Prologue

When Elle was six years old, his father remarried. His mother had died from illness two years before, and society had finally deemed it time for the widower to find a new wife. The woman he chose was barely a dowager baroness; much to the surprise and horror of the gossiping society, she was only the daughter of the fourth son of the Earl of Beedlin. She was a widow herself, her husband having died five years previous in a hunting accident and had only been the wealthy Baron of Vellei whose courtesy title was tied with his dwindling fortune rather than with peerage. The marriage of the two widows may have been one of convenience, freeing both adults from the watchful eyes of a society unused to unwed parents, but both Elle’s father and his new stepmother seemed quite pleased with the arrangement.

The wedding was lavish; Elle’s father could afford it, and no expense was spared for the new bride.

She was beautiful and willowy, and the white dress she wore made her look ethereal. Her blonde hair was styled to fall like water skipping down the back of her ornately embroidered dress. The white veil covering her face made her look mysterious in such a way that only emphasized her stunning looks.

When she stood next to Elle’s father at the altar, everyone in the audience sighed at the lovely picture they made together. Elle’s father was tall and muscular, with straight brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The wedding of the Lord Elleron, Duke of Marchcant, to the Lady Sadia Vellei was spoken about for weeks afterward.

Elle’s new stepmother brought two sons to the marriage, both near Elle’s age, and Elle was excited to finally have playmates. His father financed himself with a large merchant company and was constantly traveling, leaving Elle alone in their manor. With two new boys to play with, Elle thought he wouldn’t be lonely anymore.

The oldest stepbrother’s name was Sil—or Silvester, but his mother was the only one who used his full name—and he was two years older than Elle. Sil was a miniature male version of his mother. He had the same blond hair, and his nose was already showing signs of growing into the pert little upturn that, on his mother’s face, made men sigh.

Everett was the younger stepbrother. He was barely five years old and had been born just a few months after his father’s death. Elle assumed Everett looked like his father because his hair and eyes were dark brown, something neither his mother nor older brother shared.

Elle stood out next to his fairer stepbrothers. His hair was a deep shade of black cut fashionably long to his shoulders and tied into a small tail at his neck. His eyes were green. His father used to call Elle a miniature version of Elle’s mother until Lady Olivia had died. Since then, Elle’s father had just quietly helped Elle tie his hair back every morning instead.

After the vows were said and dinner eaten, the adults went off to dance in the ballroom. The children were sent to their own small party out on a side veranda where they could still hear the music and chatter from the adults but were not actually underfoot. Elle didn’t really know what to do to keep his two new siblings and the invited children of the guests entertained, but luckily, many of them seemed to already have their own group of friends to be with.

“Such a lavish garden,” Sil said imperiously as he joined Elle at the railing overlooking the back garden. “Why the cost of those azaleas…” He trailed off as he stared over at the vibrant purple bush. “Everett, we really must go have a closer look.”

Everett was standing behind Sil, sucking on his sleeve and looking at the small outdoor reading nook tucked into a corner of the veranda wall. Sil sighed in an exasperated tone and reached out to slap at his brother’s hand.

“You are disgusting,” Sil told Everett, turning his nose in the air as if he had seen something vile on the ground below.

Everett dropped his arm to his side and hid the wet sleeve against his hip. “Sorry, Sil,” Everett squeaked and ducked his head. “But it looks comfy over there,” he added as he pointed toward the set of chairs and small table in the little nook.

“I’m sure it does,” Sil scoffed. “But we were going to go see the azaleas now, not look at some ratty old chairs.”

Elle looked over at the bushes Sil was still pointing at and shrugged. His mother had liked the brightly colored flowers, so there were azaleas all over the garden, but if his new brother wanted to see the bushes, then Elle didn’t mind showing him. Elle wanted Sil to like him, after all.

“There’s a staircase down into the gardens over here,” Elle said as he gestured just past the nook Everett was admiring.

“Very well,” Sil said imperiously. “Show the way.”

Elle led Sil and Everett past the reading chairs and around the corner where a stone staircase led from the veranda down into the garden. The staircase went downward until it reached a short landing where the stairs made a sharp left and hugged the wall until they met the ground. A stone railing ran along the outside, and Elle used to enjoy putting his feet through the spokes on the landing and watching his parents stroll along the carefully kept garden paths below.

Everett was holding back behind them to take a longer look at the nook, which made Sil sigh as if he was being terribly put upon.

“Oh, go have a look then,” Sil grumbled with an imperious sniff of distaste. He let Elle lead the way to the top of the stairs while Everett scampered off, clearly trying not to look too happy to have been given the chance to get away from Sil for a while. “So this is the way down?” Sil asked as he turned back to Elle.

When Elle thought back on that day, years later, he was never sure if Sil had done it on purpose.

Elle had just put his foot out to take the first step downward when Sil seemed to trip. His arms came out in front of him and impacted against Elle’s back. Sil’s knees hit the veranda, but Elle wasn’t as lucky and lost his footing.

Elle fell. He could feel the bruising force of the steps as his side and arm hit one stair and felt the skin on his leg scrape against another. His momentum wasn’t halted until he reached the small landing, which he skidded across until his back crashed into the supporting spokes of the railing.

