Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 79: The Inquisition Records
The air feels different when we return to Jaén after our visit to Baños de la Encina and Burgalimar castle. Not heavier. Not darker. But unsettled ... like dust stirred by a distant wind.
Nicole senses it too. She moves through the Altamira household with a quiet tension, her eyes thoughtful, her steps purposeful. Isabel returns to her regular household duties, still shaken by what she felt at the castle, still touching the bracelet as though reassuring herself that I am here.
I am.
But something inside me has shifted. Something is waking.
In the late afternoon, Doña Elvira sends Nicole into Jaén to deliver documents to the municipal office. It’s a routine errand ... one Nicole has done many times. Today there are more than the usual number of documents due to their recent absence in Baños de la Encina. Isabel is assigned to help Nicole deliver the documents.
Isabel doesn’t know why she has been chosen, but I do. I sense that the truth is close; that the castle has opened a door; that something long forgotten is ready to be found. I unashamedly nudge Doña Elvira’s mind into selecting Isabel to help Nicole.
Nicole and Isabel travel by cart along the dusty road into Jaén, past the olive groves shimmering in the heat. Isabel sits quietly, her hands folded in her lap, her thoughts drifting toward the castle, toward the cell, toward the memory she felt through me.
Nicole watches her gently. “You’re thinking of her.”
Isabel nods. “I can’t stop.”
Nicole’s voice softens. “Then let’s find what we can.”
The municipal archive is housed in an old stone building near the cathedral. It’s a little visited building, smelling of old parchment and dust. The archivist, an elderly man with ink‑stained fingers, greets Nicole and Isabel warmly.
Nicole explains what they are looking for among the ancient tomes. “We need access to the old Inquisition records for Baños de la Encina in the year 1494, if possible.”
The archivist raises an eyebrow. “Those are fragile. And unpleasant.”
Nicole’s tone remains calm. “We understand.”
He hesitates, then nods. “Very well. Follow me.”
He leads them down a narrow corridor into a storage room lined with shelves. Boxes and ledgers fill every surface ... some neatly labelled, others crumbling with age.
He gestures to a stack of leather‑bound volumes. “Arrest records. Late fifteenth century. Handle them carefully.”
Nicole thanks him. He leaves them alone.
Isabel’s breath trembles. I feel her pulse quicken and the bracelet sends a warm pulse of reassurance.
Nicole opens the first ledger. The parchment is brittle. The ink faded. The script cramped and formal.
She turns the pages slowly, scanning names. Isabel leans closer. And then she sees it.
Jeannia Valcázar y Santos.
Her breath stops. Her fingers tremble. She touches the bracelet beneath her sleeve.
I whisper softly. ‘Yes. That is me.’
Nicole reads the entry aloud, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Arrested for heresy and treason. Confined to Burgalimar Castle.”
She looks further down the page. There should be more. References to the interrogation and outcome, whether it be execution, imprisonment or release.
But there is nothing. Just silence.
Nicole’s brow furrows. “This ... this is wrong.”
Isabel whispers as her eyes fill with tears, “They forgot her.”
Nicole closes the ledger gently, her expression tight with sorrow. “Or someone made them forget.”
I whisper. ‘Maristela did. To save me. But it erased me from history.’
Nicole places a steadying hand on Isabel’s shoulder. “Let’s check the burial records.”
The burial ledgers for the period are stored in a separate box, and are even more fragile. Nicole lifts the top volume carefully. Isabel watches, her breath shallow.
Nicole opens it. Rows of entries fill the page ... names, dates, causes of death, burial locations. She turns the pages slowly. Then she stops.
Her voice softens. “Isabel ... look.”
Isabel leans in. The entry is brief.
“Unidentified female body. Found in lower cell of Burgalimar. Buried outside the north wall.”
Isabel’s hand flies to her mouth. Her tears fall onto the page.
Nicole whispers, “This must be her. The date and location agree with what Jeannia has said.”
I feel Isabel’s grief like a wave ... sharp, overwhelming, and tender.
She touches the bracelet, her fingers trembling. “Jeannia ... they buried you without a name.”
I whisper gently. ‘Yes.’
Nicole closes the ledger, her movements reverent. “We know where she is buried.”
Isabel nods, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Outside the north wall of Burgalimar castle.”
Nicole squeezes her hand. “We’ll go there next time Doña Elvira takes the family to Baños de la Encina. We’ll find it.”
Isabel breathes shakily. “We’ll give her grave a name.”
I feel the warmth of her promise settle through me like sunlight. For the first time in centuries, the truth is no longer hidden. My arrest. My erasure. My burial. My forgotten grave.
Isabel and Nicole have found the path. And I am no longer alone in the dark.
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