Heart of Stone (17 page)

27.

Tamsin

En Route to Tristan, Gemmes

The beast fell.

It was the most beautiful fall she had ever seen.

Her entire body felt the echo as its unearthly composition hit the ground, followed by the Rider, stabbed in his side by one of the king’s men.

The Rider and Horse dissolved in a dust born of life and death. The remaining Riders of the Hedge watched stoically. The woman partnered with the fallen Rider placed her hand to her heart, eyes closed, a stillness that gave Tamsin pause. She was too serene for such a horror. Treala gripped Victor’s arm tightly, as they witnessed a loss Tamsin herself didn’t quite understand. How was it possible for the Rider to experience a second death? But there was much she didn’t understand, that much she was certain. She suspected the murder of one of their own was like a death in the family. Heartbreaking and requiring a pause from their pursuit of Sophie.

The Riders reached out to one another and clung to the hands of their partners, gaining strength by the circle they created. The King’s Légion watched the dreamlike reaction before them that none of them understood.

Time stopped, but it wasn’t from one of her spells. This was a stillness borne from the injustice requested of the king, acted on by his man. It was as though the Legion knew what transpired held more significance than a fallen horse. They had stepped in the wrinkle of time by severing the life of a Hedge Rider.

How could we? We live on this earth; we tread this soil,
Tamsin thought, knowing the Hedge Riders were different from herself. Rémy kept his hand on her shoulder, unable to speak, as he watched alongside Tamsin.

The single cry that came forth was her own, as she looked at Marcus. He hadn’t drawn his sword. No silver blood from the Rider dripped from his blade, like the sword of the man beside him. Marcus hid, although he stood in front. He was a coward dressed as a king.

Tamsin hated him for what he’d forced her to do, hated herself even more for obliging. She wanted Marcus dead, knowing she had to leave this world within days herself. She promised herself in exchange for giving Sophie a chance. A life for a life. A swell of rage swept through her body, she wasn’t interested in tit for tat.

She wanted revenge. She had lost her life because he forced her in a corner.

“Do something!” she screamed at Victor, who looked at her with sympathy.

He shook his head, “It is not my duty.”

The woman next to the vanished Rider raised her voice, and spoke clearly, like crystals dripping from a cave, “He goes, yet it is not our job to make him return. We are not like you, woman. We are not from here.”

When she had called upon the Hedge for help, she didn’t want to bring them harm, but they didn’t seem to understand. Magic was a complicated game of give and take. Choices had consequences. You can’t cast a spell without costs. That isn’t the way it works. That was the reason the
devins-guérisseurs
before her ultimately perished.

They hadn’t wanted to play by any rules. They wanted to cast dark curses without repercussion. Tamsin had always felt that her family was gone, killed at the stake by Marcus’s father, for this exact reason. They were eventually forced to pay for the dark magic they doled.

Nothing comes without a price, in magic or in life. She still remembered the screams from the night when the princess was born, they haunted her always.

After the chests were sealed, a lone babe’s cry broke the magic and Tamsin needed only take one look at the king to know his will was done. She grabbed the swaddled babe and ran for the window, like she should have braved before. She leapt with a fervor consecrated out of fear. She leapt with the knowledge of the gravity of this night. She leapt believing her life would be lost if she didn’t obey the king with complete ruthlessness. She leapt and the king’s will was done.

As she ran through the dark night, Tamsin heard the screams. Screams of the midwife, a woman once her friend. Aimée now stood at death’s threshold. The cost of calling upon Tamsin this night was her life.

The final sound was the unmistakable wail of a woman lost in the tragedy of losing one’s child, the orphaned princess now clutched in Tamsin’s hands.

Filled with hatred, she knew it was time to draw a line in the sand. A line between herself and the king she should have drawn a long time ago. If the Hedge was incapable of retribution, she would take it upon herself.

Pulling a deep, heavy breath, she inhaled the forest, the life force of the trees pulsing through her. She ripped off a necklace, and uncorked the small bottle, filled with the darkest potion she had ever created. A potion brewed in the night, had simmered in the shadowy places of her mind. She flung the potion toward the king, the air shifting as the poisonous liquid caught the sky. Now that she had made a move, he pulled out his sword. The wind rustled behind them and heavy clouds appeared over them, luminous and threatening. Cackles of lightening thundered through the sky as Tamsin steeled herself for the next part. The part where she planted herself solidly on the side of revenge. If she couldn’t save Sophie, the man who stole the child’s life would pay.

“Just tell me where the girl is and we will leave you be,
sorcière
!” he yelled at her, but she shook her head deftly, knowing that this was the end of the road for the king of Gemmes. The Hedge Riders and horses backed up, but the Legion remained in what appeared to be a daze. That was their price for willingly accepting the King’s command.

