26. Elara

Chapter 26

Elara

C lover jerks back, shocked by my viciousness and throwing her hands up in defense as the amulet lands in her lap.

"How do you explain this?" I ask.

To late, I realize any squeak of distress from Clover would've brought the door down, the Vultures crashing in to defend her while they take my head a as a trophy.

Then again, my Court members surround me in the same way. Wilder is nearby, lingering near the door just as Rossi and Rio likely are, but he's not the only one I can call on. Kaspian would've discovered a way to sneak in undetected by now, Cav will be circling the perimeter, and Axe will be positioned somewhere near a window to keep an eye on me, any of them able to intercept if needed.

I'm not so naive as to think they would've stayed back. Injured beasts become even more feral when they bleed.

Thankfully, none of my thoughts are put to the test. Clover's eyes flick from me to the amulet, widening as she takes in the sight of the twinkling ruby nested in the grotesque metal.

"This is half of the ruby Heart," I say, pointing at it for further effect. "Do you see the jagged edges, how they're sharp and fresh? Maverick broke it in an attempt to save me." The pain of my brother's name burns, but I swallow it down. "He said the other piece is still in Sarah's vault. He was in the midst of compiling all the documents he found to use against the Sovereigns and stop them before—before he died."

A silence stretches between us, broken only by the crackling fire in the hearth. The glow from the fire casts dancing light on Clover's face, highlighting her sharp cheekbones and furrowed brow. The ruby gleams.

Her fingers hover over the necklace, but she doesn't touch it. She whispers, "This changes things."

My heart stutters at her words. Maybe I've cracked through her skepticism.

I forge on. "My brother wanted to keep the pieces forever separate so the Sovereigns could never have it whole. Or, maybe just to buy himself time to collect every piece of evidence he could before they made their ultimate move. The Sovereigns' entire plan of summoning this supposed Exalted Regent of theirs depends on the ruby being whole."

I shake my head in complete disbelief that I have to stop three grown men from initiating a murderous seance. "Setting aside the fact they think they can summon a fucking demon , I don't think Maverick had the right idea. Frankly, I don't care if the Sovereigns get the whole Heart. There's no demon to summon—they don't exist. What I do care about, what terrifies me, is the Sovereigns' utter dedication to mutilating their members and sacrificing girls in fucked-up rituals for this overlord of theirs."

And Maverick's fear that if they ever possessed the entire ruby, they would go after me.

She withdraws her hand, curling it into a fist as she looks up at me, her eyes obscured by the play of dark and light on her face.

Clover stands abruptly, the ruby tumbling from her lap onto the plush carpet. The firelight catches the jewel's facets, scattering crimson glints across the room.

Clover begins to pace. "This is bad. This is really bad. What did you say the name of this demon was? Exalted Regent?"

I stare at her sidelong and ask slowly, "Does it matter? There's no demon."

"If what you say is true, then we need to act fast," Clover says, ignoring my skepticism. "The dark arts should never, can never, be messed with."

Closing my eyes, I take a deep, quenching breath, recalling the tarot cards on her shelf, the crystals, the Wiccan almanacs piled in her shelves.

She believes in this stuff.

Clover strides to her desk, throwing her hair up into a messy bun as she does so and revealing a small tattoo at the base of her neck—a vulture in flight. She pulls open a desk drawer and slips on white cotton gloves. I push to my feet, not bothering to hide my curiosity as I join her.

Clover carefully flips open a large ornate book, the motion carrying the most disgusting smell into my nostrils. I turn around and retch, then gulp some deep breaths before I turn back around and meet Clover's jaded, but amused smile.

"To this day, I have no idea where that smell comes from or why it's so potent after centuries," she says.

"Wait." The hand I was using to massage my throat freezes. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Sarah's grimoire," Clover supplies without looking up. "It was given to me a few months ago. To say it changed my life is an understatement. It's written by both Sarah and Li—her nameless daughter. If you can stomach it, take a look."

Clover twists the book to face me. After a few choked breaths, I get my gag reflex under control and read the page Clover has open.

Intricate drawings, the ink faded but the designs made timeless, showcase jewelry of all shapes and sizes, recorded with such precision that I forget about the smell emanating from the page. "Are those…?"

"Jewelry Sarah was allegedly paid in? Yes. Her daughter inventoried every piece. We assumed the pieces were theoretical, or codes for the transfer of something entirely different than actual priceless gemstones." Clover slides her attention to where the amulet rests on the floor. With her features crystallizing into diamond-hard resolve, she turns back to the grimoire and flips the pages until she finds what she's looking for, her white-gloved finger landing on?—

"The Heart." I gasp. "And it's in full."

Behind that page is a small gap of space before the thick, yellowed paper continues. Angling my vision, I notice pieces of pulp clinging to the glue on the spine—pages ripped from this historical book.

I reach for the grimoire with both hands before I stop myself, fingers splayed in midair.

