34. Elara

Chapter 34

Elara

I open my eyes slowly, my body aching with every slight movement, the rest of my senses falling behind.

Curling my fingers, the softest cotton hits my skin, coupled with my head lying on a cloud. Through slits of vision, I realize I'm in a bed with a red velvet canopy above me and gold tassels swinging gently from the open, half-round windows on either side.

Golden rays stream through the grime of the window's panels, showcasing figure in a sofa chair by the bed, head dipped low and thick, black hair curtaining her face.

The sound of pages turning comes next, a type of noise that calms my breathing and prevents the instant panic at the thought of someone in the room with me— I killed a man —while my memories resurface.

I must make a rustling sound, because the face becomes clear through her cascading ebony waves, and Clover smiles. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

I swallow, my throat dry. "Like death warmed over"— each of my men, branded with a skin-melting ruby— "The guys. Sasha. Where are they?"

"Alive. Rossi's tending to them downstairs. They're … resistant to treatment."

A ghost of a smile touches my lips at the thought of my men submitting to Rossi's surgical instruments. "Sounds about right. They need Rossi's help, though. If I have to go down there and make them?—"

— sounds of them screaming while the ruby was torched into their skin ?—

Clover rests her hand on mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's all right. You don't have to go anywhere. They'll be okay."

Too exhausted to fight, I lean back against the stacked pillows. "Who called you to come help us?"

She gives a wry half-smile. "Kaspian. He refused to leave your side when he brought you into this room. Even cleaned you up himself. But I think it was when his blood started dripping on you during your sponge bath that he thought to call in reinforcements."

Despite everything, I feel a flicker of warmth at the thought of him doing all that. Stubborn idiot.

"He must've been desperate to call for the Vultures," I say more to myself.

"You've all been through a lot, and we've experienced something similar. I'm glad that man saw sense, because I'm convinced Kaspian prefers to live on scorched earth."

I respond with a quiet laugh. Now that I know my men are safely tended to and I've figured out where I am—Mom's bedroom—my attention drifts to the old, leather tome on Clover's lap filled with cracked, yellowed pages. "What are you reading?"

"This was in the library down the hall. It confirms what I've discovered about your ties to the Anderton line."

Clover closes the book and shows me the cover.

Though she found it in Farrow Manor, I've never seen it before.

She explains, "It's a ledger from the 1700s, kept by a midwife named Agnes Briar. She recorded every birth she attended, including some... unofficial ones."

My interest piques despite my utter depletion of adrenaline. "Unofficial?"

"Births that wealthy families wanted kept quiet. And there's an entry here that's particularly interesting." Clover lays the book on the space beside me and points. "A baby girl, born to a ‘Miss L' in 1715. The same year Sarah Anderton was tortured and executed."

I push myself up, ignoring the protest from my battered body. "And you think that's related to the lost Anderton baby?"

Clover nods, her eyes shining. "I wanted to wait until you felt better to give you all the information, but if it were me lying in bed talking to someone with all the answers at her fingertips, I'd want to know."

I nod eagerly. "Yes. Yes , tell me. Please."

"Your father must have seen this book. It's part of how he pieced together your ancestry."

At my how did you know about my father? look, she explains, "Kaspian's a chatty Kathy when he experiences blood loss. But really, he just confirmed what I was already piecing together. But there's more. The midwife wrote something else—something that explains why the Cimmerian Court has been obsessed with your bloodline for centuries." Clover's finger traces the faded ink. "The midwife's notes mention something extraordinary about the baby. She wrote that the child was born with eyes that seemed to shift color, ‘like the facets of a fine gem.' At first, Agnes thought it was a trick of the light, but as the days passed, she became convinced it was real."

I frown, trying to process this. "But how is that possible?"

Clover leans in. "Your father connected this to something called tetrachromacy—a rare genetic condition that's predominantly in women and allows people to see a vastly broader spectrum of colors than normal. He found medical records in your family line showing a higher incidence of this trait, starting from that time. Including you."

"So we can ... see more colors?" I ask, still not understanding the significance.

