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

I closed my eyes.

“Are you ready?” Tisaanah said, and I almost laughed, because no, of course I wasn’t.

But out loud I said, “Yes,” because I had to be.

I opened my eyes. And then my second eyelids.

And the world went up in flames.

Chapter Forty-Four

Aefe

When I opened my eyes, we were already miles away from Yithara. I had been unconscious for nearly two days, Caduan told me, a poorly hidden note of concern in his voice. My wound still was in awful pain, but it had been dressed and treated both magically and medically. Maybe under other circumstances, it would have been a slightly poetic sight. I could see evidence of Sidnee and Wyshraj and Stoneheld magics all mixed together in the treatment.

But instead, all I could think about was the slaughter that we had left behind in Yithara. When Siobhan had told me that the city had been lost, I staggered to my feet even as they tried to push me back.

“We have to go back there,” I had demanded. “We cannot leave them all to die.”

I had whirled to Caduan — surely, he would agree with me. And then to Ishqa — the noble warrior, who doubtless would never leave a city full of civilians to their deaths.

But everyone just looked back at me with grim, pale stares.

It turned out that they had gone back. Ishqa and Ashraia had flown far above the battle, watching. By the time they returned, it wasn’t so much a battle anymore as it was a cleanup. There was no one left to fight. We had taken most of the survivors with us, and the humans were left to sort through their own wreckage. They had already destroyed the city, and to hear Ishqa and Ashraia tell it, they simply turned their destruction on the city itself when nobody was left — tearing down remaining buildings, ripping trees out at the roots, turning over the earth.

All of it was horrifying. But this — this made me so angry I could barely breathe.

It wasn’t enough for the humans to slaughter entire cities or Houses. They had to destroy them, too. Rip away the most important thing, the stories all of those dead Fey left behind. Consume and burn until nothing was left of Yithara but a decimated scar in the earth.

“Why?” I had ground out, through clenched teeth. “What reason do they have to do this?”

“I think,” Ishqa said, quietly, “they were looking for something.”

Looking for something? Looking for what? What could possibly justify such bloodshed? Maybe if I wasn’t so angry, I could have admitted that it made sense. There was a reason, after all, why the humans’ attacks were so erratic — they didn’t seem to be targeting any particular group of Fey, or any particular House. Their three targets weren’t even geographically close to each other. And clearly, they did not intend to conquer. They came, they destroyed, and then they left.

Three days later, after the humans were long gone, we returned to Yithara — or what was left of it. When we arrived, I simply froze, unable to move, unable to breathe. All around me, the evacuated survivors sank to their knees or covered their mouths in horror. Some ran into the rubble, calling names. Some attempted to find whatever was left of their homes.

I helped them search for loved ones or find their possessions. They were all looking for something — and like the humans, they would not find it. We found ruined homes and destroyed lives. We found bodies — even children — smashed upon the ground from falls from far above, or worse, split open from groin to throat in a sickeningly deliberate act that had me swallowing bile.

The horror of it smothered me.

I did all of this calmly, methodically. But by the time the sun set, I wandered off beyond the outskirts of the city, tucking myself behind a pile of rubble in the brush. And there, where no one could see me, I sank to my knees and vomited over the ground, then whirled around and smashed my knuckles against the broken wood as hard as I could, over and over, so hard that tears streamed down my cheeks.

I finally stopped when I grew too exhausted to continue. My knuckles were bleeding. I had torn the stitches in my abdomen. I felt none of it. I felt nothing but rage.

I heard footsteps behind me, and I didn’t have to look to know who they belonged to. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, after having seen now for the second time what his House had suffered.

“We’re going to Niraja,” I said. My voice was hoarse, but strong. “I don’t care what it takes. We have to make sure this does not happen again.”

Silence. I finally lifted my head. Caduan looked tired, sad.

He stepped closer, wordlessly. His hand reached out and, with a tenderness so stark that it made me bite back a gasp, he touched my stomach. His skin was hotter than the blood seeping through my shirt.

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured.

“I don’t care.” I meant it.

“I thought your father wouldn’t allow it.”

“I don’t care,” I said again, and to my surprise, I meant it then, too. “I am the Teirness. And if I say we go, then we go.”

“Teirness,” he repeated, softly. Something flickered in his stare, something I could not identify — something that almost looked like pride.

Again, he stepped closer. The heat of his body surrounded me, goosebumps rising on my skin. When his head angled against mine, our faces were only inches apart. I could see every shade of green in those eyes, searching and curious. Mathira, the way he looked at me, like I was a question to be answered or a riddle to be solved. I’d never wanted to be known, to be seen — the possibility was too high that the answer would not be satisfactory. But there was a strange