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

by Carissa Broadbent

He was twenty-one years old. He had been in too many battles to count. But this? This wasn’t a battle. This was a slaughter.

21 okaurrrr

The young woman greeted him with an unwavering, steely gaze. Her irises were so fair that they melted into the whites of her eyes, leaving pinpoint dark pupils watching him in an assessing stare. Soot and blood painted her cheeks, and her white braids were tangled and dirty. A coat hung from her shoulders that had once been blue. Now it was so spattered with red that it edged on purple, the stains crawling over the crescent moon insignia on her lapel.

now who is thisssss

“How much of that is yours?” “How much of that is yours?” “That bad?” “Very bad.” “Wonderful,” he grumbled.

probably not a lot

There was a long silence. And then, finally, she simply said, “I am your commanding officer.” He almost questioned his sanity, questioned whether he heard her correctly. “You’re—what?” A laugh skittered through his thoughts, jeering at the dread that clenched his heart. “Targis is dead. I saw him.” She looked up at him with bright eyes. Reflections of flames glittered in their dampness—the only sign of emotion. “With him gone, I am your commanding officer. And I command you to utilize the full extent of your abilities.” Her words split him in two, a pain so sharp that it felt as if someone had grabbed the top of his spine and ripped it through his skin. “Nura⁠—” “I command you to do it.”

what a dickhead

If he was capable of speaking, he would have told her that he would never—never—forgive her for this. But he was not capable of speaking. He was not capable of anything but hurling himself against his own mental walls, over and over again, in a desperate attempt to regain control.

great start real happy

She knew that he was taking in her unusual appearance: her skin and hair that was mostly white, completely sapped of color, while splotches of what would have been her natural deeper coloring crawled across her skin. One green eye, one white. Streaks of dark mingling in silver hair.

pretty

In a panic, she opened her palms and a butterfly of light flew from her hands, batting through the air until it collided with the fat slaver’s face. “Look,” she said desperately. Another butterfly. And another. “I am a Wielder. I can perform. You can get a good price for me. Better than the mines.” The two slavers watched the butterflies rise into the sky, disappearing against the unbroken silver moon.

she can create illusions?

Her mother spun the girl around to face her, hands still braced on her shoulders. For the first time since this horrible nightmare began, the girl allowed herself to meet her mother’s gaze directly. It was bright amber green, identical to the little girl’s colored right eye. In that split second, she took in her mother’s familiar face—high, regal cheekbones, dark brows that framed a piercing, calm gaze. She had never seen her mother visibly scared or shaken. Even today, that did not change. “None of us can follow where you go, Tisaanah. But you have everything you need to survive. And listen to me—use it.”

oh the poor girl

“Never look back. And never question stepping forward and saying, ‘I deserve to live.’ ” “You deserve to live,” the girl whimpered. The mines were a death sentence. Everyone knew it.

cooked!

A glimmer of sad uncertainty rippled across her mother’s features. “None of that,” she said, flicking away the girl’s tears before they fell. And that was all she offered, before she pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead in one final goodbye kiss.

ohhh man

She straightened, lifting her chin as she looked from one slaver to the other, then back to her people, who lined up bound by rope and chain. In that moment, she had never looked more a queen, noble and breathtaking even as she offered her hands for binding.

well yes

“No tears for your mother, huh?” One of the mercenaries peered over his shoulder, letting out a scoff. “Cold.” “They’re always like that,” the slaver said, matter-of-factly. “Unsentimental.” You did this, the little girl wanted to scream. You refused to take her with me. She wanted to shout, she wanted to sob. She wanted to let herself collapse on this dirty cart floor, pound the wood with useless fists, weep until she vomited.

