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

by Carissa Broadbent

“Never look back. And never question stepping forward and saying, ‘I deserve to live.’”

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

“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.”

Honestly? I thought he was breathtakingly functional too. He was the most breathtakingly functional thing I had ever seen.

“No. No, they do have a responsibility to you. They have a responsibility to be decent human beings.” He let out a breath through tight teeth. “Sometimes— sometimes I look at you and I’m amazed at the sheer fucking scale of how people have failed you. Just utterly failed you. It’s enough to make me sick, so what about you?

I had spent my life begging to be looked at. Look at me, I cooed at the men I danced for. Look at me, I demanded of Esmaris in my killing breath. Look at me, I commanded to every person who gazed upon my tattered back. And I showed each of them pieces that were as Fragmented as I was, little carefully chosen parts of a whole. But it was here, in this gaze, that I was seen — seen for every incongruous part of me. And nothing had ever flooded me with such sweet, agonizing terror.

He shut his mouth, cleared his throat, looked away. Then back. “I told you that together we would find a way to do this, and I meant it. But I stand with you until the end. You, Tisaanah. If you wanted to run, I swear we’d find a way out. And if it all goes up in flames, I’ll burn right beside you and it will still be the best thing I—” I didn’t realize I was crying until I tasted salt. “Stop.”

And yet, I suddenly found myself unable to breathe, because to call her beautiful would be such an understatement that it was downright insulting.