Chapter 38
The Ember of Midnight
CHARMING
Ilead Cinder into a storage room. The smell of must and acrylic paint thickens the air until my eyes water.
The dark is oppressive, even for me, and I can see in the dark. It takes a couple of moments to light the candles. I’ve already located the item and hung it on a wall, on display for Cinder.
Once the room is illuminated, Cinder’s eyes turn round and glassy. “The Ember of Midnight.”
I found it.
I fucking found it.
I deserve a medal. Or at least my own detective series complete with a roguish cap and pipe as I solve even more mysteries.
The painting is a beautiful skyline of the Midnight cliffs. Byung-He has perfectly captured the crashing waves below. The starlight seems to stretch out to me with a hundred magical winks that make it feel like a benevolent divine being is giving me a cheeky nod of knowing. I see you. All is well.
Fucker always had a talent for art.
But the best work he ever did is standing next to me, clutching her heart as if it might pop out of her breastbone.
“Took a bit of doing to find it,” I say, forgoing modesty to let her know I hunted like a dog to figure out what she was looking for. “Would have helped if you told me it was a painting from the get go.” I scratch the back of my head, not about to admit I had to pull on Jack’s strings for information.
Cinder spares me the briefest glance before she’s glued again to the painting. “It’s bigger than I remember,” she breathes.
“Yeah. If your plan had been to swipe it and return home, I’m not sure how you’d get those slim little arms around it to make off with it.”
“I would have managed.” She says it with all the piss and vinegar in the world. Which tells me she also has no idea how she would have got it back to the Common World.
Then Cinder lowers to the ground, crossing her legs, settling in. I drop down next to her and sit in silence.
In the foreground is a woman with jet-black hair that gleams beautifully against the deep blue and indigo hues of the night sky. Her pale skin glows like moonlight, and only half of her face is visible as she stares out at the ocean with loving awe.
I don’t consider myself particularly sentimental, but even I have never been able to deny that Byung-He's work moves me. Perhaps this one more than any other.
To my knowledge, he never painted people or portraits. The woman’s dark eyes are filled with so much love I can almost feel it swelling inside me like a second heart growing in my chest, crowding out my non-beating organ.
While it’s kind of creepy feeling, it also creates a sensation of fullness and companionship. Like I’m suddenly not alone.
A silence falls over us, and the moment feels sacred.
This is important. This matters, and I won’t ruin the moment. Cinder risked coming back to Midnight, risked facing an ugly past just for this and I’ve been desperate to find out why. I do my best not to stare at Cinder as she drinks in the painting with a blatant thirst.
Though her eyes remain glassy, tears never fall.
The question of why burns my throat. It presses on me with increasing pressure, but I fight it with everything I have. Cinder needs this moment more than I need my question answered.
“Ask it,” she finally says, her voice a little ragged.
“What is so special about this painting?” It comes out in a whisper.
Her shoulders hitch and I can’t tell if it’s a hiccup or a swallowed sob.
“It’s my mother.”
I suspected. Knowing gives me a strange sense of relief that I’d guessed correctly. The eyes, the hair, they are Cinder’s.
