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

“Fijra felt so guilty about it that she told Filias. And he was furious, Tisaanah. I was furious.” His eyes darkened. “None of us tolerate that. Not even Filias. I know he’s hard on you sometimes, but he would never. Never.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why did she do it?”

“There’s a lot we still don’t know. Someone asked her to do it. We don’t know who, yet. But when we do—”

“I don’t mean that. I mean… why did she do it?” My eyes flicked to him. “It wasn’t for money, was it? She wanted to turn me over to the Zorokovs. In exchange for her granddaughter.”

Serel’s mouth pressed to a thin line. “Yes. Yes, that was her thought.”

Of course. Terrible situations leading to terrible ends. Pain begetting more pain.

“Why should my life be worth more than that little girl’s?” I choked out. “I bought those people time. But if I stood in their place… borrowed time would never be enough. They need more than that. More than I’ve been able to give them.”

Pity suffused Serel’s stare. “This can’t all fall on you, Tisaanah. No one person can do this alone.”

“No. No person can.”

No human, perhaps. That’s why I needed to be more, even if I could only make it a performance. But now I was starting to feel all of those different expectations tangling around me, like a spider’s web capturing me thread by thread.

“No one needs you to be more than that,” Serel murmured, and I almost laughed. Gods, how he knew me so well.

“They deserve to feel the way I did, Serel. The way I felt when I saw your face again—” Serel’s fingers tightened around my hand, and I paused, to keep my voice from breaking. “There is no sacrifice too great for that.”

He gave me a sad smile. “Listen, Tisaanah. No matter how… godlike… you looked out there, no matter how many feats of magic you pull off, no matter how much you wish you were more, you’re just a person. And I wouldn’t trade the person for the figurehead. Not for anything. I’d rather have a friend than a savior.”

My eyes stung. I was so lucky to have what I did, in him, in Max, even in Sammerin — in these people who treasured my humanity, not the spectacles I sacrificed it to create.

But I didn’t know how to be both. I didn’t know how to preserve the part of me that they loved while still being what so many more needed me to be.

“You were already my savior,” I murmured. “And you are my friend. And I’m so grateful to you for it.”

He patted my hand and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“Just be careful, Tisaanah.”

“We owe you a thanks. A war ended just as we were bracing for it to get bloodier than ever. We’re very fortunate.” Nura’s eyes darted between me and Max. “You two look like shit, though.”

I was getting tired of hearing that, though it was undeniably true. Nura was so buttoned-up and dignified that it was almost comical to think that she had fought in the same bloody battle we had, mere days ago. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed and chin raised, wearing a tiny satisfied smile.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something hiding beneath it.

{There is always something hiding, in her,} Reshaye whispered, weakly. It was very far away, clearly depleted from the immense amount of energy we had used together.

“I would like to speak to Zeryth,” I said.

No word from him, yet. I didn’t like that.

And Nura clearly didn’t, either. “Wouldn’t we all,” she replied, drily.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means that no one has seen much of our dear ruler since the battle. He’s been… busy.”

“Busy with what, exactly?” I asked. In a time when any other newly-victorious king would have been quick to establish their leadership with a statement or a public appearance, Zeryth seemed to have simply… hidden away.

Nura’s lip twitched, just enough to be visible.

“He didn’t fight in the taking of the Capital,” she said, “but he participated plenty, nonetheless. Why do you think the Syrizen were in such fine form? It was very draining for him just to help Eslyn the way he did. And he did it at a much larger scale this time, because he knew how much was on the line.”

I rubbed my temple. It all had been such a blur, the memories soupy and ill-defined. But thinking back, the Syrizen had been especially brutal, their magic sharper and deadlier than usual.

I still didn’t understand what, exactly, Zeryth had been creating to give Eslyn such power. But I did know that he had gotten sicker and more paranoid over these last few months. And I knew that there were magics in this world that could drive someone towards the edge of a cliff.

How many steps closer had this forced him to take?

“So what’s his plan?” Max rose, paced with his hands shoved into his pockets. His brow knitted. “He needs to officially declare an end to this, and quickly, Nura. The longer he lets Ara hang in uncertainty, the longer he’s giving more unrest to grow.”

“He knows.”

“Does he?”

“He does. And I do, too. He’s holding a victory celebration in a few days. He will officially declare the war over then. I suppose he wanted… a more cheerful environment for such an event.”

Max scoffed. “He wants to make the announcement surrounded by drunk, adoring nobles in ballgowns rather than on a pile of bloody rubble. Sure. Sounds like Zeryth.”

But there was still a note of unease in his voice, one that lingered in the back of my mind, too. And even Nura seemed to share it, her expression going hard for a split second. Then she blinked it away, and turned to me.

“I also had been meaning to ask you,” she said. “We’ve gotten pieces