Daughter of No Worlds (The War of Lost Hearts, #1)

by Carissa Broadbent

I don’t know why I believe you, he had said. But I knew. He believed me because he wanted to believe me — wanted to believe in the possibility of something better, however unlikely it was. And that? That was something that sank into my soul like water after miles and miles of parched, desperate desert.

Little did they know

We’ll make sure that you knock their moon-obsessed robes off, absolutely. But when you do it, you need to be technically perfect.” We’ll make sure. Apparently, there was a “we” now.

Whitethorn, this is how you train someone!

It was amazing, the mental somersaults minds and hearts could do to justify their actions in the name of love.

Ooft

I had been just a child, when I met him. Just a child, and he had taken me in, told me I should feel grateful because he only beat me sparingly, because he waited a few years to rape me, because he didn’t send me off to my death like he did to so many others. Aren’t you lucky, Tisaanah. Don’t I treat you well.

“The way I look at it,” he said, very solemnly, so quietly that his words slipped into the air like steam, “you didn’t forget what you were. I think you remembered. And I hope no one ever again has the fucking audacity to tell you otherwise.”

Something had clicked into place. And neither of us seemed to be able to identify what it was, but we both saw it in each other — in the growing ease of our conversation, in the unspoken understandings of our training sessions, in the safety and silence of our evenings at home. Our life settled into a pulse, a heartbeat, a collection of breaths.

Her writing is just beautiful

The garden grew wild and overgrown, vines snaking over each other, blossoms curling over cobblestone pathways in beautiful, feral greed.

The real gift was not the necklace. The gift was a home to come back to.

“I figured you should have something both beautiful and functional, like you.”

A dancing smile glinted in his eyes. “I think,” he said, “that you are breathtakingly functional.”

He was the most breathtakingly functional thing I had ever seen.

me. And to hear a familiar voice shouting from the balcony: “What. The FUCK. Was that.” I slumped back against the ground.

I felt fingers on my chin, lifting my gaze. Max looked back at me with serious determination. “But I think you are better and stronger than I am in every way. That is the truth.”

“Don’t let them ignore you, Tisaanah. You’re better than they are. They should be terrified of you. Make them scared. Be angry

my hands. I opened my eyes and looked into Max’s, cloudy and blue, a reflection of my own. “Because if I allow myself to be angry, I will never stop.” He leaned closer. So close his nose brushed mine, so close I could count his eyelashes. And so close that I felt his warm breath across my face as he smiled and said, with the viciousness of smoke and steel, “Good

“So maybe,” he whispered, “I could be made for this.” Maybe I could, too. Made, or unmade. In that moment, I didn’t care which.

And while every one of those steps hurt, like muscles creaking back to life after years of disuse, they still felt so right.

But there was another part of me that felt an odd, primal sense of relief in the weight of her against me. Like some missing puzzle piece had been restored.

To be reminded of everything I had already lost while looking into the eyes of everything I had left to lose.

She lifted her face, and for the first time since I returned, I didn’t pull away from the bare, electrifying force of her gaze.

{I know. Perhaps we will make each other whole, Tisaanah, Daughter of No Worlds.}

I didn’t deserve him. Gods, I didn’t. And yet, traitorously, the deepest recesses of my soul were so happy he was here.

Stupid. So stupid, in that uniquely male way, to sink to getting into a dick-waving contest instead of stopping to think about what that would mean. Gods, what a privilege that must be.

“Men want power because it makes them feel good. Women want power because it lets us do things.

Max was beside me, filling my nostrils with the scent of burning flesh, and he sank into this brutality with a precise grace that was darkly beautiful.

you became my friend. Your goals made me respect you, yes. But it was everything else that made me—”

much. Because more than anything, Max wanted to believe that one person was capable of making something change.

“It’s easy to die for someone,” I said, “but it is so much more valuable to live. I do not give you permission to fail if I fail. Do you understand me?” When he didn’t answer, I pressed, “Do you understand?” “Yes,” he whispered.

“You are the best of men, Maxantarius Farlione, no matter how much you try to convince the world otherwise. Promise me that you’ll keep fighting your battles even if I lose mine.”

We are still alive, and we are still together.

And in that moment, a truth solidified in my heart, my soul, my blood

I wanted him in so many ways. As a friend, as a kindred soul, as a fierce teammate.

But if “this” was her friendship, her companionship, her trust? Her happiness? Her safety? Those things were worth more to me than anything else ever would be. Downright precious.

because to call her beautiful would be such an understatement that it was downright insulting.

EEEEEEEPPPFOCJABABSOFJXB😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

I felt her lips warm into a smile. “Tent,” she whispered, though she could barely get the word out because we didn’t stop kissing long enough. “Now.” Hell. Who was I to question?

I was in love with him.

And maybe I needed sleep, but did I really need it any more than I needed her? Than I needed to spend every possible second inside of her, or touching her, or watching her, or listening to her? I wanted to memorize every sound she made, every expression, every freckle or mole, like I was a cartographer tattooing a map of her onto my soul. Still so many paths to chart.

I do not give you permission to fail if I fail. All I could think was that I loved her. I hadn’t told her that, but as that unsettling blue light grew closer and closer, I’d never felt any greater certainty. I loved her for her strength, for her beautiful brute force, for seeing what no one else did. I loved her for everything the world constantly used against her. I loved her for continuing anyway.

She deserved better than a lifetime of bloodstained hands and a tale with a bitter ending crafted from Reshaye’s terrible acts. She deserved epics.

Serel smiled at me, and something inside of me split open. I threw myself against him and buried my face into his tanned neck, into skin that smelled like my home, into an embrace that felt like dreams solidified. And with all my body and soul, I wept.

“Tell me what revolting things this one does,” I said, desperate to call her back. “I don’t think this one is revolting at all.”

The ghost of that girl still lived inside me somewhere. She had what it took to survive, and I had what it took to live.

🫶🏼