Heart of Stone (21 page)

35.

Henri

Tamsin’s cottage, Gemmes

Emel had her crystal ball set on the kitchen table, and the four of them sat in the old wooden chairs looking into the blank orb. The cottage air was full of lemongrass and sage, calming them. Which was necessary after the shocking story Tamsin spent the evening telling.

              Sophie would die. In a few days, her stone heart would expire and she would die. Only true, unconditional, love could save her. Tamsin had ruined her ability to make the sacrifice when she killed the king.

Henri shook his head in disbelief; the King of Gemmes was dead and more shocking, Sophie’s father died without knowing his daughter.

His Jou-Jou. The princess.

“I still don’t understand why I can’t give myself for her,” Henri said, pleading for the fifth time with Tamsin and Emel.

“It won’t work. For a variety of reasons. Most importantly, you don’t actually love her,” Emel spouted off. “You love this fictitious version of her. You don’t know who she is. She is--” Henri cut her off.

“Look, I know you don’t like her, but she means everything to me. Just look in the ball and find her, okay?”

“Let’s settle down, alright?” Rémy suggested lowering the level of intensity at the table by dropping his hands.

“Sorry, Henri. I know you care for her, but I don’t want to see you get hurt,” Emel muttered, focusing on the ball.

He didn’t answer for his insides were torn. He couldn’t lose Jou-Jou. Not like this. He looked at Tamsin and tried to remain calm, though her presence made his skin boil. She ruined a perfectly good plan of sacrificing herself for Sophie by killing the king.

“Look, Henri, I’m sorry.” Tamsin sighed. “I don’t know if it would have worked anyways, you know? The Hedge seemed to believe I had my own interests wrapped up in why I wanted to save her. As a way to forgive myself.”

“Enough,” Rémy demanded. “We need to focus on finding Tristan and Sophie.”

“Then I need everyone to be quiet, and still,” Emel instructed solemnly. “Focus your love and goodwill toward Tristan and Sophie, and I will see what I can conjure.”

Henri noticed she had strung Miora’s moonstones around her neck when she’d gone back to the wagon for the ball. As she peered into the crystal sphere, she looked older, wiser, than she had before. Her pointy nose turned upwards and her mouth curved mysteriously to one side, as if she had secrets. Her gaze was far away, distant, as if she was traveling the length of Gemmes as she raked the ball for truths.

“I see …. I see … the Palace Royale?” Emel shook her head, confused. We were expecting them to be in the North. “It is bright, and daytime, it is the future though. Perhaps tomorrow? A young man is there, with Sophie. She isn’t the … I think she is….”

Emel looked up, her eyes glassy and distant, and she spoke quietly, “We need to go. Sophie isn’t well. We must travel to the Palace.”

“We can’t!” Tamsin insisted. “It’s a suicide mission!”

She wrapped her shawl tightly, as if protecting herself from whatever lurked outside. The Hedge. The King’s Légion. Her past selves. Henri didn’t care.

“In your wagon. Rémy, can you direct us?” he asked.

“I’ll drive. I’m well enough now, thanks to Tamsin.” Rémy stood, taking his coat from the hook. “Tamsin, pack a bag of your concoctions, whatever you think might help Sophie.”

“I can’t do it. If they find out I did what I did….” Her words trailed off, fear blazing in her eyes. Emel had already lifted her ball from the table, ready to go. Henri knew that Emel didn’t care much about Sophie, so if she was this anxious to go, it must be serious.

“Get a hold of yourself! We’ll go and we’ll do whatever we can to save the girl. If she dies, so be it. We need the stone inside her then,” Rémy said with influence.

Tamsin nodded slightly, and then began packing a bag with deft speed. She pushed an entire row of bottles into a leather satchel, snagged bundles of herbs from the rafters, and handed Rémy an ancient looking mortar and pestle.

Henri threw water on the fire in the stove and blew out the incense that burned strongly. He didn’t understand the
Trésor de L’espoir
, even after Rémy explained it to him, and he didn’t care. All he cared about at this moment was getting to Sophie.

***

They began their journey in the dark, and they travelled that way, not stopping once. Henri and Emel slept in the wagon, jostled to sleep by the steady trod through the forest.

Emel leaned over to him in the middle of the night, whispering, “Henri, I’m sorry what I said about Sophie.”

“Shush. It’s irrelevant.”

“It’s not. Now we know why Sophie has always come off rather rude … she has a literal heart of stone. She didn’t have the ability to love.”

Henri didn’t answer.

“Poor thing, never able to love. I can’t imagine.”

Henri pretended to sleep. He didn’t like Emel talking about Jou-Jou. He felt protective of her; he loved her icy heart, not despite it. He loved her, just the way she was. If Emel couldn’t see past the brash parts of Sophie before, he didn’t think Sophie would want her sympathy now.

