Page 144 of Shattered Jewel
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.”