Tarnished Embers Book Novels & Stories

Not waiting to behold the fallout, I scramble out of the dining room, fleeing back to the nursery. Once back in the room, I ignite a taper from the room's only wall sconce. I make my way to my dark cell, lighting the little oil lamp on the nightstand next to my sleeping pallet. The small oil lamp sheds enough light for me to open my newly acquired trunk and grab another woolen tunic. I change and performing a cursory exam of the fading burn marks on my thighs, relieved that the soup is not any hotter because this is a time where I could die from a splinter.

They were all beautiful and made the whole book look very impressive. The edges of the pages were gilt in two shades of gold, with a pattern of flames. And there was a large leather and gold clasp holding it closed which was engraved with more motifs of flames. The corners also each had a gold triangular brace, each with another fire opal in. Eliza stares at the book in wonder,

Right when I scanned my boarding pass and stepped through the gate, he called out, "Lucille, is there really no chance for us?" I did not stop walking. That was the clearest answer I could give him. The flight from Ember City to Cascade City flew by, just three hours. I had never been to Cascade City before. It was chillier than I expected. I checked into the cozy B&B I had booked instead of some fancy hotel. I wanted to feel the pulse of the place.

I found a book that seemed nice and pulse-racing, Blood Brothers by Nora Roberts. I took it off the shelf and looked back at Ashton who was now holding Jack in his hands. I went to the till and paid for the book. We then went out of the shop and headed to the car park. When we got to the car park, I got in and took Jack from Ashton to remove him from the cover and place him back on the stand. It was around 5:30 pm so we still had some time before heading home. Ashton read that from my mind and then he went around the car, got in and sat on the seat next to mine.

TITLE Tainted Memories AUTHOR Honesty577 . This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination. . COPYRIGHT All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the author except for use of quotations in a book review. If you want this book to be placed on your platform please see contact information on the author page. . DEDICATION This book is dedicated to my many loyal readers, my creator and my ancestors.

I remember that I told him off and made him keep her job. I only understood how ‘weak’ I had been when I thought about all I had done the following morning. Hours of sleep had cleared my eyes, and I clearly saw that I, Damian Blackwood, heir to a legacy built by my father and on ruthlessness and power, had gone soft over a waitress with trembling hands and an angelic face. I decided there to cleanse her from my thoughts, to erase the near-obsessive hold she’d had on me from a moment that decided how clumsy she was. I murdered what I thought were the feelings in cold blood, buried them in the deepest crevices of my heart, and declared myself free from them.

And in the center of the room. A book sat on a stone pedestal. Black leather. Silver veins pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The cover was carved with a sigil shaped like a twisted moon. The Luna Maximus. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t dare blink. The stories said the Luna Maximus chose its reader. That it whispered to those with ambition black enough to stain fate. That it could gift a Luna more power than any Alpha alive. It should have chosen me years ago. But the goddess...the bitch...picked Emara instead.

Like a dried-up well. Nobody cared. Not about her. “A rootless cultivator isn’t a cultivator,” he’d said, gentle as if reciting poetry. “She’s a stain.” Her father didn’t even glance at her. Her brothers looked at her like someone finally lifted a heavy weight from their shoulders. So when a fire ripped through the estate—probably some rival assassin targeting the scripture vault—nobody looked for the disgraced third daughter. She became part of the casualties, one less problem on their ledgers.

She fell asleep with her sister’s hand in hers, the taste of salt on her lips, and the scent of soft bubbles and flowers surrounding her. The clock on the wall ticked away the final hours of her life as a Moretti. The sacrifice was prepared. The fire was lit. And in two days, the world would watch as Serena Moretti walked into the flames, all to keep a single, freckled girl from being burned.

I watched her go, not with suspicion, but simply observing. "It probably has to do with 'you know who'," Ember said quietly. "I know." "Do you still think it's nothing?" "I think it's something that isn't my business yet." "Yet," Ember echoed, the word a subtle annotation. The library was blessedly empty when I arrived, just how I preferred it. I'd been coming here since the curfew began, bypassing the obvious texts on the accessible shelves, the sanitized histories that barely qualified as information. My focus was on the back case, the one with scratched-out titles, ancient locks, and pages that seemed to hold their breath, guarding secrets. I’d read enough in the Emberclaw library to know