At dawn, Rémy and Tamsin switched places with Henri, giving them a chance to sleep. Henri followed the well-worn road, this one better cared for because if it’s close proximity to Éclat. As they passed outlying villages on the way to the city, more people and wagons were on the road. Henri was nervous to drive with people beside him, but Emel helped direct him, pointing out potholes made by mud, or the stray goat looking for its master.

“An awful lot of people are on the road,” Emel stated.

Henri didn’t know; he’d never traveled this road before, really any roads for that matter.

“Look, up at the bend! Miners are carrying their axes and packs. How unusual!”

“Is it?” Henri asked.

“Very.”

When they met up with the group of men, Henri leaned over to ask where they were going, the King’s Montagne’s were in every direction but the one they were headed.

A strong and stout man, hacking with the cough, answered cynically, “You haven’t heard? We’re protesting the Monarchy! Tired of working for jaspers when the King’s Vault reaps onyx!”

Other men on the road joined in, shouting their disgust with the Kingdom’s rule, not enough doctors, over worked, underpaid, not enough food and clothes. They chanted, “With death to the king, kill the monarchy!”

Henri and Emel nodded somberly, absorbing the information, but also more anxious than ever to make their way to the Palace. The two of them were at least protected by the wagon, but Tamsin and Remy rode up front, guiding the horses for several more hours.

The road was crowded as they inched closer to
Éclat
, and they made through the city at a slower pace. Thanks to Emel’s wagon, they were raised above the mutinous crowd.

“These are the city gates, Henri, aren’t they beautiful?” Emel said, pointing to the gilded entrance, as the horse-drawn wagon made its way to Éclat, the Palace Royale before them.

“It’s so different from the village. I didn’t know how poor we were, but look, there’s not a single piece of litter on the street, and see how clean the buildings are.” Henri said.

“This mob’s irate, the beauty here’s only skin deep.” Emel’s words seemed ominous, and Henri stopped the wagon once they reached the Palace’s entrance.

“Can we enter? It’s urgent.” Henri asked the guardsmen, heavily armed and fierce. They were focused on the angry crowd gathered behind Henri on foot. None of the mob had horses or wagons that would allow them to get close. Henri had the advantage.

“No entry. Orders from the queen.”

“Please, we need to get inside,” Henri said, realizing how feeble he sounded, a baker’s apprentice from the Vallee … as if they would allow him inside because he asked politely.

“Henri, it’s useless,” Emel said to him.

He walked back over to her, not wanting to get angry, like the protestors surrounding them, but unhappy with her diffidence. He hadn’t come this way for nothing.

“I know what we can do,” Tamsin said, pushing the curtain behind the bench to the side, and speaking quietly to them. “I know a spell.”

“No. Absolutely not. None of your
magie noire
spells on my wagon,” Emel said.

The crowd grew more aggressive, pressing against the sides of the wagon. Henri feared they would keep pressing in until the wagon itself burst. He looked at Emel, with big brown eyes, begging her to relent. For him, for Sophie.

“Oh, fine! Not that it matters now anyway, I’ve already let the
sorcière
into my home, might as well let her bake a cake,” Emel threw up her hands exasperated.

“Easy now, dear,” Rémy called from inside the wagon. Always the peacemaker.

“What’s the spell?” asked Henri.

“Simple. I need to suspend time,” Tamsin answered.

Henri and Emel shared a look of disbelief, but Tamsin wasn’t joking.

Tamsin crawled out the window to the bench. Her petite frame passed though easily and with her shawl wrapped around her head, a sliver of her face was left exposed.

She whispered words inaudible, and as close as Henri was, the shouts from the crowd stifled her words. A part of him was glad to not know, he didn’t know how interested he was in the magic she did, didn’t want a stronger than necessary connection to the woman who held Sophie as a baby, and split open her chest with a dagger, letting her infantile blood spill. He shuddered at the thought. It was too much.

Instead, he watched, with the horse’s reigns still in his hands, preparing to do whatever necessary to get through the gated wall. Tamsin opened a pouch at her waist and her slender fingers pinched, taking what she needed. Emel watched with narrowing eyes, not stopping Tamsin, but clearly not pleased.

Tamsin blew powdery dust in the air and then spoke loud and clear. Her voice more sure than he would have believed her capable, so meek and mild she’d appeared to him,

“
Suspend the moment, draw it out.

Fill their minds with cloudy doubt.

Let us enter, let us pass.

With these words I speak, the spell is cast.”

With the final syllable spoken, the gates to the palace parted, and everyone outside the wagon stopped mid-motion. The guards and the crying protesters … everything hung still in the stopping of time. Henri wouldn’t believe there was magic this strong if he wasn’t seeing it with his own two eyes.

