Heart of Stone (5 page)

“Leave him with me. I’ve helped heal people all my life. I can help your dear Uncle too.” Tamsin hesitated, she had a few more things she wanted to say before he left, but she didn’t want to offend him.

In the pause Tristan mistook the silence for a cue to leave. “I’ll be off then,” he said cheerily.

“Wait. Tristan.”

“What is it?”

“I saw the look in your eyes last night, when you spoke of the diamond you are searching for. You seemed … desperate.” She wrapped her cloak tightly, chilly in the crisp morning smelling of dewdrops.  “The
Trésor de L’espoir
is not everything.” She wanted him to say the words she didn’t think he believed anymore.

It was as if greed gripped him in places she perhaps always knew were there, but she never wanted to acknowledge. She wanted to believe in Tristan’s purity, but that look in his eyes last night gave her pause.

“Well, it’s an awful lot. It’s the power of Gemmes! Now, it’s within our grasp, thanks be to you.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Tamsin recalled the visions from the night before, when she conjured up direction for Tristan’s next jewel. She had peered in the powdery dust her hands sprinkled in the air. In the dust she saw the clue Tristan wanted. Head toward the Northern Montagne, deep away from the town, near an old miner’s site now abandoned.

She had seen, clearly, an old fire pit and a flame. The future was etched in the dissipating powdery haze. Time stopped for but a moment and Tamsin thought she saw another person beside Tristan near the fire, but then she blinked, and the powdery dust fell from the air, and the vision was gone. She didn’t tell him that part last night, thinking the mining site would be direction enough, besides she wasn’t sure it was a figure next to him, if it was a good or bad one. She didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily, but now she realized it might help to have this clue, and to not go alone in the mountain if there was a person who could cause him danger.

For some inexplicable reason she was able to help this boy and his Uncle … she was able to see these stones from the
Trésor de L’espoir
, in a way no one else could. Even if she couldn’t understand the reason why, she did know this: she would do anything to help him, she loved him and Rémy so.

“Tristan, don’t go alone. Rémy won’t be with you, I know this, but once you get to the North, hire a porter to go with you in the mountains. Do you have money for that?”

“Of course, Tamsin, we do pretty well on the black stone market.”

“Alright, then get someone for yourself … and just … be careful.”

“Stop worrying. You have that old Uncle to care for. Off with you, cook him some eggs or something.” Tristan smiled, and waved her off with a flick of his fingers against his leather hat.

She closed the door of her cottage, and the creak stirred Rémy who lay on Tamsin’s bed. Tamsin had slept in the loft, giving up her usual place for the man she cared for, Tristan had slept on the couch.

“Is he off?” Rémy asked.

“He is.” Tamsin spoke quietly, not knowing why she felt a pang in her heart, a pang she couldn’t put words too.

“He’ll get himself in trouble, Tamsin. I just know it.”

Rémy spoke the words she couldn’t. So she nodded her head, stoking the stove before starting the kettle. If she couldn’t save Tristan from himself, the least she could do was get Rémy well.

She had learned, all these years in reparation, that controlling others isn’t always possible but you certainly can control your part.

6.

King Marcus

King’s Fleet, Sea de Gemmes

The briny air stung the king’s eyes as he bitterly gripped the edge of the wooden boat. His fleet of twenty ships was mighty, as was his reign, but it all felt desolate in moments like this. A night of drinking with his Head Advisor, Drake, should have lightened his mood but nothing would. They’d gone to meet King Francis, and failed.

Francis’s kingdom was to sign a treaty declaring a new trade route. This would mean a victory for Marcus, and he knew it. More stones leaving Gemmes to be sold in more markets meant only good things for his people, for him, but Francis refused. He argued the tariffs Marcus suggested were unreasonably high.

In all honesty, Marcus knew they were. So when he attempted to lower them, to appease Francis, a fight broke out. Francis accused Gemmes of being greedy, not thinking of anyone but themselves. He refused to partner with Marcus, no matter the cost.

It ended in a brawl. The civility of the kings tossed aside when they couldn’t reach an agreement. Marcus had a broken nose to prove his ineptitude. He’d known Francis for decades, since they were both young princes, and Francis valued, above all else, integrity. He accused Marcus of only valuing himself.

This morning when he awoke, upon realizing he would be returning to Palace Royale, specifically Cozette, treaty-less, he wanted to go back to his ship’s cabin to finish the crate of wine they had stored.

“Your Majesty, breakfast is served in your cabin, if that pleases you,” a servant spoke with a bowed head.

“Fine.” Marcus crossed the ship and went below the hull, toward his room.

Drake waited for him there, maps laid across the table where breakfast was spread.

“Well, your nose is looking much better this morning, Your Majesty,” Drake said as he downed a cup of
café
. The night’s drinking seemed to have affected him as well. He rubbed his temples with closed eyes.