craaaazy

You have what you need to survive, her mother had told her. The girl had no possessions other than her sweaty nightgown, but she knew she had tools. On that long, dark ride to the city, she counted them, over and over again. She had her unusual appearance, looks that might one day turn into something worth desiring. She was a good listener and a fast learner. She had her magic—silver butterflies and pretty illusions, yes, but more importantly, she had the ability to feel what people wanted of her. And, most valuable of all, she had the gift that her mother had given her: permission to do whatever it took to survive, without apology, without regret. She would do absolutely anything, except cry.

ok

One, two, three . . . When I danced, I never stopped counting. The truth was, I was a terrible dancer. I wasn’t sure that I believed in the concept of talent at all, but even if I did, I could recognize that I didn’t have any. At least not when it came to dancing. But talent, I had learned, was optional. It could be substituted with long nights and early mornings, bleeding feet, obsessively memorized footwork.

me core. fffffuck dancing

No one needed talent when they had brute force. And, despite my willowy size and my unassuming, doe-eyed smile, I had more brute force than anyone. . . . ​Four, five, six . . . Twirl. And—fire. I smiled at the merchant man seated in front of me, opening my palms to let blue fire unfurl from between my fingers. The audience, Esmaris’s party guests, oohed and aahed appreciatively.

shes a performer now? im lost

Rich people loved white, perhaps because it proved that they had the money to spend on a small army of slaves to keep it clean.

this

But even through that tangle of emotions, Serel had caught my eye. He had stopped to comfort a young girl beside him—younger than I had been when I stood in her place—and even though it had earned him a shout and a vicious lash from the slaver, he had still offered that child such a genuine smile. Serel was tall and muscular, but all I could see were those big, watery blue eyes, those features that were so kind and delicate they were almost childlike.

i love him already uh oh

I spent a long time in Esmaris’s bed that night, as if he expected compensation for ceding to my request. But it was worth it, because Serel quickly became the best friend I had ever had—before slavery or after.

oh mannn

“I’ll come back, you know,” I murmured. “For all of you. I’ll have connections, I’ll have resources⁠—” He reached up and patted my knee, as if he understood the guilt churning through my stomach. “I know you will.”

SHE WILL

Rosira represented the Valtain, magic Wielders with albino skin and white hair, who comprised the Order of Midnight. And Araich represented the Solarie, non-Valtain magic Wielders who comprised the Order of Daybreak. Their magic complemented each other even as it contradicted, like two sides of the same coin.

info

The book, along with all of my trinkets from Ara, had been a gift from Zeryth Aldris. He was a traveler from Ara and a high-ranking member of the Orders who would stay at Esmaris’s estate as a guest for a few days at a time. I was immediately fascinated by him. I had never met anyone who looked anything like me before, even though, unlike me, his colorless skin and white hair were uninterrupted—a full Valtain. I took to following him around like a lost puppy, but he was kind to me and seemed to enjoy indulging my curiosities. I would listen to him for hours as he would tell me in fractured Thereni about the Orders and their history.

was he the man she loved?

“Could I become a member of the Orders?” I had asked Zeryth, later, eyeing my hands and the splotches of sand-colored skin that crawled across two of my fingers. “Certainly,” he replied, giving me a dazzling smile that made my fourteen-year-old self melt. “Fragmented or no, you are still a Valtain.” Well. That was all the encouragement I needed.

LMAO

I had lived with him for seven years, and I had perhaps seen him in more—one could say—compromising positions than likely anyone else had.

came to him at 14 left at 21 (?)

It turned out one thousand gold coins was a lot of metal.

no really!

This was the man who had given me so many scars, who had taken away my freedom, who had crushed me and bent me and beaten me. But he was also the man who remembered my favorite color, who once stayed up with me for hours after a bad nightmare. Who had smiled down at me with an odd sort of pride the day I had demanded my freedom from him.

they are odd he is gross

Esmaris was going to kill me. That bastard. A fire lit within me. As I heard the whoosh of Esmaris raising his arm over his head, I flipped myself over, ignoring the agony that ignited as my back touched the ground. “If you want to murder me,” I spat, “you’re going to look me in the eye as you do it.” Esmaris’s arm was above his head, the whip slicing the air behind him, a cruel wrinkle of disdain over his nose. My blood flecked his shirt, melting into the burgundy brocade. Something barely visible wavered in his face. His eyes lowered from mine. “Look at me!” I didn’t make it this far just to flicker out in the night like a stifled candle. I’d haunt him.

