless clarity. The priestess had been kneeling before me, her fingers pressed to my forehead. Her magic had been reading mine — Sidnee priestesses were the rare Fey who had the gift of seeing deep into the magic of others, into their blood. Her eyes had been closed, and I had been watching her dramatic seriousness while trying not to laugh.

Then, her eyes had snapped open, and she had jerked backwards. Before, she had addressed me with the reverent respect befitting of my station. But then, she had looked at me as if she had seen something terrible, something terrifying, within me.

“I didn’t know what it meant, at the time. She didn’t say anything to me, or to my mother. But she must have spoken to my father, because…”

Because that night, I had awoken to my father’s hands around my throat.

I forced myself to look at Caduan. I expected to see judgement. There was always some shade of judgement, after they knew. But not here. What was that? Gentleness? Pity?

“In the House of Stone,” he said, softly, “they kill Essneras.”

“Sometimes in the House of Obsidian, they do too.”

I didn’t fully remember that night. The memories were broken pieces that didn’t quite fit together. The sensation of my father’s hands around my throat. The razored edge of my terror. A light that spilled through the door — or perhaps I had imagined that, as I lost consciousness. I remembered begging. I remembered fading.

And when I opened my eyes again, my life had changed.

“My father spared me,” I said, at last. “But of course, I could not be the Teirness.”

Something I could not read crossed Caduan’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly, with a tenderness that I was not expecting. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug, one that I hoped looked more nonchalant than I felt. “It is not up to me to judge the choices of the gods.”

The words felt ridiculous rolling off of my tongue. Caduan practically winced, as if they sounded that way to him, too.

He stood, pacing through the brush. Then he turned to me.

“I do not think you believe that. About the gods.”

I blinked. “What?”

“And I do not think you believe what you said this morning.”

“I—”

But his gaze bore into me, unrelenting. “Am I wrong?”

Mathira, I had always been so bad at lying. I said nothing, but my answer was written across my face.

“We have a chance at getting answers, Aefe,” he said. “Legitimate answers. Do you truly believe that we should abandon that in the name of—”

“It is the role of a Teirna to uphold our ways. What would you have him do?”

Understanding settled over Caduan’s face.

“The Teirna,” he said, softly. “So you were not giving me your opinion. You were giving me your father’s.”

“I am here as my father’s chosen. It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“I believe it does.”

“You say that as if I’m something other than a disgraced Blade,” I scoffed. “The truth is, Caduan, I am honored to hold this position. And I will not jeopardize it by telling my father to abandon his ideals.”

His lip curled. He began to pace. “Ideals are worth nothing to corpses. Not the one I had open on my table, and not the ones I crawled away from in my home. And you should know that more than anyone. You, of all people, should have no patience for their pointless games.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“My father doesn’t play games,” I shot back. “And you should watch how you speak of him. He respects you.”

Caduan whirled to me, his green eyes starker than I’d ever seen them, furious. “He doesn’t respect me. He thinks I’m useful. There is a great difference between the two. And for that gift, he should be beyond reproach? Should