Heart of Stone (2 page)

“I think you’ll do whatever you want, no matter what I tell you,” Henri answered.

“How ‘bout if all I want right now is to forget all this heavy stuff and just have fun?”

“Then I’d say it’s my treat.”

They walked deep in the woods, careful to be quiet, but it wasn’t hard to do. At the end of the workday, everyone was eager to enjoy themselves. With so many people milling in town no one would miss these two. Not as though anyone sought their company anyway.

Their village,
Vallee Montagne
, bordered on the woods nestled deep in the valley in the country of Gemmes. It was easy to forget, when tucked far away from any other provinces that a bigger world existed beyond the king’s mountains. A world Sophie and Henri had never seen. A world led by rulers these two had only read about. Though their village wasn’t destitute, it was hard to imagine the lavish palace in Éclat and the handsome royalty living off the mined labor given by so many of the men who lived in the king’s provinces.

Sneaking away now was their only chance to be a part of something exotic and enchanting. The closest they’d ever come to escaping the redundant life they led.

“Henri, shhh.” Sophie held up her finger to her lips shushing her friend. “Look, they’re here! I told you!”

Sophie’s eyes sparkled as she peeked through the bushes at the edge of the forest leading to the mountain trails. She was completely enamored with the
Bohèmes
setting up camp for the night. The cool summer air swept over her and lit a spark.

“Let’s go talk to them,” she urged Henri.

“Yes, lets!” He gave her a mischievous grin, barely visible in the dusk of the day. Still, Sophie laughed, reminded of why she and Henri always stuck together. Even though he was the darling baker boy, he still had a rebellious streak much like Sophie’s.

Two
Bohème
men looked over their way, hearing Sophie’s laughter.

“Who goes there?” barked a young man.

“It’s just me, and my friend,” Sophie said, walking into plain sight, Henri beside her. They would instantly know their class from the way they were dressed. Poor, but respectable, though young enough that they wouldn’t be seen as a threat to the
Bohémes.

“Who comes?” asked the other man, more gently.

“We wanted to … visit.” She hesitated, but the man nodded his head, so she continued. “Last year when you came through this way, we stayed for a bit. We met a girl named Emel. Do you know her?”

“She’s my sister. Lucky day for you.” The young man shouted toward the wagon behind him, “Emel, come.” He looked at the man standing with him, who shrugged his shoulders and sat back down.

“So you want to come to the fire, and have some
vin
?” the brother of Emel asked.

Sophie took the young man in. An extremely crooked nose, with crookeder teeth, but his smile suggested he was friendly.

“Yes, come, sit!” the other man added.

They seemed extremely uninterested in Henri. Sophie supposed it was because he wasn’t wearing a dress that strategically revealed his finer assets.

Before Sophie answered, Emel came from behind the wagon.

“What is it? I’m supposed to be meeting Miora for a lesson,” Emel huffed as she walked with tiny clinking bells strung on ribbons, wrapped around her waist, announcing her arrival.

Sophie beamed, remembering the night they spent last year with Emel, sitting at a fire, listening to her tales woven from the fabric of her adventures. Sophie realized they may have been completely handspun stories, but it didn’t matter. The stories had given her ideas that she’d never considered before.

Like leaving this place herself.

“Who would have thought you would come once more? I’d hoped, hadn’t I, Besnik?” Emel shot her brother an arrogant smile. “And look, they returned!” Emel squealed with delight.

“You remember us then? It wasn’t some dream of ours?” Sophie dared ask.

“Of course I remember you, Sophie, and darling Henri, of course!” She winked at him flirtatiously. “Look at you, handsome as ever.” Emel was the same age as the two villagers, but drastically different. She had long black hair braided down her back, and a bright red peasant blouse draped off her elegant caramel shoulders, but it wasn’t her clothes. Sophie dressed to show herself off as best she could, as well. No, Emel was sweet. Like the
bon-bons
Sophie loved to eat.

“Can we stay then, for a bit?” Henri asked with his eyebrows raised.

“Of course you may, although I must go to my lesson. I’m learning my trade.” She said this with a flourish, with pride. “But you can come. Oh, it will be fun! You can have your stones read!”

