Page 179 of Children of Fallen Gods

With three powerful pumps of Ishqa’s wings, we launched into the sky. I looked down and watched Niraja shrink beneath me, corpses growing smaller and smaller. Down below, on the highest balcony of the Nirajan palace, Ezra watched his city fall. Beside him, Orin turned. His stare fell directly to us. His crossbow lifted, and our gazes met — his gaze that, even from this distance, reminded me so much of my own.

He held his aim for several long seconds, then lowered his weapon and turned away, joining his brother.

And all while Ezra just stood there as if made of marble, helpless as he watched his garden wither.

Chapter Sixty

Max

Ihad forgotten what it was like to be this carelessly content.

Tisaanah and I fell into it like we were drowning in a vat of honey. How many days had it been? Impossible to tell, considering that we may have lost an entire twenty-four hours to the deepest, longest sleep I’d ever had. Perhaps for the first time in my life, it was easy to be content, when I could roll over and open one bleary eye to see Tisaanah’s face ungracefully smooshed against the pillow.

Years ago, I had foolishly taken that for granted — the ability to see the people I cared about in passing, unremarkable glances. Of course they were there. Of course they were safe. I knew that I’d never get that feeling of ease back. The pit at the bottom of my stomach, the tension in my chest, would probably linger there for the rest of my life. But in those sleepy days, I came closer to reclaiming it than I had in a long, long time.

I wasn’t sure how long it had been by the time I finally opened my eyes from the depths of hibernation, squinted out the window into the sun-drenched world beyond it, and dragged myself out of bed. I wrapped one of the blankets around my shoulders and shuffled out into the garden. Winter loomed. The sky was cloudless and the sun was warm, but the air so cold that my breath released clouds of mist with every exhale.

The garden was overgrown and messy. Before, I had woven an intricate series of spells to keep the plants happy in the wintertime. Those protections were weak, now — it had been months since they were last refreshed. I picked up a stick and walked the edges of the garden, drawing Stratagrams in the dirt and watching with satisfaction as drooping flower petals puffed back to life.

Then I settled before my rose bushes. Most of the flowers were dead, or close to it, the white and red petals shriveled at the edges. My knee nudged something hard, and I looked down to see that there was a pair of clippers, now pitifully rusted, lying in the dirt beneath a generous coating of dead leaves.

Right.

This was exactly that spot I had come to, months ago, when Tisaanah had made her Blood Pact. I had sat here spiraling into existential dread, desperately trying to tell myself that the clippers in my hand would be the closest thing I’d ever wield again to an actual weapon, and that I could stay here unmoving forever, and that I would be fuckingrightfor it.

Maybe I would have been. I still wasn’t sure.

What a long time ago that seemed to be.

I picked up the clippers. They were rusty, but they still worked. I set to work on the bushes.

After a time, footsteps approached

“You look very silly.” I could hear the smile in Tisaanah’s voice.

“This?” I shrugged my shoulders, making the blanket that was wound up to my ears bounce. “This is practical.”

“You look like… a sleeping worm.”

“Asleeping worm?”

“The kind that makes silk. When they, you know…” She flailed her arms around herself, and I turned to stare flatly back at her.

“Was that intended to represent… a cocoon?”

“Acocoon. Exactly.”

“Ascended above, what a poet you are.”

She settled beside me, shooting me a glare. “Well, you tell me that in Thereni, and we’ll see if you’re a better one.”

Fair enough.

I closed a handful of dead petals in my hand and conjured fire, reducing them to ash. Even that small fragment of magic was… difficult. Like it met resistance within my veins.

“Look at this, Tisaanah.” I held up dead blossoms and leaves, shaking my fist. “This is a travesty.”

“I think the garden is more beautiful this way. It is…free. A sign that it can all flourish even if there isn’t a lonely, cranky man watching over it all day.”

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