TELL HIM.

Look at me, you coward. Look at my eyes, look at the eyes of the little girl that you met eight years ago. The little girl you saved and then destroyed. Esmaris’s sneer became a snarl, as if he had decided to silence me by wiping me from existence. Crack. Twenty-six. I brought my arms up to cover my face, but didn’t blink, not even as that barb nearly tore the tip of my nose. “Look. At. Me.” You will see my eyes in the darkness every night, every time you blink, every time you look at the girl who will replace me . . . Twenty-seven. My forearms were on fire. Darkness blurred the edges of my vision. LOOK AT ME. And then, everything stopped.

I must have been quite a sight: soaked in blood, my back shredded, holding the dead body of the most powerful man in Threll.

OHHHH SHIT

Serel’s gaze flicked to Esmaris. He didn’t ask me what happened. Perhaps the scene—the pile of coins on the desk, my blood, the whip, the crash that had drawn him into the room—told him everything he needed to know. But he didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of the body. Sometimes I forgot that my sweet, kind friend was no stranger to death.

i love serel

I looked down at him, at those clear eyes, more striking than ever now as they glittered with tears that wouldn’t quite overflow. I thought of the day I met him for the first time. I knew now what that little slave girl must have felt like. How precious that gift of bittersweet, gentle comfort was. There were so many things I wanted to say to him. So many that the unspoken words strangled me. “You’ve got to go,” he said, and pulled my face toward him, pressing his lips against my cheek. “Say hello to Ara for me.” I can’t. He sent my horse cantering, yanking me away before I was ready. The tangle in my throat released just enough for me to choke out, “I love you,” but the words were lost in hooves and wind and almost-sobs that I smothered in my lungs. I would wonder countless times if he had heard me. If he, my friend, my brother, knew all that he meant to me.

ohhh i love them

His kiss burned on my cheek, joining the one my mother had left on my forehead all those years ago—twin scars branding me as someone who left behind the people most important to her.

HER FAMILYYYYYY

My name is Tisaanah Vytezic. I am from Threll. I am friend of Zeryth Aldris. I must speak to him.

my name is katniss everdeen

They echoed from the plains into the forests, where my poor horse tripped and snapped a leg, and I was forced to put the beast out of its misery. I ate what I could of it that night, apologizing to it profusely the entire time.

WHOAAAAA

My name is Tisaanah, and I have abandoned everyone I love. And I am a killer. And I am going to die before I make it to Ara.

no u wont

I unhooked the dress and turned around, and in that movement, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. I had to stop myself from dropping the hanger. Gods. Was that me? My hair hung in dirty tangles over both shoulders, my cheeks sunken, ribs protruding. Two angry, pink scars sliced across my chest and abdomen. They cut across my forearms, too. If I held my arms the right way, I could see the unbroken lines that the whip had sliced in my flesh when I shielded myself. But when I turned, my back⁠— My back was completely covered in deep, ferocious gouges. Some still bled, some had scabbed, and some were stitched together like a hideous patchwork quilt. No wonder I had been in such agony. I practically had no skin left. And it was already clear that magic healing or no, these scars would mark me forever. Crack! Twenty-seven.

good lord

The Tower of Midnight and the Tower of Daybreak shared the same ground floor, and this was where they converged.

ok

“How old are you, dear?” “Twenty-one.”

ok so she is 21

I glanced from Maxantarius to Nura, reading the taut hostility in their stances, the sharp edge in the way that they looked at each other. And I tasted the thread of tension in the air that lingered between them, one that seemed drawn from something deeper than this conversation alone. There was history here. Old rivals, maybe. Or . . . I watched their unbroken stares, heavy with that distinctive blend of familiarity and resentment.

theyre the people from chapter one!

