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

him, and his eyes were so dark that for a split second I had wondered whether he’d developed a sudden affinity for kohl.

I’d needed to hide my shock when I walked into the room. At the sight, Eomara’s words echoed in my mind: Imagine, giving up so much of yourself to drag someone back down with you.

“I have to admit,” he said, “as much as you and I have had our personal differences, no one can deny that you’re good at what you do.”

What I do. How those three words make me want to fucking retch. What was that, exactly? Fighting? Killing? Warfare?

My teeth gritted. “Have,” I said, drily.

“Hm?”

“Have our personal differences. I noticed that you used the incorrect past tense. Nothing past about it.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. There was only so much self-control I could master. My poor social graces, and all.

Zeryth’s expression froze, a shock of anger passing over his face. Then it relaxed, and he let out a low chuckle. “Ah, you got me.”

He stood and turned to the map behind his desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“So then. It appears that despite your excellent military prowess, we have a significant problem. Morwood.”

He stretched out the word — Moooor-wood.

“It’s an inconvenience,” I said.

Zeryth chuckled. “An inconvenience, he says.” He peered back to me. “How much effort you’ve put into doing this gently, General Farlione. Into doing this kindly. You and Tisaanah and your sweet, bloodless war.”

Bloodless? Bloodless? Tell that to all the people I had killed over these last weeks. Tell that to the families of the soldiers I’d buried. Tell that to Moth, who I still hadn’t seen sleep since he killed for the first time.

Fucking bloodless. Sure.

My words came out between tight teeth. “The more people I kill just leaves fewer to witness your divine rule, my illustrious King.”

Fury cracked across Zeryth’s face like lightning, surging wildly before he tethered it again.

“You can be coy, but do you ever stop to think that you’ll just end up killing more of them this way? Death to Ara by a thousand little cuts, rather than just slicing off the infection in one go. Do you think this would get better, after another year or two or four of drawn out warfare, General Farlione?” A cruel spark glinted in his eye. “You understood that in Sarlazai, didn’t you? You know, it’s a shame you never got to see the argument Nura made for you in those trials. She was brilliant. Showed all of Ara exactly how merciful it was to take such decisive measures. One show of strength, one sacrifice, and a million lives were saved.”

My hands were folded in my lap, clenched so tight my knuckles were white.

“Sarlazai never should have happened. And I’ll never let something like that happen again.”

“I want the Capital back, Maxantarius. I want it back soon.”

“We don’t have the forces to do that. Aviness still has strong alliances guarding the city.”

Zeryth gave me a cold stare. “Do not talk to me like I’m stupid.”

“I—”

“We have enough power to do this.”

“Even Reshaye can’t—”

“It can’t? It has.” He leaned across the table, and all at once, the remnants of his smooth demeanor disappeared. Left beneath was only demented rage. “And if the stories I heard about you are true, then we certainly have enough power to take it back. Don’t tell me that we aren’t strong enough. I could tear that city to the fucking ground if I wanted to, couldn’t I?”

“I can’t give you a victory based on rumors you heard from a few Threllians,” I said, calmly, “and no matter what you want to believe, we can’t hinge it on Reshaye alone, either. We need to take Morwood out first.”

For a moment, Zeryth looked so unhinged that I thought he might actually strike me. Then he straightened, and the anger left him as suddenly as it had surged.

“Morwood,” he muttered. “Then Istra. Then Envaline. On, and on, and on.”

He turned back to the map. Absentmindedly, he brushed the coronet at his brow, as if checking to see whether it was still there.

My gaze fell to the desk. It was covered with papers — letters, books, maps, invoices, plans. Off in one corner, I saw a pile of books that made me do a double-take. I recognized them. Journals, left by each king to their successor and meant for the eyes of subsequent rulers alone. The top one was open, half-read.

Zeryth would have had to take these with him when he fled the Palace. Zeryth, of all people, prized the wisdom of former kings enough to take it with him, and study it.

I looked back to him. And there, briefly, I caught a glimpse of something that looked downright odd on the face of this man that I’d always known to be haughty and selfish. Something tired and worried and… worn down.

“Why are you doing this?”

The question slipped out before I could stop it. Zeryth’s gaze snapped to me, already angry, as if expecting to see snide sarcasm on my face. But there wasn’t any. I really wanted to know. Zeryth had already been arguably the most powerful man in Ara. Why take the extra step? Knowing that it could so easily end in his downfall?

His lip curled. “I thought you’d already decided you knew the answer to that question. Because I’m— what are the words you would use? A power-hungry bastard drunk on his own ego?”

That did sound like the sort of thing I would say.

“I’m not about to argue with that,” I said. “But…”

“But?”

I gestured to the map, to all the little red pins over it. “All this, Zeryth? For what?”

Zeryth let out a scoff. “For what,” he echoed, as if this were a ridiculous thing to say. He turned to me. “You were born into one of the most powerful families in Ara, Lord Farlione. Secondborn son, yes, but that didn’t change the fact that the minute you were yanked from between your mother’s legs,