“Ridiculous. All of this.” Marcus swept his hands across the table at the maps. “News of Francis’s lack of cooperation will spread quickly. Everyone will take sides. Pitting them against us, demanding lower tariffs on our stones. I can’t let that happen.”

“I’ve thought on that, My King,” Drake said, opening his eyes. Drake was a considerable man, in a regal blue ensemble, sapphires across his lapel. He was content with the way life had turned out. His wife Nicolette and Cozette were friends since the early years of their marriages. The two couples, at one time felt like the world was theirs for the taking. They believed they could dip their hands in the sea and find the oyster holding the pearl. Things change.

“What is your suggestion? I’m all ears, Drake. Although, I’m tempted to lead an army of soldiers across the sea and demolish them.”

“Steady now. Gemmes has never gone to war. We haven’t a legitimate army. We are the richest for a reason. Rising above all that foolishness. We are supreme because our land gives to us generously.”

“A lot of good it is doing,” Marcus spit. He touched his fingers to his nose, and in doing so he grew all the more angry. “We can refuse all trades. Without our precious gems, the whole world will cower. Then we can do anything we like. Raise tariffs to whatever we desire.”

“How diplomatic.”

“And the alternative is?”

“I suggest, Your Majesty, a simple invitation, between Queen Cozette and yourself, extended to all the royalty of the countries we wish to remain trading with. Offer a ball. A gala, where Cozette can woo the kings and queens with her gentle nature, and at the same time display the riches that you have –
that they could have
– if they agreed to your trading terms.”

Marcus listened curiously. Wooing them with his riches was an idea he never considered. The Palace Royale hadn’t hosted a ball in nearly twenty years. Cozette refused. Of course she willingly helped the needy children at orphanages and greeted the villagers with open arms, but besides her charity, she kept to herself. Royally.

Marcus hated her for it.

“Cozette will never agree,” he said with finality.

“Only because you aren’t willing to woo her, as well,” Drake countered.

“Cozette is not the kind of woman I am interested in wooing. She’s not the woman I married.” Marcus clenched his jaw and picked a croissant from a pastry tray. He set it back, on top of a scroll delivered by an informant that was headed,
GEM TRACKER,
still sealed. Marcus didn’t even glance at it. “Not everyone is as fortunate as you, Drake.”

Marcus held back the rest of his jealousy. Drake had four handsome boys, two beautiful girls, and a wife who still doted on him. Marcus had none of those things.

He wanted all of them.

“Look,” Drake smoothly explained. “You need to return to the good graces of the kings of our bordering countries. As your Head Advisor, I urge you to consider this option. Everyone loves a party. No queen who receives an invitation will let her king refuse. Everyone will be eating out of your diamond-encrusted palm by the night’s end. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

Marcus nodded. He knew it was much of what he wanted. If he couldn’t have a queen whom he loved anymore, at least he could remain the richest man alive.

7.

Sophie

Valle de Montagne, Gemmes

Death. The word hung in the air after Miora spoke it, as though it was a spell cast over the wagon.

              “Death, huh?” Sophie spat haughtily, no longer able to contain herself. “This stone reading is some omen, then? We have what, here?” She pointed to the gems laid at the five points before her. “First off I’m an ego-maniac, full of wasted pride. Then something about me being held captive and abandoned, followed by a precious retelling of my birth, which apparently didn’t even take place in the valley.” She shot Henri daggers with her eyes. “Let’s not forget that I want to travel to avoid all of this. And then the
arche de triomphe
, death. A big giant death.” 

              Sophie slumped in her chair. Her shoulders inched forward, and her hands moved to her face. Anyone who didn’t know her might think this was the time she’d keel over and cry, but not Sophie. She was gearing up, ready to fight.

              “I want a re-draw.” She lifted her head with a fake smile pasted on her face. “Yes. That’s it. A re-draw. I want stones that reveal something fanciful. About me at the Palace Royale and eating macaroons with princes and wearing black silk dresses and dancing under the moonlight. That’s the sort of reading I looked for on this summer night. Not this!” She pushed the stones away from the diamond silhouette.

              Emel gasped, and dove for the stones, as they were nearly shoved off the tabletop. She saved them before they fell.

“Sophie, I told you to respect Miora. Don’t shout, or you will need to leave,” Emel whispered, but it was clear it took all her self-control to do so.

“Both of you, quiet. Now listen to me, child.” Miora leaned over the table and grabbed Sophie’s hands in hers. “Readings are rarely what you want, but are always what you
need
. Hear this. You need to learn about your birth, about your parents, and why it matters.” Her words were fierce and forceful.

Sophie couldn’t look away from the old woman’s crystal clear grey eyes. Looking in them, she saw herself.

              “Why don’t you tell me? If you know so much, tell me about my birth yourself!” Sophie shouted, pulling her hands away, but Miora wouldn’t let her go. Sophie found herself sinking deeper in this stone reader’s gaze.