She knew all things had a cost. She could accept the consequences, so long as the king took his as well. Tamsin believed you couldn’t send away your child without penalty. She believed that one didn’t kill a Hedge Rider without punishment.

“Stop Tamsin, it’s treason to….” Rémy spoke with a quiet fear. His eyes darted at the men, many of whom were still paralyzed from the visions of the Rider now murdered.

Tamsin planned on using their distraction for her benefit. She whispered words to the king as the potion she flung dissolved in the air around him, sealing the space, rustling the leaves on the trees and the dark places inside of her,

              A tit for a tat,

              a here for a there,

              you can’t have two

without a pair.

Take his soul,

seal it away.

He chose this path

one fateful day.

Just as the Hedge Rider ordered to die disappeared, so did the king’s soul. It vanished in thin air from this world, leaving his strong body lifeless, dropping to the ground, empty of breath, void of life.

Tamsin would never believe, if anyone had asked her before, that she would murder the king, or that she would willingly take a life. His life. After all, that was the very thing haunting her for the last seventeen years.

Things changed when she was face to face, once again; with the person she claimed ruined her life.

Rémy withdrew from her, in fear. The man in the King’s Légion, who had drawn his sword when Marcus commanded, shook as he leaned over the body of the dead king.

No one spoke.

Tamsin was terrifying. She knew this, because she felt it.

She felt herself change.

Her hardened eyes knew everything had changed. A better person she was not. A higher road would not be hers to take.

              She turned to Victor, knowing Tristan and Sophie were still missing and needed to be found.

              “Tamsin, did you have a choice in that?” Victor asked as his slippery words floated over the King’s Légion, as though keeping them in a trance.

              “It was something I chose to do,” Tamsin said, speaking in a lifeless, voice. A voice that didn’t sound like her own. “A heart for a heart, a life for a life. The Hedge Riders life was taken; now the king’s life is payment.”

              “That is where you are wrong, Tamsin. You don’t have the authority to play master,” Victor answered.

              “Oh, and you do? Because you come from another realm, you can dole out what you want? But I can’t?”

              Victor offered a smile, sadly, as if she was too pitiful to understand. Anything.

              Treala spoke, “We are not the creators of the earth. We dwell in the space between. We come to help when people who have the gifts to call on us ask. You, Tamsin, called on us, and we answered, but this,” she pointed her long white finger toward the rumpled body of the once strong king, “this is not something we condemn or condone. It is not of us. We aren’t life givers or takers. We are space. We are the Hedge.”

              The spell seemed to break and Tamsin realized the Légion wouldn’t stay still, breathless, for much longer. When they remembered what had happened here, they would remember her potion, her incantations. Her death sentence.

              She would pay.

              “We need to get the children,” Rémy spoke in fear, he spoke in vain. Tamsin nodded her head, agreeing. Yes. The princess. Tristan. They needed to go.             

              “So will you help us, save the girl?” she asked.

“No. Your heart is not fit for her any longer, as we suspected before. You cannot trade your heart for hers, and so she will die.” Victor said this calmly, as though she would accept it as fate. “Before we go, however, we will return you to your cottage, for we have promised you safety while in our care. Then we must return to the Hedge to await the fate of our fallen Rider.”

All their eyes moved to the king’s body, and with trembling hands, Tamsin nodded yes.

              She had no choice. She had ruined everything.

              “Then let us go, before the soldiers put me on the stake, before they remember what has happened here this day,” she answered him.

              Victor nodded solemnly, and pulled Rémy up on his beast, and Tamsin rode with Treala.

              They burned through the forest, Tamsin’s chest pounding, knowing she broke so much with her single spell. Would she never learn? She stole a glance at Rémy, who rode beside her. She wanted to reach out, take his hand in hers, like the Riders who galloped with hands held, finding strength in the ones beside them.

              Rémy looked straight ahead, as though too scared to look in her eyes, see her soul.

              She understood. She wouldn’t want to look at herself either. Not anymore.

28.

Tristan

En Route to Tamsin, Gemmes

“So this old woman,” Tristan said.

“Miora.”

“Yes, so Miora gave you a stone reading telling you your devastating future and you ran away?”

“More or less.” Sophie was slightly drunk. They both were. She passed the carafe back to Tristan. They had walked for hours sipping as they made their way through the woods.

Tristan smiled as he took the red
vin
from her hand. They had shared an intoxicating morning tryst, each kiss better than the last. Although they didn’t go all the way, they had done most everything else. He flushed thinking about her perfect skin, her body pressed against his in the grass. She was this uninhibited creature, the likes of whom he had never come across before. She pushed his boundaries.

She pushed every boundary.

As she explained the stone reading, with exaggerated annoyance – which is how she told every story – he was pulled to her so deeply he nearly cried.