“You look freezing,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Yes.” I saw no point in denying it. “Are you planning on going anywhere?” “I have nowhere for going.” I tried to sound very pitiful. He sighed. “Figures she’d leave you here on the coldest spring night we’ve had in years,” he grumbled. Then he stepped back from the door, eyeing me warily. “I’m inviting you inside, but only because if I let you freeze out here, I’d have to relinquish my moral superiority.”

LMAO

I pulled myself to my feet, wincing slightly as my back straightened and offering Maxantarius my most charming, grateful smile. “Thank you, Max-an-tar-ee-us.” I was very proud of myself for correctly stringing together all of those syllables out loud. He rolled his eyes as he stepped aside, holding the door open for me. “Max, please. Otherwise we’d spend half our damn lives saying that ridiculous name.” Thank the gods.

me too girl

There was no possible greater opposite to Esmaris’s vast, minimalist estate. At least it was clean in here. Cluttered, but clean.

my fav kinda house

He was younger than I might have expected. Perhaps late twenties, though there was a certain sharp, observant quality to his expressions that made him seem like he could be older. High cheekbones doused in flickering firelight. A flat, straight nose. Delicate upturned eyes beneath creaseless lids that only emphasized their unnerving, cloudy blue. Up close, they looked even more strange. I knew an old man in Threll who had cataracts that looked a bit like those, though certainly not in such a striking blue. Somehow I doubted that Max had eyesight problems, though. His gaze seemed too deliberate, too piercing, for that.

max's looks

“Do you have—um—” I racked my exhausted brain, searching for the right Aran word. “Um—It says—” I held up my two fingers, bringing them together, making snp, snp sounds with my tongue. “This thing?” Max gave me a look of deadpan confusion. “Huh?” “It says snp, snp,” I repeated, frustrated, bringing my fingers together again. He stared blankly at me.

silly

Max looked over his shoulder. “You should knock. One of these days you’re going to walk in on something that you don’t want to see.” The newcomer’s brows rose, just slightly. “Is that what I’m doing now?” “Not that kind of scandal, sadly.”

LMFAOAOAOAA

Sammerin seemed stunned by this, his brow wrinkling thoughtfully. Then it smoothed as he offered me a small smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Tisaanah. I’m sorry that you’ve been saddled with such an unpleasant mentor.” I liked him.

HAHA

“So, Tisaanah. Tell me about yourself.” He was so soft-spoken that I found myself leaning closer in order to hear him. I wondered if this was intentional. “Nura just left her here yesterday,” Max grumbled. “My question was not directed at you.” Sammerin gave Max a withering look, then turned a much more pleasant gaze to me, waiting politely. Yes, I decided, I definitely liked him.

i like him too!

“Sammerin, I don’t mean to interrupt you but—” Max stood up, peering out the window. “Your apprentice has set my rosebushes on fire.” Sammerin jumped to his feet, muttering a word that I didn’t understand but was spoken with the violent enthusiasm of a curse. “That boy. You have no idea.” I have some idea, I thought. “Five years, four months, and twenty-six days.”

RIP flowers

“What about me?” Max said. “Was it lovely to see me, Sammerin?” Sammerin placed a sarcastic hand over his heart. “Always, Max.”

i like them

Max and I sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other. “You could have that apprentice,” I said, at last. A smile quirked at the corners of Max’s mouth, though it looked like he was fighting it desperately. “True,” he replied. And then, at the same time, we both chuckled.

allies?

And I had the same dream, over and over again. In a terrible way, it was funny. When Esmaris beat me, I had vowed to haunt him—cursed him to see my eyes every time he closed his. Now I was the one who saw him in every shadow. You forgot what you are, he had spat at me. Well, I never forgot now. Every time I came close, there he was—reminding me of everything I had left behind, and everything I would carry with me forever.

fuck that ho