“You mean,
divination
?” asked Sophie, filled with curiosity over the idea of having her fortune told.

“Oh, I’m horrid at it, but Miora? She’s magnificent! Come, come!” Emel dragged the friends by their hands, and they looked in wonder as they passed
Bohème
campfires. Tired travelers sat on worn logs, drinking and laughing. A fiddler played a song, and brightly painted wagons circled them.

It was everything Sophie hoped for. She looked at Henri thinking this was the night they would remember. No matter what happened next. They would always have this adventure.

2.

Tristan

King’s Montagne South, Gemmes

Rémy sat across from Tristan in a tiny hovel of a
café
, deep in the heart of the mountain. Miners were gathered, taking their lunch breaks, but Tristan and Rémy were not a part of that group. They were rogue.

Tristan couldn’t help but smile. No, grin was more like it. They had found the sapphire yesterday. They were within the
trésor’s
grasp. This undiscovered bounty, fabled for countless generations, was finally in his reach. The future of Gemmes might very well be his. Two gemstones were all he needed before he could open the mountain and claim the
Trésor de L’espoir
as his and his Uncle’s own.

“Well, I hate to break your morning reverie, but someone is following us, particularly you. If you knew what was good, you’d disappear before someone tries to take what is yours.” Rémy patted Tristan’s shoulder. “You’ve worked too hard.”

Tristan ignored the paternal gesture, and Uncle Rémy’s warning. He wasn’t interested in running away from people because some informant of the King was watching him a bit too closely.

“I know you like to ignore my counsel, but people are watching us. Just now in the
Aubérge
some woman asked if she could come with us to get the next stone. Everyone knows what we’re up to here.”

“
Merde
,” said Tristan. “Just what we need. A bunch of novice trackers on our tail. Who would sell us out like this, anyway?” He held his
café au lait
to his lips, wanting to wash away the disgust left in his mouth from the words his uncle spoke.

“I’m not sure, but any one of these miners may have heard us plotting.”

Rémy looked at the crowd of men in dirty coveralls, worn boots, and tired eyes. These men who worked for the king accepted any handouts they could get. A server, in a revealing top, bent over Tristan to refill his mug. Tristan’s blue eyes sparkled at her, taking in her beauty. Uncle Rémy waited until she walked away, with her hips giving a deep sway, before he spoke again.

“I also think your scandalous behavior here isn’t helping matters. I haven’t the slightest idea of what you whisper between the covers, and I don’t want to know. Unless it involves our
trésor
.” Rémy didn’t mince words; he’d been Tristan’s guardian for eight years. “And I have a feeling it might.”

“Yes, well I am discreet, okay? This
trésor
? It’s not theirs. It’s ours. The last thing we need is some idiotic
trésor
hunter thinking they can piggy back on our hard work.” Tristan rolled his eyes.

“
Your
hard work Tristan.” Rémy coughed roughly in his hand, leaving him breathless.

“Careful, Uncle. Here, drink some water.” Tristan handed a cold glass of water to Rémy who took it graciously.

The server walked back to the patio where the men were sitting and refilled their tankards with water. With a wink, and a crooked smile, Tristan made it clear he was interested in her. In truth he was interested in any female with a pulse. This woman was not the exception, she was the rule.

Returning his attention to his uncle, Tristan continued, “Yes,
our
work. I would have never found those other gems if it hadn’t been for your years of research.”

“Still, you have a gift. Like none other. You will find the bounty. I know it. It was meant for you. The glass diamond will be in your hands soon.” Rémy set the water down, looking at his nephew tenderly. “Just let me stay here, at the Aubérge. The rooms are clean enough for an old man like me, and the women feed me well. I am no use to you like this, I’m only slowing you down.”

“That is not true!” Tristan shook his head, not ready to agree. Looking across the table he saw his old Uncle as the man he wanted to see. A man strong and determined, eyes bright with dreams of
trésor
and infinite riches and the thrill of the hunt. Not for what Rémy really was, now. A man sick with the
Coffre au Trésor
, from so many years trying to find the legendary gems he dreamed were real, gems he had found.