It's not even respect for Clover's clear, gentle handling of the book that prevents me from grabbing it with my bare hands. It was purely instinctual. I don't want to touch it. It's one of the last things Maverick touched when he ripped out Sarah's confession on where the Heart was locked away.

I don't want to touch this thing.

Yet, my eyes eat it up. Maverick decided to preserve this drawing. The amulet is perfectly detailed, from the shading of the dark and light to the uncut angles. The full ruby.

"This is what it looked like before Maverick broke it," I breathe.

"Read what's written below," Clover says.

I do as she says, noticing the small, flourished script, written in the days when handwriting was considered elite. My fingers hover over the yellowed page.

"‘Paid to the Anderton house,'" Clover says without bothering to read upside-down. She's memorized it. "‘A ruby whose circumference is the largest we've seen. Its inner glow screams with power, a whisper of the unearthly caught within its flaming heart. Beware its allure, for even in our possession, it seeks its rightful master.'"

Skeletal hands caresses my shoulders. The idea that a ruby has mystical powers is laughable, but there's something in the way those words are penned that makes me jumpy.

"I never thought much of the written descriptions below the jewels after we recovered the Anderton treasure," Clover continues, almost to herself. "But you've successfully turned my and the Vultures' theories right on its head."

"Tempest mentioned finding the treasure, too," I murmur, raising my eyes from the book to Clover. "Both of you clam up as soon as you're asked to describe it, though."

"That's because, if we made what it truly is public, we'd tank Titan Falls tourism, the founding families' reputations, and ruin a lot of lives, not to mention history. People were killed to keep it a secret, and there are those that will still murder to keep it from coming out."

I point to the amulet. "Kind of like that thing?"

Clover blows out a breath. "Yes. Sarah Anderton is the gift that keeps on giving. I thought all this ended when I uncovered her daughter's name."

I gape at her. "You know that, too?"

Clover nods. "Don't ask me to tell you. I can't. It falls under the horror I just listed. Part of Titan Falls' appeal is its history, the idea that a priceless treasure is hidden away somewhere and a woman and her daughter were persecuted for it. Finding out her name is part of that draw, and part of what keeps a lot of powerful people where they are in the Titan Falls hierarchy. It's not worth upending. Believe me."

Her expression grows so somber, I'm lead to believe Clover experienced certain horrors herself when she became involved in the Vultures and sought to reveal the true history of the Andertons, like so many who tried and failed before her.

Yet she succeeded.

My voice drops to a whisper. "I'm related to her."

"What?"

A lightning storm of copper bursts in Clover's eyes.

I gulp. "There's a high likelihood that I'm a descendant of the Anderton line."

Clover shakes her head as if flinging away the insane thought, but she doesn't dismiss what I've said outright.

A part of me wishes she would just laugh in my face and negate my fears.

For a moment, she's so dumbfounded that she can't speak. Then, with a suspicious lightness to her tone, she asks, "How do you figure that?"

"Cavanaugh Nightshade's ancestors are the ones who accused Sarah and put her to death. She vocally cursed the Nightshades while she was tortured, and Cav believes the curse is real. His entire family line went through their lives failing to battle this curse of theirs. But … me, Kaspian, Axe, and Wilder discovered a hidden altar room below Thornhaven, the Court members' Estate. Well, Maverick found it first, but…"

I pause, getting my breaths under control so I can stop rambling.

"Anyway, Maverick said the altar room is where Sarah died, where all these girls the former Sovereigns were taking were being sacrificed, too. I'm trying to find a link. It's why I've come to you, because Cav said the Nightshades took a baby from Sarah's arms. Her grandchild. And—sold her. That baby is where my family line comes from. I don't know if it's Wraithwood or Farrow or … I'm sorry. I'm rambling again."

Clover listens with a mixture of intrigue, pity, and concern. Every emotion flits across her her cheeks, the corners of her mouth, the quirk of her brows.

Until they smooth and she looks at me anew, as though I'm on her team, suddenly privy to a secret that sets us both apart from the rest of the world.

She reaches across the table to place a hand over my own.

"I'd like to show you something else," she says softly.

Clover lifts her gloved hand from mine, reaching into another compartment in her desk and pulling out a cracked, leather-clad notebook.

"I found this during my search last semester." Again, she finds the page she wants and spins the open book so I can read it. "Do you see the names?"

Bending closer, I read:

Lilium - Keeper of Secrets

Nightshade – The Guardian

Marigold - The Seafarer

Bluebell - The Quill

Rosemary - The Shade

Lavender - The Hearth

Sage - The Stablemaster

Jonquil - The Lexicon

Primrose - The Purse

Foxglove - The Watcher

Sweet William - The Emissary

Hawthorn - The Physic

Cowslip - The Masquerade

Snowdrop - The Frost

Daffodil - The Mason

Thistle - The Engineer

At first, I think Clover's shown me a list of herbal and floral ingredients Sarah probably used for her alchemy, which doesn't concern me. Sarah was considered the town healer before being branded a witch.

