Ember Frost’s POV

A faint voice sounded down from upstairs, soft and tired. “Anything you make is fine, sweetheart,” the woman said gently. “I’ll like it.”

The girl carried the meal up carefully. Her mother wasn’t the lively woman she remembered from years ago. Time or something crueler had hollowed her out.

Her skin looked drained of color, her frame too fragile for her age. She sat slumped near the hearth, barely holding herself upright. Only her eyes were alive, bright and ...