{"id":9282,"date":"2025-07-17T21:05:11","date_gmt":"2025-07-18T02:05:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/?page_id=9282"},"modified":"2025-11-07T19:25:19","modified_gmt":"2025-11-08T01:25:19","slug":"ember-eternal-chapter-one","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/?page_id=9282","title":{"rendered":"Ember Eternal – Chapter One"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"Ember<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

We were servants by fate, sisters by choice, and thieves by skill and practice. And we were looking for coins to steal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Orange and crimson blossomed across the western sky as the sun began to descend. The market had been busy. The strongholders mostly wore patched tunics, and they were lean from winter, but they looked thrilled to be outside again after a pale and drizzly winter when the wind never seemed to stop howling. The air was dusty from shuffling feet and smelled of woodsmoke and fried pastries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The curfew drums would beat at sunset, so strongholders and visitors alike hustled to get in the day\u2019s last business before the stronghold\u2019s gates were closed. One last boot to be mended, one final loaf of bread to be sold . . . and one more coin to be lifted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Coins bought freedom, so I watched the market from a narrow alley between the winter-worn shops, waiting for an opportunity to take one more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank the gods spring is finally here,\u201d said Wren, the woman who stood beside me, her skin dark brown, her black hair in twists that fell across her shoulders. The hood of her dark green tunic was pulled up over her head, but her clever eyes scanned the market. \u201cTook long enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt was a miserable winter,\u201d I agreed, letting my gaze drift across the stream of marketgoers finishing the day\u2019s errands. \u201cBut light has returned to the stronghold. Sunshine means people.\u201d I grinned at the bustle of people. \u201cAnd people mean opportunity.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A skilled thief was particular. Very<\/em> particular. A novice might target one of the servants who shouldered baskets and bundles for their masters. But servants would be blamed if something went missing, and we didn\u2019t take from someone who couldn\u2019t afford it. Take only a little<\/em>, my father had said. And wisely.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We didn\u2019t have to wait long. Only a few strides away, apparently thinking the move was hidden by shadows or skill, a man slipped a carved figurine from the charmseller\u2019s narrow table into his pocket, smirking as he walked toward the tall, stone gatehouse in unscuffed boots, the tooled leather purse at his waist heavy with coin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFrom your extremely inappropriate whimper,\u201d Wren said, \u201cI\u2019m guessing that\u2019s our man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy whimper was appropriate for the heft of that purse. He has very bad hands.\u201d That was an insult to the rest of us. And more importantly, he clearly didn\u2019t need the bauble more than the charmseller\u2014with his worn tunic and threadbare apron\u2014needed to sell it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We could have confronted the man or called out his theft, but that would have violated my father\u2019s other rule: Never be noticed.<\/em> Law in the Western Gate was meted out by the soldiers garrisoned in the stronghold, and they cared more about bribes than justice. Being unnoticed helped you stay alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But we had other ways to balance the scales.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d I murmured, and we left the alley and split apart, weaving through the market to play our parts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wren came up behind the man, just to his right. I approached from the front and to his left. He wore an arrogant smirk that erased any guilt I might have felt from taking his coin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The pinch took only a moment. Wren bumped the man\u2019s right shoulder as she passed him; at the same time, I slipped a coin from the pouch at his left, palmed it, and kept moving. He\u2019d already turned his attention to Wren, who was energetically apologizing for the slight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t turn back. That\u2019s how you got caught.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ahead of me, the charmseller\u2019s gaze was on the block he worked with a small blade into a squat statue of god of the Aetheric, a tiny flame in its cupped hands. The Aetheric realm was inhabited by the Anima, souls of the dead that no longer had a physical form but hadn\u2019t yet passed into the second realm, Oblivion, the Great Nothingness. Shoppers bought charms and wards and figurines to convince beneficent Anima to help them, and malicious ones to stay away. Our realm, Terra, was a haunted one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were shadows beneath the man\u2019s eyes, and hollows beneath his cheekbones carved by hunger. Even though desperation was no stranger to me, I rarely went hungry. Wren and I were bonded servants, given over to a woman we called the Lady by people who couldn\u2019t care for us or who\u2019d wanted the bond money more than the hassle. They got the money, we got the debt, and each day\u2019s work\u2014odd jobs the Lady arranged to make us seem legit, or thieving when there wasn\u2019t work for us\u2014repaid a sliver of what we owed. The Lady was calculating and cold, but she kept us fed because otherwise we were no use to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a moment\u2019s consideration, I kneeled as if to pick something up, and added a coin to the one I\u2019d nicked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The movement had him looking up, frowning at me. \u201cCan I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn\u2019t know us. There were four markets in the stronghold, one near each gatehouse. We visited them all, varying our routines so we didn\u2019t raise suspicion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThese were under your table.\u201d I made to dust off the coins on my dark leggings, then held them out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He blinked in surprise when I dropped the coins into his palm, shiny and full of promise. He looked at the coins, then me, gauging if there was some trick or grift and I might snatch the coins away again. It was easy to look unassuming. My eyes were interesting\u2014either green or brown, depending on the light. But my brown tunic badly needed mending. The same was true of my pitted belt and low boots. And unlike the high piles of curls favored by the stronghold\u2019s wealthy residents, my long brown hair was braided, the end secured with a thin scrap of leather.