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

the death toll was low. The destruction minimal. And we lost few of your soldiers, comparatively.” Then she said, more softly, “It was nothing, compared to what it could have been without you.”

“All things considered.” “Comparatively.” “Wasn’t that bad.”

All phrases that did little to quell the guilt that sat in my stomach.

I turned away and started to push past her, but Nura’s fingers caught my arm. Her eyes fell to my wrist, and her brow furrowed.

“What are you—”

She pushed my sleeve up, and my voice trailed off. We stood in silence, looking down at my arm and the dark veins that now trailed up it.

I yanked away from her grasp, pushing my sleeve back down. “I have more important things to worry about.”

I was halfway to the door when she called after me. “I meant it,” she said. “Do you ever think about what you could do with power like that? If you let yourself dream a little bigger?”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer. Perhaps Nura dreamed of what she could do with the power that I had, that Tisaanah had. But I dreamed of a world in which power like that never existed at all.

But no matter what I dreamed, the whole world knew what I was, now. And Nura wasn’t the only one who looked at me differently for it. Everywhere I went, stares followed. Even the healers gave me long looks—part fear, part awe—when they thought I wasn’t paying attention. As soon as I could walk, I managed to visit Essanie and Arith’s drills, albeit only briefly, and practically derailed the whole exercise because everyone decided to stop and gawp at me at the same time.

Eventually, the shock faded, but I understood that something had permanently changed in what remained beneath it. They had respected me before. But now, they looked at me with starry-eyed admiration.

I didn’t like that one bit. I wanted to shake them and say, No one deserves to be put on a pedestal. They won’t climb down to save you, and if you’re looking up at them, you’re not looking ahead at what’s coming for you.

Every time I saw those looks, a weight settled over my chest. For the first time, I truly understood how Tisaanah must feel when she stood in front of the refugees.

And that was the other reason why I didn’t spend much time with the army. Tisaanah.

Days passed, and she didn’t wake. She lay in a white bed in her apartment in the Tower of Midnight, looking small and fragile and so unlike the untouchable goddess who had commanded the attention of the refugees. Sammerin healed the wounds on her arms, but they were still covered with scar tissue, crawling over the dark veins visible beneath the translucent pale of her skin.

“She was injured badly,” Sammerin told me. “And she used an extraordinary amount of magic. She just needs to rest.”

He was right. I knew better than most exactly how high of a toll Reshaye’s magic demanded on the body, especially after using so much of it. But I still hovered anxiously at her bedside. Through her window, I watched the sky change, from dusky overcast to bloody sunset, to night and then sunrise and then all over again, and still she did not wake.

Days had passed when she finally opened her eyes. It was nighttime. I was in my chair in the corner, vision blurring over pages of my book.

“Maxantarius.”

A pit formed in my stomach at the sound.

Tisaanah’s voice, yes. But not her words. Not her accent.

I looked up to see Tisaanah — Reshaye — peering at me through those brilliant, mismatched eyes.

I closed my book.

“Where is she?” I asked, my voice tight.

“Resting. She is very tired. As am I.”

“If you’re so tired, then why are you here?”

Tisaanah’s expression was calm and thoughtful, mouth twisted the way a child’s does in deep thought. There was no rage, no anger. An unusual expression for Reshaye to wear.

“You told me once that I did not know what love is.” The wrinkle deepened between her brows. Her hand pressed to her chest. “Does love feel like an open wound? Like skin peeled back from flesh. Like a ribcage exposed. Is that what it is? To be… opened?”

I blinked.

What a strange question. I didn’t know how to respond to this.

I thought of the night I helped untangle Tisaanah’s dress from her hair after the Orders’ ball. I had stood there drowning in her scent, in my own desire, and when she had looked over her shoulder at me, I realized her stare cut so deep because she saw me — even the things I wanted to hide from the world.

“Is love frightening?” Reshaye whispered.

I wasn’t sure why I answered. “Yes. It’s terrifying.”

“It is a painful thing. To be seen. To be given something to mourn. To be reminded of what has already been lost.”

Then that gaze, familiar and unfamiliar, slid back to me.

“I built walls around you, because I wanted us to be the same. If there was no one else for you to see, then you would see me. But I think I understand it now… grief.”

Reshaye rolled over, Tisaanah’s eyes fluttering closed.

“She will come back soon,” she whispered, voice fading. “She dreams of you. Did you know that?”

She was gone before I had time to say more, fading back into a deep sleep, confusion still etched between her brows.

The next morning, Tisaanah finally awoke.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Tisaanah

We had won.

When I awoke after what felt like a million-year sleep, Max was there beside me. He told me of the outcome of the battle, and filled in my murky memories with his crisper ones. He told me of the death toll, and of the victory those deaths had bought.

The Capital was now under Zeryth’s control.

“So the war is over,” I murmured.

“It should be. Though Zeryth has not publicly declared its end. Not that there’s even anyone left for him to fight.”

This made me nervous. I’d been watching Zeryth