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

Siobhan shook her head. “Simply not telling them won’t be enough.” She gestured down at herself. Her leathers. The tattoos. All unmistakable marks of the Sidnee Blades.

“No, it won’t be.” A certain spark leeched into Ishqa’s eyes as he looked from Siobhan, to me. “But we can be creative.”

“You look ridiculous.”

Caduan’s voice was low as he leaned over my shoulder to murmur in my ear.

I scowled and resisted the urge to snap at him.

“Aefe, none of this will be terribly convincing if you don’t stop.”

“Stop what?”

Ishqa arched his eyebrows. “That,” he said, gesturing broadly at my entire person.

I threw my hands up. An inordinate amount of chiffon fabric rippled with the movement. “This is unreasonable.”

Caduan placed a very thoughtful hand over his chin, covering his mouth just enough to stifle his obvious chuckle.

“Unreasonable?” Ishqa frowned. “This is what all Wyshraj noblewomen wear.”

I gave him a pointed look. Yes, Ishqa. And it is unreasonable.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and it was only then that I realized that he was enjoying this, the bastard.

I grumbled and looked down at myself. An expanse of skin and floaty, sheer turquoise fabric greeted me. The fabric wrapped all the way around my body, held together with a series of jeweled gold pins — at my shoulders, beneath my arms, around my waist.

Putting the thing on had taken the better part of an hour. It was all an incredible amount of work for something that offered such scant protection from the elements. Most of my skin was exposed in one way or another, whether it be through the sheer fabric or simply left that way intentionally. I resisted the urge to curl up into a ball and cover myself.

I gestured to my exposed abdomen — to the black ink running up its side. I deliberately avoided calling any more attention to the X’s on my other side. This was humiliating enough already.

“Are we not forgetting something terribly important? Or do we intend to convince the Nirajans that Wyshraj have developed a sudden interest in the art of tattoo?”

“I can hide them,” Caduan said, without hesitation. When everyone shot him confused glances, he said, simply, “Magic.”

So matter-of-fact. As if it was obvious.

Ishqa arched a cool eyebrow at me. “Magic, then.”

“It’s quite airy, once you get used to it,” Siobhan remarked. Of course, she managed to look — well, perhaps a little silly, but at least elegant. She was significantly shorter than I was, and as a result, the swath of fabric covered more of her body than mine did. I noted this with some envy.

“It’s not ideal,” Ishqa remarked, finger at his chin. “Noblewomen’s clothing would be more ornate than this. But the Nirajans won’t know the difference.”

Ashraia scoffed. “No one would confuse them for well-bred Wyshraj,” he muttered, and Ishqa shot him a withering look.

“They certainly will,” he said. “No one would dare question the legitimacy of the wife of a Wyshraj noble.”

There was a beat of silence. All eyes turned to Ishqa. Caduan went very still in a way that I deliberately chose not to notice.

“Wife?” I said, finally, voice tight.

“Of course—”

“Wife?”

“It only makes sense,” he said. “If we introduce you as my wife, then it will be clear to them that this is nothing more than a political visit, totally peaceful.”

Of course. That would be true in any House, but the Wyshraj in particular tended to leave matters of politics to the women in a noble partnership. Four military leaders — even Wyshraj military leaders — would be looked upon with suspicion. But a Wyshraj nobleman and his wife? That would be seen as “safe.”

Still. My teeth ground.

“Perhaps Siobhan should be your wife,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Siobhan shoot me an affronted glare just as Ishqa quirked one eyebrow in a cool challenge.

“If you wish,” he said. “But as my equal, I assumed you would want to assume the same rank as me.”

Damn him. He was right. My silence said so, even if my words didn’t.

“Fine,” I muttered, at last.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Max

For awhile, dreams and reality blended. I didn’t remember losing consciousness, at least not the way Tisaanah had, like her entire body just stopped at once. My sense of the world simply seeped away, leaving only dreams. Strange dreams. I was used to nightmares. But this… this was different. The familiar horrors, yes, but with something else hanging over it — a shadow, watching.

But by the time I clawed my way back to reality, dreams were the least of my concerns.

The battle was well over, Nura told me. The clean-up effort was underway. The first thing I did upon regaining consciousness was stumble to the windows, watching the activity in the streets below, and the hazy plume of smoke that still trailed up into the sky.

A knot had formed in my stomach.

“I told you not to bring the army.”

My voice was raspy, raw. Nura’s was smooth as ice in comparison as she replied, “We won the war because of what you two did.”

“I told you not to bring them.”

I looked over my shoulder, jaw clenched. Nura stood there with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Hypocritical for you to lecture me about honesty, isn’t it? After what you hid from us.” She cocked her head. “But the two of you were remarkable. You were remarkable, Max. You must know that. Even after hearing the stories from Threll, I didn’t think you would be so…”

Her voice trailed off, eyes going far away. I looked to the Capital, to the smoke still rising above it.

The battle was a bloody, rage-induced haze. Hazy enough that my mind could fill in the gaps with the worst possible scenarios.

My fingers curled against the glass.

“Was there… were there…”

“Was it another Sarlazai?”

A part of me hated that she knew what I was going to ask. She gave me a pitying look.

“No. It was nothing like it. All things considered,