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I gave him a wave, then melted back into the crowd before he could ask any questions, his murmured prayer trailing behind me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow much did you give him?\u201d Wren asked when we met in the alley again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEnough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She clucked her tongue. \u201cYou\u2019re soft, Fox.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not soft. I\u2019m righteous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA righteous thief. You think the garrison commander will buy that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAbsolutely not,\u201d I said with a smirk. \u201cWhich is why I choose not to get caught.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wren rolled her eyes and tapped her knuckles against the ground to erase whatever bad luck I might have triggered by saying that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some people believed you could ask the gods for help. My father taught me our fates were woven in a tapestry, but the true structure\u2014the weave, the tangles, the knots\u2014was hidden from view and out of our hands\u2014and those of the gods. That made sense to me. Surely the Terran gods were too busy with mountains and tides and sunrises to worry about our little tragedies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Across the road, children kicked a leather ball back and forth, singing a verse with each kick. \u201cWest for lilies and mountain high! North for ice and burning fire! East for green things, watch them grow! South for fish and ocean flow.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Carethia\u2019s four border strongholds: the Northern, Southern, Eastern, and Western Gates. Walled cities with garrisoned armies to guard the nation against foreign enemies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne prince for each gate! Who will win? They\u2019ll fight \u2019til their father brings them home again!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Carethia was ruled by Rhenish Lys\u2019Careth. He was the twenty-third Emperor Eternal, so the title was more wish than reality. The nation was named for his Lys\u2019Careth ancestor who\u2019d conquered four nations and united them into one Carethian whole. The gates were supposed to be proving grounds for the emperor\u2019s sons, to prepare them to rule the nation. (Daughters need not apply. A horseshit rule if you asked me, but no one did.) The most recent former Prince of the Western Gate had almost managed a year in the stronghold. In the meantime, he\u2019d refused to meet the strongholders, ignored drought and the traveling sickness, and spent the stronghold\u2019s funds on parties. Hundreds of strongholders had died of famine he could have prevented, and he had been killed by the same illness he\u2019d ignored.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If the Emperor Eternal knew what had gone on here, he\u2019d done nothing about it. No food or supplies or healers\u2014not even words of encouragement\u2014made their way from the City of Flowers, Carethia\u2019s wealthy capital. The Emperor Eternal hadn\u2019t even sent a replacement prince to clean up the mess. The Western Gate\u2019s palace\u2014its gleaming narrow tower of pale green stone rising like a spear in the center of the stronghold\u2014was still empty, just as it had been for months before the former prince\u2019s arrival. If a Carethian prince\u2019s job was to outlive his brothers, the Western Gate was a deadly foe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s get back to the manor,\u201d I said. \u201cThey\u2019ll beat the curfew drums soon anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A drumming began then, but not the patrol\u2019s single beat. This was a thundering\u2014the massive warning drums atop the stronghold wall pounded by garrison soldiers. And the ground rumbled beneath our boots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSoldiers,\u201d Wren said, tension in the word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She wasn\u2019t the only one concerned. Around the market, tables were folded, doors closed and barred. But the garrison soldiers hadn\u2019t made a move to close the gatehouse portcullis or doors\u2014forty feet high and made of the strongest timbers Mount Cennet could supply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a moment of strained silence, anticipation a prickle in the air, and then firelight flickered in the gatehouse\u2019s shadows. A moment later, they emerged: five columns of soldiers in black leather armor with silver trim and helmets capped with a black plume of feathers. The first of them carried fluttering banners of black. Most bore the silver silhouette of a tiger, claws sharp and ready to strike. The widest in front read \u201cEtoris Eni Vistes<\/em>,\u201d the motto of the Lys\u2019Careth family. It meant \u201cpersistence in victory.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I frowned. \u201cThese aren\u2019t the emperor\u2019s soldiers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWrong uniforms,\u201d Wren agreed. \u201cAnd imperial banners have an eagle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That left only one other option.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Emperor Eternal made his choice,\u201d I said. \u201cThe new Western Prince has arrived.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ready for more? Chapter Two is now available!<\/a> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Preorder signed copies of EMBER ETERNAL from The Bookworm and get a free swag pack<\/a>! Or preorder the ebook, audiobook, or hardback from your favorite retailer:<\/strong> Barnes & Noble<\/a> \/ Amazon<\/a>\u00a0\/ BAM<\/a>\u00a0\/ Target<\/a> \/ Bookshop.org<\/a> \/ Audible<\/a> \/ Kobo<\/a> \/ Apple<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We were servants by fate, sisters by choice, and thieves by skill and practice. And we were looking for coins to steal. Orange and crimson blossomed across the western sky as the sun began to descend. The market had been busy. The strongholders mostly wore patched tunics, and they were lean from winter, but they[…]<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"template-fullwidth.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-9282","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/9282","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9282"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/9282\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9339,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/9282\/revisions\/9339"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9282"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}