Never in my life did it occur to me to ask others how many colors they see versus what I can. And my mother certainly hasn't told me anything about it, nor has Gram.

"It's more than that. This heightened perception seems to manifest in other ways, too. Enhanced intuition, an uncanny ability to read people and situations. Sarah Anderton's renowned insight, her skill at seeing through deception—I call it witchcraft. But to pragmatists, it's this genetic quirk, passed down through generations."

The implications start to dawn on me. "And the Cimmerian Court..."

Clover nods grimly. "They've been searching for this trait, believing it to be the key to ultimate power and control. Imagine having someone who could unfailingly detect lies, who could see hidden patterns others miss, creating the ultimate vessel for their demonic patron."

I struggle to sit up straighter. "So that's why they wanted me. Why they've been hunting my bloodline for centuries."

My entire life, my very existence, has been shaped by this centuries-old obsession. The Cimmerian Court's relentless pursuit, my father's desperate efforts to protect me, the losses I've endured … it all traces back to this genetic quirk, this supposed ‘gift' that feels more like a curse.

Clover, so immersed in her discovery, doesn't notice my crestfallen expression.

"Your father was a genius. He traced the link through your maternal side, the Farrow line, but in the 18th century, there was a second link."

I clench my fists, ignoring the throb of pain from my knuckles.

"William Jonquil, also one of your ancestors. He was the key. He's the baby's father."

"The secret demonologist with a hidden office in my house? That Jonquil?"

"The very one. His occult practices weren't bad, per se. He was trying to sever himself from his servitude to the Exalted Regent. He wanted more than anything to whisk the love of his life away and start a family with her. But he was caught and, uh, quartered for his crime against the Sovereigns."

I stare at her.

For the first, and only, time, I understand why Orion had my brother swiftly assassinated versus the alternative.

I'm able to recover enough to ask, "Did Sarah's daughter have to witness that?"

I couldn't imagine watching Maverick torn apart, limb by limb while he screamed.

"I don't think so. Sarah didn't approve of the older man's relationship with her daughter. She did everything she could to keep them separate, including involving her daughter in her underground activities and tried to smuggle her granddaughter out of Titan Falls. It backfired. There was a turncoat in her ranks—Jackson Nightshade. Sarah realized that too late, but she perceived the threat against her and her daughter before Mr. Jonquil did, and hid her daughter before Sarah was arrested and dragged away from their house."

"The baby. Do we know what happened to her?"

Clover's expression softens. "Her name was Evangeline. Jackson Nightshade sold her to a wealthy family in France."

"Yes, I remember. Cav's ancestor ended up being one of the founders of the Court and helped murder Sarah and her daughter. But why? Why would he do such a thing?"

"From what I gather, he was the first Nightshade to acquire an interest in demonology and an obsession with greed, power, control. I believe he sold the baby because of Sarah's last words while she was dying—she laid a curse upon Jackson Nightshade and all his descendants. He believed in that kind of thing and must've been paranoid, so he sent the child as far away as he could while still making money off her. Of course, that was before his obsession grew and he realized he needed Anderton blood to destroy Sarah's curse and summon his demon overlord."

"I'm surprised he didn't kill the baby," I mutter, feeling sick all over again.

"I think Sarah's curse really got to him. Doing anything to Evangeline would've made it more devastating, in his mind. But here's where it gets interesting: someone in the Court destroyed the records of the sale. Jackson was never able to find her once he sold her."

I furrow my brow. "Why would they do that?"

"Guilt, maybe. Or they saw the madness in Nightshade's plan and wanted to protect the child. Either way, it worked. Evangeline disappeared from history. The family changed their name, moved around. They protected her, knowingly or not."

"So how did my father figure it out?"

"That's where it gets fascinating," Clover continues. "He cross-referenced this information with old Court documents he'd ‘acquired' through less-than-legal means. He discovered that Evangeline's protector was none other than Hope Blackwood, Jackson Nightshade's wife."

My breath catches. "Nightshade's own wife betrayed him?"