Elle’s head whipped backward from the sudden stop and cracked against one of the railings with enough force to make him cry out in pain.

When he first felt the impact to the back of his head and his vision flickered out, he still had some hope that Sil would rush down the stairs to help him. But when Elle looked upward, all he saw was Sil’s face. Sil was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, but his eyes held a vindictive light. Elle looked away as dark spots ran across his sight.

Was it an accident?

Elle tried not to think about that day overly much.

*

When Elle woke, he was in his bed in the manor. He felt the silk of his sheets and the soft down mattress and pillows behind his head like usual. Then he tried to open his eyes.

Elle was sure they were open, but he rubbed them to be sure. Yes, his eyes were open. Maybe it was night, and no one had lit the fireplace in his room or left a candle burning? That would explain the total darkness enveloping him.

Something rustled at his side, and Elle turned his head, trying to peer through the darkness.

“Elle?” his father asked. “How are you feeling? It’s a lovely morning, so once you’re up we can go have breakfast on the veranda.”

That was when Elle began crying. It would not be the last time he cried, but it would be the only time he cried where someone else could see him.

Elle was blind, and the doctors couldn’t figure out how to fix him.

*

A week later, Lord Elleron left to join one of his caravans on a month-long trip, promising to speak to every doctor he found on the way about Elle’s condition. Elle heard the horses leave the manor drive through his open window, and his heart and hopes went with his father.

Elle spent the month of his father’s absence in his bed. The doctors who came by periodically to check on him tutted and told Elle to go out and play, but were never able to treat his injury. Whenever Elle did get out of bed to follow their orders, he bumped into things or tripped, and Sil and Everett would laugh at him. It wasn’t long before Elle finally decided not to leave his bed at all. His father would bring the cure back, and Elle wouldn’t need to worry about misplaced chairs or bunched rugs. His jammed toes and barked shins appreciated the rest anyway.

Everything was sharper now. The pain in his body from falling down the stairs slowly healed, but the ache of knowing his eyesight was missing persisted. Sil’s jeers, followed by Everett’s quiet compliance, twisted that ache until Elle buried his head under the blankets where he could cry without anyone knowing.

But there were other, happier, things that kept Elle going. He had never noticed the singing and chirping of the birds outside his window in the morning before. Nor had he ever been aware of just how comforting the sound of the morning maid setting out his breakfast tea was; he liked hearing her feet pad across the carpet because he knew he wasn’t alone. The clink of the tea pot and cup was a sound he could easily recognize without needing any explanation, like he had after all the banging and shuffling outside that time when a man had come to fix the cobbles in their drive. Elle could hear things now that he never would have given any credence to before his fall, and it gave him an entirely new perspective on the things around him.

Elle’s father returned at the end of the month with a cough and no answers. Elle lost some hope that day, but his father assured him that on one of the stops on his next trip there was a doctor who professed to be an expert on sight. Next time, Elle’s father would no doubt locate a cure.

A week later Elle’s father was coughing blood, and the week after that Elle stood at his father’s grave as the priest spoke his last rights. Elle didn’t cry. He stood between his two stepbrothers who were equally dry-eyed, though they had barely gotten a chance to know their new father. Elle just couldn’t summon the tears for his father because he had already cried his own hopes into his pillow the night before. There would be no cure now.

Elle sat quietly through the carriage ride home while what remained of his family chatted around him. The second they stepped through the manor doors, what had already become a sad life turned for the worst. His fine clothes and belongings were stripped from him at his stepmother’s order. Her hand fisted around Elle’s upper arm, the nails digging into his skin uncomfortably as she dragged him through the corridors toward the servants’ quarters.

“You’re useless to me, boy,” Lady Sadia snapped in a voice he had never heard her use before. It was cold and cruel, with just the right amount of disdain to make Elle shiver. “Just a mouth to feed as you are. I can’t even marry you off in a few years because what family would want a blind boy? You’ll work for your keep in my house!”

With that, she shoved him toward the waiting head servant and stormed away; Elle could clearly hear the sharp, quick click of her shoes echoing off the walls over his own shocked gasps for breath. He had help changing into his new sackcloth garments his first time, the material hard and scratchy against his soft skin, and one of his father’s friendlier servants saved his childhood blanket, knitted by his mother before she passed away, when his stepmother sold everything in his rooms to pay for her new wardrobe.

Elle started his new life as a servant in his own home. He was six years old, blind, unused to his new duties, and he was left alone for the most part.

He was not a true servant of the house, as the other servants knew he was the rightful heir to the manor and the title of duke, no matter how often Sil was addressed as the duke. The servants knew this and kept away from Elle—at least until they were all fired. Then the new servants kept away from Elle because he was disabled and because Sadia treated him so much more callously than any other servant; they didn’t want anything that was wrong with him to have any effect against them.

Elle was most often found cleaning the fireplaces of soot—what else could he be trusted to do?—so Sil and Everett called him Cinder-Elle, teasing and abusing him at every opportunity.

As the years passed, Cinder-Elle became used to his new station and to his disability. Those who should have been his family were quick to forget he was any relation of theirs. They hid him away in the bowels of the deteriorating manor where society could conveniently forget about him as well.

And that is where our story begins.