I'm glancing up to say as much when my eyes snag on a name.

Jonquil.

I let out a shaky breath, pointing. "Jonquil. I know that name. I found William Jonquil's old office in my grandmother's manor. I think he's a great-grandfather of mine."

Clover hums in thought. "I was hoping you wouldn't recognize any of the names."

I look up at her then. "Why?"

"Because then your theory about being a descendant has merit, and I worry for anyone who's forced to become involved in the truth of the Andertons."

"That's nothing new," I reply tiredly. "As soon as I figured out my boyfriends fully believe in a witch's curse that includes a demon being summoned, I started worrying about my well-being."

Abruptly, I press my lips shut.

I don't know what's more galling: the fact that I so easily said boyfriends, or that my life now includes violence and bloodshed.

Despite the gravity of our conversation, Clover laughs, and I share in it.

We both sober as we return to the books splayed in front of us.

"These names," Clover says, "Were part of Sarah's underground network. These people helped her with her cause. That's why I'm shocked to learn the Nightshades betrayed her. I always knew Cav was a manipulative bastard, but to keep his family's betrayal a secret from us the entire time he helped to find the treasure…"

I'm unable to explain Cav's motives, since I'm not quite sure of them myself.

I say, "His reasons are valid in his mind. His ancestors' destruction over the centuries and his solid belief that Sarah had something to do with it—Cav's poisoned. They've tortured him down to the marrow of his bones. I'm working like hell to rid him of it, because I know who he is inside. He's not callous and evil."

I trail off, swallowing the lump that's formed in my throat, thinking about Cav. The pain he's endured, the horrors he's witnessed, are a vital part of him now. It makes him dangerous, unpredictable. But beneath that hardened exterior is a man who bears the weight of his family's sins. A man I've come to deeply care for despite what it could cost me.

Clover seems to read my thoughts, her eyes softening. "That's a heavy burden to carry for someone else, Elara."

"Isn't it what we're doing here?" I counter with a forced smile. "Carrying the burden of our ancestors' sins so we can set things right?"

She nods slowly, an appreciative smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're a stronger woman than I gave you credit for."

My cheeks heat at her praise, but I quickly brush it off. The Elara I wanted to be, the one I molded myself into the minute I step foot on TFU campus, doesn't exist anymore, no matter how much I'd like to get that popular, social, ignorant girl back. "Turns out, I'm not just a pretty face."

"But why these men?" Clover asks abruptly. "Why Wilder, Cav, Kaspian, and Axe? Have you thought about why they were brought into the Cimmerian Court?"

"They're legacies," I supply. "Initiated because of their family lineage, dating all the way back to?—"

"Oh my God." Clover gasps and turns the logbook of names clockwise. Her eyes flick up and down rapidly as she reads them over. "I'd thought the flowers were all code-names Sarah used to protect her agents. Nightshade and Jonquil weren't disguised, for reasons I've yet to figure out. But the others … do you think some of these flowers could be your boyfriends' families?"

"Boyfriends," I echo, the word still sitting clumsily on my tongue. "That's a possibility..."

"These men aren't just legacies," Clover interjects, flipping through the pages with a fervor. "They could also be descendants of Sarah's allies."

The truth crashes over me, leaving me cold and shaken. If Clover's right, then that means...

"Then it isn't just me. They're all linked to Sarah, too."

A pang of fear settles in my heart as I consider what this could mean for us — for Cav, Kaspian, Wilder, and Axe. Our relationships are complex enough as it is, without the added pressure of a shared destiny.

"We need to find out for certain," Clover announces, lowering and getting comfortable on her desk chair. "Same with your lineage. Sarah's daughter was young, but not so young she couldn't have had a baby. I always had a feeling the Anderton lore went a lot deeper. There's nothing better than a good, witchy mystery…"

As Clover begins to delve into the historical records that clutter her desk, I look down, towards the broken Heart tangled in its chains. The rippling fire gives it a sinister pulse, like it's imbued with centuries of blood.

I picture the faces of the men I've come to adore. Their peculiar smiles, their eyes in various stages of bleakness. They were taken in by the Court so young, their humanity stripped bare until glorious, honed weapons took their place.

Cav, with his eerie handsomeness and uncut sapphire eyes that see too much, yet reveal so little. Kaspian, whose beauty almost hurts to look at, and whose mind is equal parts supernova and black hole. Wilder, the embodiment of raw power and bottled rage, who seems untamed, yet harbors a gentleness that touches my very soul; and Axe, his scars echoing his tumultuous past—cruel, blurred, and troubled.

Each name represents a life lived under the burden of past sins, profound secrets, and undeniable attraction.

Each name is now inexorably linked with mine.