Page 133 of Shattered Jewel
“Elara Wraithwood,” says, placing a disturbing emphasis on my name. “Your ancient heritage has always posed a threat to us. You come from the Anderton line, one assumed to have died along with Sarah Anderton and her young daughter in 1715. It is only known to a rare few that Sarah’s nameless daughter survived long enough to conceive a secret child, a baby who grew up and began the Farrow empire. Your father was ordered to marry a Farrow once the lost child’s family line was traced. What we could not abide was that he fell in love with her and refused to use her as our final gift to our Exalted Regent once we found Its Heart. Darian Wraithwood was a revered Sovereign of ours before he died in that … tragic … plane two decades ago. Did you know he was the one who discovered your lineage, then tried to hide it once he realized what—or who—it led to? He’d had a daughter by that point, a darling baby girl. By conceiving a girl, he spared his wife. But what is one to do when in order to save your wife, you must kill your daughter?”
He pauses dramatically to peer at me as if expecting me to gasp in horror. I glare at him.
“Already discovered that, did you? I shouldn’t be surprised, considering the nasty habit of rebellion that flows in your genetics.
Your ancestor, Sarah Anderton, was a woman of great power,” he continues. “She was a healer, an assassin, a witch. She had a knack for using the ruby Heart in way we never could. She wielded its power and used it against us in an attempt to dismantle the Court’s control.”
I seal my lips shut at his history lesson, recalling the stories of Sarah Anderton’s infamous dealings within Titan Falls, a mixture of Clover and Maverick’s information, as well as town lore—tales that made Sarah sound like a ruthless villain rather than the heroine the High Sovereign now paints her to be.
Because he’s the villain. And, I’m realizing, Sarah was killed by the Sovereigns of the Court because of their fanatic superstitions.
“Her bloodline possesses great power,” he continues with fervor, spinning to me and inching closer. His eyes are alight with something akin to dark admiration. “The power that could challenge our rule. And we can’t let that happen.”
I swallow hard as he looms, my throat constricting. My blood. They want my blood.
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Kaspian spits just out of my sight. Deadly promise laces his tone.
“You are such a disappointment,” the High Sovereign hisses at Kaspian while he reaches out a finger to trace down my arm. A shiver of revulsion ripples through me.
Kaspian releases a guttural roar, thrashing even while rooted to the floor. I hear the metal grating of his ankle locks, then a hard boom as he loses his balance and his upper body hits the ground.
A laugh devoid of warmth crawls out of the High Sovereign’s throat. “Initiates, fix Kaspian’s posture so he stands like the soldier he was supposed to be. Ideally before he rips himself off at the ankles and crawls pathetically over to the girl he was never entitled to in the first place. Elara is meant for more, Kaspian. More than the four extreme disappointments that surround her.”
“You call us disappointments?” Wilder explodes with a volcanic burst of sound. He strains against the hooks, chest heaving beneath sweat-soaked skin. “We’re the nightmare you created, and your downfall is our birthright.”
Cav strains, too, his body taut and pale skin shining with effort. But Cav keeps his cold, blue eyes on me, and I cling to them like cool water washing over my body, guiding me away from Hell.
“They show such touching displays of love,” the High Sovereign sneers, pacing around me in ever-shrinking circles. His gloved fingers trace down the curve of my exposed side in a sick parody of a caress. My skin erupts with rash-like goosebumps.
“As if they know what love is,” he continues. “These boys know nothing but cruelty, Elara. Hate and violence. But you, innocent dove that you are, have been chosen. Not just for your blood, but for your Anderton heart. The gem will be an adequate replacement in your chest and will be a life-force for It. Do you think you’re unique, Miss Wraithwood? That your life matters more than those of the countless others who have spilled their blood on this very altar?” He leans down with his placid mask inches from my face. “Not by far. Our Exalted Regent is hungry again.”
Though I want to flail in terror, I keep still and force a bitter laugh to escape. “You’re deluded if you think a gem can replace a heart and my body can house your mythical demon.”
The High Sovereign only simpers at my retort. “It’s ironic how a man’s obsession can drive him. First your father, then your brother, and now you’ve managed to get my soldiers, my regents, to devote themselves to you instead of to us, their Sovereigns. I was furious at this at first, of course. Like Wilder pointed out, every nightmare has an architect. We’ve been building these boys for years and for that to culminate into such a waste… But I’ve come to see reason. Your connection to my regents will be the conduit we need to secure our future. The Anderton bloodline that has always threatened us will become ours and our Exalted Regent can feed off their sweet agony while I cut your beating heart out.” The High Sovereign rakes his gaze over my bare form, lingering between my breasts. “We are going to give you to It, heart, body and soul.”
He signals to his right and the Silent Sovereign slinks over to Axe. My chest tightens as he extends a long, spindly finger towards the fresh wound on Axe’s chest, made by the ruby Heart when its molten, crystalline body was pressed into his skin.
Every muscle in Axe’s body tenses. There’s a fleeting, heart-wrenching moment of vulnerability in his face before he covers it with quiet rage.
“Touch him and I’ll rip your throat out.” Wilder’s voice is as rough as the uncut Heart as he strains against his ropes. His words are met with snickers from the robed figures that lurk in the shadows of the nave, but one look from Wilder, even while dangling helplessly, silents the initiates.
The Silent Sovereign’s hunched shoulders stiffen—a tiny but noticeable break in his otherwise methodical demeanor. But then he presses his gloved finger against Axe’s ugly wound, ripping through the blackened skin and causing fresh blood to run down Axe’s chest.
Axe endures it—barely, his lips whitening and his teeth clenched, choking on torment.
With a bloodied finger raised, the Silent Sovereign walks to the dais, the weight of his focus pressing down on my skin and burning through his pale, cracked mask. There’s a pause that stretches too long as he studies me with a flicker of hesitation.
The High Sovereign grunts in irritation and the Silent Sovereign blinks out of it, raising his finger to my hip. My breath stalls as he draws a complex symbol on my skin in Axe’s blood.
My pulse won’t stop roaring in my ears until the Silent Sovereign completes the crude symbol and backs away.
I squirm beneath all of the stares that burn into me as they watch for a reaction. But there’s no immediate sensation, no blowback of power or sudden rush of energy. Only the cold touch of blood drying on my skin and the lacerating gazes of the Sovereigns.
“So this is your great ritual?” I ask. “You cut up your men to paint pretty pictures on me?”
“Clearly, it’s not enough,” the High Sovereign barks, ignoring me. “Brand another one.”
The Silent Sovereign approaches Kaspian, with the Scourge moving from his position beside Wilder and now holding the deadly, glowing ruby with metal tongs.