Clover nods. "Hope orchestrated Evangeline's sale to a trusted friend in France, then systematically destroyed all records of the transaction. She even planted false leads to throw off anyone who might come looking."

"But why would my father risk everything to uncover this?"

"Because of you, Elara," Clover says softly. "When he found out the Anderton line was in his own blood, the blood of his wife and children, He wanted to protect you by understanding the full scope of your heritage and the danger it posed."

"Oh, Dad ." I close my eyes, tears breaking through. "And now?"

Clover gently closes the book, lays my hand over it, then squeezes mine with her own. At the same time, she lowers and picks something off the floor.

A glittery, blood-red ruby.

She lays the Heart on the book and beside our joined hands.

"Now, you have the power to reshape the Court's future. Your father's work, Maverick's death, Hope's sacrifice—it all led to this moment. The question is, what will you do with it?"

I gaze at the terrible jewel.

The gem's rough, uncut surface forms an irregular, heart-like shape, its edges jagged and uneven. Deep crimson dominates, but streaks of darker red run through it like veins. Where the two halves were rejoined, a thin line is visible, like a freshly healed wound.

I can't bring myself to touch it.

As I turn my head away from it, light catches on countless tiny imperfections, each one a little, firefly witness to the blood spilled in its name.

Fear and disgust clenches around my neck like a noose. I have the desperate need to hurl it across the room, to smash it until nothing remains but dust. Yet I can't let it go, can't stop staring at the legacy of pain and greed I've literally held in my hands.

Clover watches the horror play across my face.

"I ... I don't know what to do with it," I stammer, looking up at Clover with a wretched gaze.

"There's no right answer," she says kindly. "But I suggest you consider what your father and brother would have wanted. They protected this heritage for you."

"And Sarah?" I ask, my voice barely above whisper.

"Sarah wanted her Heart to be used for good. I can promise you that." Clover breathes out slowly, her stare unwavering on mine. "She wanted it to protect her family. And from what I've come to understand of you, Elara Wraithwood ... you are the embodiment of that wish."

"I want it locked away," I declare, my voice choked with emotion. "Forever."

Maverick found Sarah's vault and kept a piece of the ruby there, hidden deep within Titan Falls University's catacombs, where the Heart was safely locked away for centuries. No one should wield such obsessive power.

"Back to the buried vault it came from," I add.

Clover raises one nearly perfect eyebrow at me but doesn't object. She studies me for a moment before nodding once, as if affirming a question within herself. "I might know of a better place to hide it."

I incline my head quizzically, which she responds to with an enigmatic smile.

"Sarah's daughter. I found her," Clover says. "And I know where her body rests."

My chin dips. My eyes widen. "That's a very important piece of information you left out of your thesis paper."

"I don't plan on ever revealing it," she explains. "Whether you believe in dark magic or not, so much bloodshed, violence, and terrible downfalls have come from the Anderton deaths and their hidden jewels. Sarah wanted her secrets buried with her. I stand by her wish."

I nod. "Me, too."

Clover gives me an understanding smile.

My thoughts whirl and stumble over each other as I try to process this information. "So, you want to bury it with her?"

"Yes. The Heart should rest beside the first innocent life lost."

Clover's solution hits me like a blow to the chest. It's beautiful, hauntingly so—just like the tragic tale that surrounds it.

"The ruby will go to Sarah's nameless daughter," I say, tasting the syllables on my tongue.

The decision feels right. It feels just. The Heart has brought nothing but pain and sorrow to my family line, spiraling down through the centuries from Sarah to me. Now, it will bring closure—a silent end as it's buried deep within the earth, alongside Sarah's daughter.

"Nameless to many, but not by all," Clover says. "Only the Vultures and I know who she is, and it will die with us."

"Will you bring it there? To her?" I ask Clover.

Her approval is immediate and without hesitation. "Of course. We could put it there tonight."

"Do it."

I put as much steel into my tone as I can muster.

When I voice the decision, I feel closer to my brother than I have since his murder. It's as if he's standing beside me, whispering in my ear: You've done well, Ellie.