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

He was standing at the window, hands tucked into the pockets of the pants he’d thrown back on, profile outlined in the waning light. The view overlooked the Farlione estate and the mountains beyond it. Max’s face was tilted to the east — towards the house.

“It is beautiful,” I said.

“Hm?”

“Korvius. Korvius is beautiful.”

A shadow passed over his expression.

“It is,” he said.

I crossed the room and stood beside him, taking in the view.

“I know it’s hard for you to be here,” I murmured. “But I’ve liked seeing the place that raised you. While you were gone, it was like I could find pieces of you here.”

“I don’t know if I like the parts of me that were left in this house.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder. I couldn’t help drawing in a long breath, taking in his scent. Ash and lilacs. And a little hint, I had realized, that was from here, from this place, as if it was in his blood.

“Not the house. The city. The scenery. The flower gardens at the edge of the grounds. The trinkets in the libraries. There’s a bookstore in town that made me think of you. The owner is very unfriendly. He snaps at you if you even say a single word.” I gave him a coy smirk. “It seemed like the sort of place you would enjoy.”

His eyebrows lurched a little, a distant smile curling his lips. “Mathilda’s.”

“Yes. That was it.”

I was satisfied that my instincts were right. I knew him. He reached out and brushed the small of my back, as if this was satisfying to him, too.

But his smile faded quickly. I watched him fall into serious thought.

“Is it just as difficult?” I murmured. “To be here, again?”

“I’ve never been able to face this place.” He swallowed. “When the Syrizen brought us here, that was the first time I had looked at those gates since… Well. All of it. Brayan tried to find me, for a few years. Tried to get me to come back, but I just couldn’t.”

Brayan. Max’s older brother, and the only other remaining Farlione. The only one who had not been present that day. I rarely asked about him. I knew it was a particular sore spot, for many reasons.

“Do you ever think about finding him now?” I asked, quietly.

“No.” He said it fast, like it was a ridiculous thought. “No. I don’t even know where he is. As far as I know he hasn’t been back to Ara in years. And… he doesn’t know the truth, of what happened that day. He was fed the same story as everyone else. I can’t look him in the eye knowing what I know, because if I were him…” A muscle feathered in his jaw. He still stared out at the landscape. “Like I said, there are a lot of things I haven’t been able to face.”

I squeezed his arm. It was a long moment later when Max spoke, and said something that I was not at all expecting.

“Would you come with me to see the house?” His eyes slid to me — a little wide, as if he had surprised himself, too.

My brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

A pause, like he himself wasn’t sure. “I need to,” he said, at last. “It’s loomed in my memory for so long. I need to…”

His voice trailed off, but he didn’t have to continue.

“Of course,” I murmured, and reached for my clothes.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Max

I could have shown Tisaanah the impersonal beauty in the Farlione estate. I could have showed her the artifacts, the artwork, the precious valuables, all the things my parents used to present to guests on tours of the house. But those were not the stories that were burning in my lungs, desperate to be released. And those were not the things I needed her beside me for the strength to face.

Instead, we wandered through the living quarters. It was utterly silent here. Zeryth and his leadership had taken over every wing of the house but this one — the place where we had lived our innermost lives, now carefully closed off to visitors. Perhaps even my miserable aunt had boundaries as to what she would allow him to use. When we walked through those doors, I felt like I’d walked into the past.

Tisaanah and I went upstairs, to the bedrooms. Neither of us spoke, but Tisaanah’s hand was tight around mine. I was grateful for it.

The first door I opened was to Kira’s room, and when we stepped inside, I went suddenly still.

The room was a frozen, dust-coated monument to the girl that had lived here, untouched for nearly a decade. Her insect books were scattered on the ground. Her hairbrush sat on the bureau, strands of black hair buried in its bristles. There was an indentation on her bedspread, as if someone had carelessly leapt from it in too much of a hurry — because she was always in too much of a hurry.

I couldn’t speak.

I hadn’t expected this, for everything to remain so preserved. Was it intentional? Had Brayan instructed that everything stay exactly the way it had been, when they died?

Or had the world just moved on without them, and no one thought to look back?

“Are you alright?” Tisaanah murmured.

That was a complicated question.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure that was in fact the correct answer. I stepped back, closing the door gently behind me.

I went to Variaslus’s room next, and as soon as I opened the door, the scent of dust and old charcoal greeted me. Three easels stood throughout the room. Two were blank. One housed a half-finished sketch, one that I immediately recognized as depicting Shailia reading a book, charcoal still waiting on the tray as if the artist had stepped out and never returned.

Then, we went to Marisca’s room — all immaculately neat, long-dead flowers still petrified in their perfect arrangements — and Shailia’s, which was decorated with everything and anything that