“What? You don’t like my story? Let me get to the good part. The part where Miora explained what the five stones actually mean. Quick summary, I’m an ego-maniac who doesn’t know her parents, abandoned, blah blah blah. Then I’ll run away to figure it out … all of those things are
fini
…by the way. Then I’ll die. As in death!”

Tristan watched as she took a deep breath, preparing to launch into more explanation. He had to look away and brush a tear from his eye.
What is wrong with me?

“Are you crying?” she asked incredulously.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Sophie. I just. I’m so into you. Like, I’ve never felt this way before. I want every part of you. It’s not love; at least I don’t think it is. It’s deeper than that. More real.”

He pushed his fingers through his hair, in agony. He was scared to actually sleep with her. He was afraid he’d take all of her if he had a chance. Like a creature from a fairy tale, he would eat her flesh if it meant being closer to her.

She electrified him. She terrified him. She was everything.

“Okay….” Sophie bit her lip in a way he found utterly arousing, but he knew enough to know she was not trying to be suggestive.

“Look.” She did that circle thing again between them with her finger. “Love is not my thing. Like, at all. I’m not interested. I
am
interested in finding my mother. In finding the
trésor
– remember the
trésor
? Focus on that, instead of me! Or, focus on how you want to spend the
trésor
! Anything, at all, besides what you want from us. This is not going to end in a happily-ever after. That is not my style. At all.”

She puffed her cheeks like this happened to be the most obnoxious conversation she’d ever endured in her life. Her views changed the way Tristan saw himself. Everyone always loved him. Like, loved him, loved him. He was charming and smart and a flirt.

He was not rejected. In fact, he was un-rejectable on every account he had ever observed.

Sophie paused, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Although, I suppose I am not entirely opposed to exploring things besides our hearts. Like, your body and mine.”

“Bijou, you are absolutely killing me here. If this is the place you’re at right now,” he did the circle thing too, “then I can’t be intimate with you, for a bit. Until I can get over the
love thing
. Because it hurts.”

“It hurts? Did you actually say that?” she teased, laughing at him. “Okay, Tristan. Try to stay away from this, then.”

Sophie pursed her lips seductively, and pushed him in the tree on the wooded path.

“You don’t want this?” she probed, pressing her red lips against his. Her kisses were insanity. They were wanton and warm and filled with lust.

Tristan whimpered. Actually whimpered from under her.

“Or this,” she tested, pressing her hips squarely against his. “You don’t want this?”

Tristan moaned. He couldn’t
not.
She kept kissing him, aggressive in all the right ways, but he couldn’t stop thinking how much he cared for her, desired her in a more visceral way than touch, than hands groping the places that wanted to be groped.

He pulled back, finding strength deep within.

“Bijou. Don’t do this. It will hurt so much when you toss me aside.”

“Fine,” she pushed off him, and stood, hips at an angle, arms crossed against her chest. She turned ice cold in her stare down. “Fine, Tristan. Let’s get to this
sorcière’s
house and figure out where your stupid gem is.”

“Don’t be like this,” Tristan said, pulling at her arm, wanting to lace his fingers in hers, affectionately. Wanting to dream about how they would spend the
trésor
together, forever.

Tristan couldn’t seem to remember that she had no interest in a future with him, though she’d made that as clear as the blue sky above them.

“Tristan, umm, what is that?” she asked, pointing behind the tree his body pressed against.

He looked at her, thinking she would utter another ill-mannered thing, but she didn’t. She looked scared. The same wide-eyes she had when she saw the ghost rider people at the
Aubérge
.

He turned and saw, before he heard. The king’s flags waved along the road that was behind them.

“
Merde
.”

“It is the king?” Sophie asked, disbelievingly.

“I bet. However, he doesn’t like me. Well, not him personally, see Bijou, his people are after my gems. We must go. They want me.”

“Can’t we just see them, watch them ride past, hide in the trees? I’ve never seen the Legion.”

“He’s an ass on every account I’ve ever heard, we should hide before they see us.” Fear rushed through him as he grabbed her hand, wanting to push her in the bushes so the riders wouldn’t catch sight of them. Of him.

“Fine, okay!” Sophie followed him in the thick forest growth. The hem of her skirt caught on a thorny branch, and she tried to yank it off.

“Get down!” he whispered.

“I’m trying, Tristan.” She glowered at him. “Hedge,” she tugged roughly at the skirt again, finally getting it free. The quick movement, however, caused the strap on her pack to break apart and fling open. The pouch holding her
crème caramels
fell to the ground, pouring open. They rolled, seemingly in slow motion, across the road. One after another.

Sophie and Tristan stopped moving and watched as the tiny rounds of sugar spun to a stop on the dirt ground.

They stopped as a soldier in the King’s Légion shouted loudly, “Halt! Who goes there?”

Tristan knew they were caught the moment he heard the booming voice, heard the soldiers as they dropped to their feet, in search of this not-so-discreet pair.