Page 1 of Tarnished Embers

PROLOGUE

“TOO SAD TO CRY” BY SASHA ALEX SLOAN

EMBER

Pain.

I’ll never breathe again, never feel at peace now that she’s gone. My aching heart is fractured and broken, lying in pieces, scattered like the dirt we just threw on her grave.

A shiver leaves my body feeling cold as I stare at her place in the woods, the place where she wanted to be buried, surrounded by the nature that she so loved. But all I feel is agony ripping my heart in two, leaving me an empty husk of who I once was.

How will I go on now that the woman who gave me life breathes no more? How will I navigate the world without her gentle guidance, her love that protects me from all the monsters that hide in the shadows?

A single tear tracks down my cheek, warm against my frozen skin. My fingers lift, brushing it away, the moisture glistening on my fingertip in the frozen sunlight.

Her death wasn’t easy. I wish I could take solace and say that her death was quick, but cancer isn’t that kind. What took a lifetime to build, barely took a matter of weeks to tear her apart. I watched as she wasted away, every second stretching to feel like hours, my mother deteriorating right before my eyes. Her very soul slipped through my fingers and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it. No matter how tightly I held her hand, how many tears soaked the pillow on her bedside, how hard I cried out for someone, anyone to spare her, no one did. No one could. And when my eyes no longer held any tears left to shed, I sat uselessly at her bedside and watched the light dim from her eyes. When my throat became so raw that I could no longer hear the sounds of my sobbing and hapless pleas, I heard the last breath as it rattled out of her chest, the sound deafening in its finality. It is that sound...not my pain...that will haunt me for the rest of my days.

“Come on, my Little Spark.” My father’s deep voice is broken and rough as he places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. I’m surprised I can feel it since everywhere else on my body is numb.“It’s just you and me now, kid.”

Tears drip down my face, the sunshine of the late autumn day a mockery of the hurt that surrounds me and the despair that’s trying to pull me under. I want to go where it leads, promising me oblivion, a way out of the agony of losing her.

I hate that term. Like I just put her down and forgot where I left her. There’s no finding her again though, she’s gone forever and nothing can bring her back.

I tear my eyes away from the spot under the old oak tree to look up at my father. Dark circles ring his eyes, and although his suit is wrinkle-free, his hair and light beard neat, the sadness in his blue eyes matches my own. Maybe even surpasses it. He’s just as broken as I am. She was the love of his life and I can’t imagine the agony he must be feeling knowing that she’s gone.

“O–okay, Dad,” I whisper, my voice sounding hollow to my ears like I’ve wandered into a cave and can’t find my way to the light. “Let’s go home.”

I wince, knowing that our small house will never feel like home again without her there to make it bright and cheery. But, just like the world refused to stop spinning when she died, life goes on and at least Dad and I have each other.

We’ll always have each other.

CHAPTERONE

“QUEEN OF DISASTER” BY LULLANAS

FIVE YEARS LATER…

EMBER

“Dad! I’m home!” I yell before kicking the heavy wooden door closed behind me as I walk through it. Sighing heavily, I take in the mansion we now live in with a slight grimace.

Dad threw himself into his work after Mum passed, and turns out he’s really fucking good at business and made a shit ton of money. So we left our perfectly reasonable, Victorian townhouse in North London two years ago for this McMansion in Chelsea. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice. Just not home. There’s no soft, colourful furnishings that Mum loved. No sense of chaos with pictures and letters stuck to the fridge. It’s too…clean, almost like it’s a showhome, cold and empty of life. Or maybe that’s just me.

“I’m in here, Little Spark,” he calls out from the living room. Well, the yellow living room because this place is so big that we have to define our reception rooms by fucking colour. Warmth fills my chest at the sound of his voice. He isn’t often here and hasn’t been around much for the past five years, so every time he is, it feels like a gift, something to treasure.

I dump my bag on the hall table, smile at Reginald—yes, we now have an honest to fuck butler—and head to the yellow room. I chose the colour for this room when we moved in because yellow is my favourite. It’s soft, like freshly churned butter, and I spend lots of time drawing in here as the lighting is fantastic. The others I left to the interior designer that Dad hired, only this and my room holds any interest for me.

“You won’t believe what happened today—” I come up short, pausing in the doorway when I see a woman standing next to my dad, his arm wrapped around her waist as they both look at me expectantly. My stomach tenses as they just stare at me, matching smiles on their faces. “Um, hi?”

“Honey, this is Odette.” My dad beams at me, his smile wide as he turns his face away from me to gaze down at her. My heart pounds at the look he’s giving her. He’s practically glowing with hearts in his fucking eyes.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Ember,” she gushes in an American accent that I can’t quite place while stepping out of my father’s embrace and rushing towards me. She’s pretty, like really pretty, and maybe a little younger than Dad, although for all I fucking know she’s got a talented surgeon. Her dark brown hair is styled to perfection, falling in waves around her heart-shaped face, and her hazel eyes stare into mine as she grabs my hands, squeezing them before pulling me in for a hug.

I freeze, my arms hanging at my sides and my eyes wide as I look over at my dad. His smile is indulgent as he stares at us, his face all soft lines, and I must admit that he looks happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. He’s never brought a woman home before, and having her arms around me feels weird, like a distant memory that you can’t quite grasp. When was the last time a woman held me close like this? Was it my mother? And who is this woman that hugs me so tightly now? Who is she to my Dad?

She pulls away but keeps hold of my hands in her soft, manicured ones. Heat touches my cheeks when I see the paint under my own short nails.

“Silly me! You have no idea who I am, and here’s me already celebrating the fact that I’ve finally got a daughter.” She titters, and I find the back of my teeth hurting with the sound.

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