“Don’t feel sorry for me. Let me stay here, rest, and hopefully make it to see you with all eight gems in your hand.”

“We’ve always tracked together. I don’t think I can do it alone. Besides, what if something happens to you while I’m away?”

“Then you can know this old man died with hope. Hope that you found the
trésor
.” Rémy’s wrinkled face filled with a sincerity Tristan couldn’t deny.

“You won’t come to the North Montagne?” Tristan didn’t want to go alone. He had come this far because of Rémy. Doing the final part by himself seemed wrong.

“I can’t travel those miles with you. My legs are weak, and my lungs are weaker. I can feel the shards of stone in my lungs every time I breathe. Go. Hunt. Claim what is yours.”

Uncle Remy’s eyes watered at the truth, he couldn’t look for the last gems even if he wanted to. Old age wasn’t so much getting to him, as much as a hard life. Rémy was only forty years old, after all.

“How about a compromise? We go half way together, to Tamsin’s house. You need a real healer anyways. The
Aubérge
isn’t doing anything for your health. The clouds of gem dust the miners bring follow us wherever we go. You need the fresh mountain air at Tamsin’s.”

“You just want her to give you another clue, but you don’t need to rely on her. We have an idea, at least, of where to go. North. Away from the other trackers headed to the coast.”

“You never found a
trésor
before I came along with Tamsin and her … well, her ability. I need her,” moaned Tristan convincingly.

He saw the look on Rémy’s face when he mentioned Tamsin’s name. Tamsin and Tristan’s mother had been friends for as long as he remembered, and her cottage wasn’t far from his childhood home. When Tristan had introduced his uncle to her, he knew a hint of a spark flickered between them.

“Tamsin does have better medicine than the fool doctors here,” Uncle Rémy conceded.

“Besides, she could use the company. She’s all alone in the cottage anyways,” Tristan offered.

“I could pay her.”

“She won’t take our money. Besides, I have a better idea.” Tristan’s eyes brightened.

“I won’t waste time asking about your ideas, because we need to get moving. And we should go, quietly. No making last minute plans with any waitresses,” Uncle Rémy lectured.

“I promise.” Tristan’s voice wavered, “and then I travel alone, to the next stone?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll make you proud,” Tristan said, trying to sound brave and strong and true.

“You already have.” 

Tristan smiled, a forced smile that threatened to break. Break him. He never imagined going at it alone, but now he must.

3.

Queen Cozette

Palace Royale, Éclat, Gemmes

She paused with a hairpin in hand, and looked out the second floor window to the courtyard below. She heard him before she saw him, shouting at the guards. Marcus walked with a sour look on his face, toward the Palace entrance. He was distressed, and it softened her. She couldn’t stand to see him unhappy.

              She turned back toward the mirror in her room, clasping a heavy ruby necklace on her neck, and then pressed her red lips together in thought. She contemplated how to make her Marcus happier. He seemed exceptionally distraught lately and not just with her, although he usually was. He’d grown cross with everyone, and it didn’t go unnoticed. She heard the whisperings from the livery to her handmaidens to her friends on the Royale Court.

              She heard him stomp up the stairs, and she had just enough time to smooth her ivory, diamond-encrusted gown before he shoved open the doors to her chamber.

“Cozette, I am leaving for a few weeks and I need you to meet with the representatives from the Provinces while I’m away. Just hear their requests, and decide what is best. It is the job of the Royal family.” He didn’t ask her if that was all right. He didn’t explain his unexpected absence. He didn’t seem to care to fill in the gaps. He just waited for her acknowledgement of his request.

She looked at him, blinking back tears. She knew she appeared weak. Worse, she knew she was.

“Cozette! Do not pretend to have forgotten how to speak to me, your king.” His chin length gray hair was tucked behind his ears, a light cape draped regally across his shoulders. He looked strong. He was.

“Of course Your Majesty. But … before you go….” she hesitated. She wanted things to be like before. Back to when he never would have considered travelling anywhere without his queen, his partner, his bride. Things change. It was her burden to bear.