He took the cue from Tamsin, who urged him to move by pushing him forward. He pulled on the reigns, “Come on, boy,” he shouted, and they moved past the tall walls, entering the Palace courtyard. While the people remained still, Tamsin, Rémy, Emel, and Henri knew time was of the essence. They needed to be past the tall castle doors before the spell broke.

Time would press forward, whether they wanted it to or not, time always does.

“Run!” he yelled to his wagon mates, and they did.

They jumped off the wagon and dashed past the most stunning entryway he’d ever seen, knowing how little it mattered. Reuniting with Sophie would be the most beautiful thing of all.

36.

Queen Cozette

Palace Royale, Gemmes

Cozette watched the girl who remained unconscious on the queen’s own bed. The boy she had come in with was kneeling next to her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear in hopes of coaxing her awake.

It was clear this girl was hers.

Long tresses framed her heart-shaped face; lips pouted, just like hers when she was seventeen. Cozette wiped away tears, thinking how much she wished Marcus were here. The girl had a permanently furrowed brow that matched her father’s, a man she would never know. With a pang, Cozette realized that perhaps she never would have wanted to. He was the reason she was near her death.

“What is her name?” Cozette asked Tristan.

“Sophie. Sophie Bijou.” He twisted his lips, pushing back tears himself.

Cozette couldn’t help but laugh.
Bijou
. How ridiculously apropos.

“I know. She’s a gem isn’t she?”

Cozette looked at him more closely, cocking her head to the side, realizing that Tristan didn’t know the truth of Sophie’s heart, or lack thereof.

“She is,” Cozette answered, her heart full, yet also terrified. So much was at stake now. Everything. The king was dead, the entire country revolted outside the Palace, and her daughter nearly dead.

“Will the doctor be here soon?” Tristan asked, brushing Sophie’s hair back from her forehead.

Cozette noticed his tight grip on her hand, his constant caressing of her face. It was as if he couldn’t separate from her.

“The mob outside must be blocking his way. He was out of the Palace this morning. The timing is terrible.”

Scarlet and Nicolette came in the room, carrying damp rags and smelling salts. Cozette knew those simple measures wouldn’t be enough. Sophie didn’t need real medicine. She needed magic. Bearing witness as she clutched her chest agonized them all. Her stone heart had begun to fail.

The girl not knowing the reason for the pain made it worse to watch.

Cozette pressed the cloth against Sophie’s forehead, tying not to focus on the lost years with her girl, and instead focus on the time they had now.

Somehow, it felt as if time had suspended. She paused, and tried to turn her head, but wasn’t able to move. Then, all at once, she could. Time returned.

She shook her head, and realized no one else seemed to notice the lapse; it must have been a figment of her imagination.

A pounding of feet barreled outside the room, and what seemed to be a stampede of people hurling insults and violent words. In a panic, Cozette feared the rioters had broken through the Palace walls.

The door to her chambers swung open and a foursome she didn’t recognize entered her room.

“Uncle Rémy? Tamsin? How are you … what are you doing here?” Tristan jumped up and shouted, running to them.

A company of Palace guards were behind them with swords drawn, ready to fight the intruders. Cozette shook her head and raised her hands for them to stop. They obeyed.

“How did you let them enter?” she demanded from the guards.

“We are sorry, Your Highness, they seemed to enter in a moment, and knew which way to go.” The guard appeared dazed and confused.

A dark-haired
Bohemian
girl gave an exaggerated curtsy, then answered, “Magic, My Queen.” She pulled on the moonstone hanging on her neck.

Cozette sputtered in disbelief, no one entered the Place walls uninvited. “Who are you to enter the Palace Royal?”

Tristan didn’t answer; instead, he embraced the older pair, a man and woman. The younger boy who had entered the room bypassed Cozette altogether and ran to Sophie’s bedside, cradling her daughter’s face in his hand.

The scene stunned Cozette, Scarlet, and Nicolette. No one seemed to be paying any attention to the fact that they had entered the queen’s bedchamber, for Hedge’s sake!

The younger girl in the intruding party walked over to her, wringing her hands, the only one who seemed to recognize the lack of decorum taking place.

“I’m Emel, and we are here for … her,” she said, pointing to Sophie. “I know she needs help, I saw it in my crystal ball, and Tamsin can help. She has spells that will revive her. Will you let us try?” The girl appeared the same age as her daughter, but clearly aware of the severity of the situation.

The boys seemed love-struck by Sophie, now both sitting on opposite sides of the bed holding her hands. The old woman was hiding behind her shawl and the older man cracked his fingers nervously. It was altogether bizarre.

“Are you a doctor or a…?” Cozette asked, trying to gather who was who in the room.

“Not doctors … Tamsin is….” Emel petered off.