“What is it, Cozette? I haven’t time for your tears. Speak!” He was cold now, and she saw the servants withdraw behind him at the door, not wanting to upset him further. She knew it hadn’t always been like this. She still remembered.

“I wondered if perhaps I might join you.” She asked with a small voice, the still same voice that had always been hers, just an octave - or three - quieter now.

“Out of the question. I’m crossing the sea to meet with King Francis of Gramond. I would explain, but you don’t seem to understand the affairs I am forced to deal with.”

She nodded, slightly, not wanting her feeble attempt at a connection with him to look less inviting than it apparently already was.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She bowed her head, deeply. Keeping her eyes on him throughout. Not giving up on the love imprinted on her heart.

“What are you doing cowering to me, you look like a fool. Stop bowing to me,” he said with disgust.

She flinched, but only for a moment. She was used to him lashing out this way at her.

  “Marcus,” she continued, not wanting him to leave so fast. “Remember the trip we took nearly twenty years ago, across the sea, to Port au Pauper?”

On that trip they conceived their baby, the child that was not to be. Before the loss, there was love. Real and true with promises of forever.

A flicker of warmth crossed his chiseled cheek. He remembered, but he didn’t give in.

“Times have changed, Cozette.
You have changed
.” It was impossible for her to not register the aversion in his voice.

“It not my fault. I never meant to change. I don’t want to grow apart.” Her voice faltered, as did she. She didn’t want to beg, but she did want him to know her truth.

“Nevertheless, you did. After the night you almost died, you never were the same. You woke up a different woman.” He turned from her, headed back to the door. Before he left, he paused.

His pause gave a sliver of hope for Cozette. Maybe this would be the day she had waited for these past seventeen years. Perhaps today would be the day he would turn around and hold her close and whisper his love in her ear.

“I just wish we had a chance to try again, to have a family. I wish I birthed a baby that had lived,” she whispered to his back.

“The baby was dead. Gone before it came. We’ve tried for years to make a child. You are barren. You are weak. There is no heir!” he slashed his harsh words across the room, striking her at her most vulnerable spot, her heart.

She stopped breathing for a moment, knowing if she spoke she wouldn’t be able to contain herself. Her sorrow would break through the still air.

“Don’t forget the representatives. They will be here tomorrow.”

With that, he left. Her.

Her heart fell, crashed.

She walked back to her mirror, shoulders tall, trying so hard, but no matter how hard she tried, she could never make herself as strong as she once was. As strong a Marcus remembered her to be.

She sat on the brocade chair, studying her face. She had tried so many times to search herself, to understand why their grief divided them. She so wanted it to unite. All she saw in the mirror was a softer, meeker version of a queen, one whose beauty had faded with the years. A far cry from the woman Marcus met and married two decades ago, when she was barely fifteen years old and charged with partnering to lead this great country.

“Madame, the ladies of the court are in your common room, will you be joining them?” Scarlet, her handmaiden entered the room, slightly bowing her head as she asked.

“Yes, my dear. I suppose I will. Let me freshen up a bit….” Cozette pinched her cheeks in the mirror, trying to bring a hint of pink to her ashen face.

“Let me help you, Your Majesty.” She walked over in her simple cream gown, with pearls lining the edge of the bodice, smiling at the woman who bestowed so much grace on everyone who lived in Éclat.

“Thank you, my dear,” Cozette said, patting Scarlet’s hand as she repinned the queen’s chignon of black hair.

“Did you hear the king is leaving?” Cozette asked, blinking back tears, desperate to regain composure.

“Yes, My Queen. I’m sure it won’t be long. You’ll be as busy as a bee, and won’t miss him I’m sure.” Scarlet said this with haste, knowing full well how many nights the queen cried, all alone in her room, thinking no one could hear the sounds of grief.

“He didn’t want me to join him. He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine.” Scarlet smiled, and nodded reassuringly.

“He wouldn’t leave, you know, if there was an heir. A prince should do his bidding.” The queen stood, stating the fact weighing heavy on all the citizens of Gemmes.

“I know, My Queen. I know.”

Scarlet held the door for the woman who had the respect, love, and admiration of her citizens. For the woman who was forever missing the thing she wanted most. A child.