“I am Tamsin, a
devins-guérisseur
. I have been here before. The night I saved your life,” the shawled woman spoke. All eyes faced the pair and Cozette gasped, realizing who this woman was. “If you want me to leave I understand. I am the one who ended the king’s life, and I am the one who changed yours.”

Cozette looked over at Sophie, listless and still. She heard the rioters outside the Palace Royale, desperate for change, demanding to be heard. This was not the time to place blame. The king was dead. That was fact. It wasn’t the time to hold things against a woman who had no choice. If Marcus requested Tamsin to carve out her babe’s heart, she couldn’t have denied him. He was the King of Gemmes. She was a simple
sorcière
.

She was also the one who could help her daughter now.

“Stay. Do whatever you can to revive her.”

Tamsin’s eyes filled with tears, tears Cozette understood. Tears Cozette had shed many times herself. The tears born out of longing for what could have been. Tears born from the pain of knowing what she wanted life to look like, wasn’t to be. Tears born from knowing that no matter what she did, she couldn’t change the past, she could only move forward in the present.

Tamsin reached into her bag. “I’ll get her the elixir she needs. Can you please get me some warm water and a candle?”

Scarlet nodded and left to retrieve the items.

“She was clutching her heart, and then she passed out, from the pain I think.” Cozette filled Tamsin.

“The closer the queen got to her, the worse it became. No offense,” Tristan added.

“It’s true,” Cozette said, knowing that Sophie would be in pain with her own heart beating so close.

“Her chest has hurt for some time now. Months even. At first she mentioned it every week or so, until she left, then she complained of it more,” added the young man who had entered with the foursome added.

“How do you know Sophie?” Cozette asked.

“I’m Henri. Sophie’s best friend. I’ve known her forever,” he stopped, and smiled humbly. “She is my forever.”

“Well, maybe not
forever, forever
. She is my--”

“Your
what
?” Henri asked.

“She’s my
special friend
,” Tristan said, scoffing at Henri.

“I’m sure she is quite special to you,” Henri said, shaking his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tristan asked.

“He means you only like Sophie because she--”

“Enough,” Tamsin silenced the bickering. “We’ll explain it to you, Tristan, when Sophie wakes. For now I need you two to move aside.”

Tamsin placed the lit candle in Emel’s hands and added several drops of a bottled concoction in the small bowl of warm water. The two walked toward Sophie while Emel centered the candle over her. Tamsin held the bowl above the flame and chanted low syllables that Cozette didn’t recognize. The water began to boil. Instead of spilling on Sophie’s face scalding her, the steam from the water caused her eyelids to flutter open.

“It’s working,” Cozette whispered, drawing closer to the bed.

“Stay back, Your Highness, please. You might cause her heart to react again.”

Cozette hated the words Tamsin spoke. She hated that she needed to stay away from the one she longed to hold, longed to never let go.

She obeyed. She stepped back, and watched. She watched as Sophie’s eyes opened, as she took in the room, confused, shaking her head, then gasping, clutching her chest, tears … very different tears than the ones the others in the room shed. Tears born from pain.

“It hurts so … need to stop … away–” Sophie spoke incoherently, withering in agony.

Cozette blinked back tears herself; it was difficult to watch someone in so much distress. The tension is the room felt sharp and fierce. It was clear everyone wanted the pain to stop. Just how to make that happen was unclear.

“I think I should try leaving the room for a bit, and see what happens to her pain? If it lessens, then we will know I am a trigger.” Cozette spoke, as she inched way from the bed.

This was worse than she ever imagined, all she wanted to do was scoop up this fragile girl, nurse her to health, to life, but she couldn’t. She could do nothing.

“Possibly. It could also be the fact that she’ll be eighteen in a day’s time,” Tamsin spoke knowing the inevitable that Cozette didn’t want to acknowledge.

“No, her birthday isn’t for another few weeks,” Henri said. Then looking at Tamsin and Cozette, he nodded his head realizing the truth. Sophie had never known her true birthday.

Also, Sophie was in pain because she was dying.

Cozette trembled as she left the room; she passed through the silent hallway lined with guards. She walked to the room she never let anyone enter, the room she went to alone.

She entered the nursery, the sanctuary made for her child, a child she never wholly grieved. If she had, the layette would be packed away, the gilded rocking chair repurposed years ago. Here it remained, empty and hollow as Cozette shut the door.

The diamonds on her bracelet chinked against the wooden frame, as she caught her breath. The floor caught her as she fell to the ground. She pressed herself against the door, giving in to the pressure mounting inside her.

She cried, knowing this room would always be empty, not only empty of an heir, but empty of the love between a mother and child. Between herself and Sophie. Marcus took that from her.

Cozette cried because she knew Sophie, her beloved daughter, would never have a chance to live.

That truth broke her heart in two.