              “That is not the way the stones work. They don’t tell the whole story. The Death stone doesn’t always mean a grave dug in the ground. Sometimes the end is the beginning.”

              Sophie saw Miora’s crystal eyes fill with vibrant colors, as though every precious jewel was carved in the sockets of her face. Sophie gulped in horror.

“Your eyes, what is happening to them?” she screamed, grabbing Henri’s arm in fear.

“Jou-Jou, it’s okay. You’re seeing things. Her eyes are the same as they were when we entered. Clouded over.” Henri tried to comfort her friend, but Sophie looked at him like he was crazy.

“Sophie, it’s true, Miora is blind, and that is why her eyes are that way.” Emel spoke gently, placing her hand on Sophie’s shoulder. She tried to steady the wild girl who heard revelations of a life she didn’t understand, a life she didn’t want.

“You see them, my child. You see my eyes for what they truly are. Crystal balls that tell the future.” Miora let go of Sophie’s hands at last. She lifted a heavy leather cord from her neck, where a moonstone hung. She pressed the stone in Sophie’s hands.

“The stones never lie. Take this, and run.”

Sophie stood confused, but clutched the moonstone nevertheless. Turning abruptly, she stumbled out of the wagon, letting the night air rush her lungs. She remembered how to breathe.

Henri and Emel followed, looking at one another nervously as they approached Sophie who stared at them blankly. It was hard to know what to say when someone was told to run away.

“Jou-Jou,” Henri started. “It’s okay.”

Sophie whipped around to her friend, a blaze of fear spread across her chest.

“No, Henri. It isn’t. Nothing ever is. You and me, we’re too different, you heard Miora. But even before she said anything, I knew I needed to go. I don’t belong here.”

“It was five measly stones drawn from a bag, Jou-Jou. Can’t it just be a funny story you tell our children some day?” Henri tried to take another step toward her, but Sophie continued to back way.

“What are you talking about? Children? I would never … I can’t … Henri. Listen to me. I don’t want to be with you. I never have. I want to go.”

Henri flinched at the cold words his best friend spoke. Words that held Sophie’s truth, words that separated the two.

“Then go,” Henri said. “You want to do this next part alone, then do it.” He looked at Sophie, this girl with messy black hair and a complicated maze of emotions.

Sophie knew she was a girl Henri didn’t want to let go of, not even a little. She was a girl he wanted to protect, a lot. A girl who wasn’t his. A girl who never was. Sophie didn’t know how to be the girl he wanted.

“Fine. I will.” She stood in place, not moving an inch because she knew the only place for her to go was back home.

“So, where will you go?” Henri asked, as though daring her to leave.

The campfires at each wagon were still ablaze. Beznik, Emil’s brother stood nearby playing a slow, melancholy song on the fiddle. She found that ironic. Even the music knew her mood; it wasn’t just the stones that read her. It seemed everything and everyone knew her better than she knew herself.

“Not back in that freak’s wagon,” Sophie said pointing to Miora’s blue and yellow painted home on wheels.

“That is so mean, Sophie! Don’t talk about Miora like that, she is so special,” Emel exclaimed.

“You know it’s true, she’s a crazy old woman. I bet you’ll be just like her someday.” Sophie crossed her arms and used ugly words to mask how she felt. Alone and vulnerable.

“You need to leave. Seriously, I don’t want you here if you treat my people this way,” Emel said, holding her ground, not letting Sophie boss her.

“What will you do, Jou-Jou? You can’t just wander the woods. Come home with me. We can sort this all out together.” Henri spoke gently, but Sophie froze in annoyance.

“Stop that.” Sophie stared him down.

“You’re right. She can’t go off alone in the woods. She won’t be safe. Especially with what we heard from Miora.” Emel’s words seemed to soothe Henri because his shoulders slacked a bit and he nodded his head in understanding.

The fiddle stopped playing its soulful tune and Beznik came and joined his sister.

“What is the dilemma you seem to face?” he asked, putting his arms on Sophie’s shoulders.

His black felt cap was cocked to the side, and a few days’ rubble crossed his chin. Sophie had never found herself less attracted to a man. His nose was huge and his eyes bugged. He was as lanky as they come and Sophie rolled his eyes at his pretense.

“She was about to run away like a prissy little girl. Too privileged to know better,” Emel said, haughtily.

“Hey now, Emel, be gentle with our company. Where do you want to go, milady?” he asked kindly.

“Away. Anywhere. Soon.”

“In the morning a group of us are leaving to meet with some other friends, to bring them back here where we’re camping for the summer. I can drop you off in the king’s North Montagne. It’s far enough away, but still the closest Provence to home.”

“Why would you be nice to her? She’s treated Miora terribly, and me too for that matter.” Emel stomped her foot.

“Oh hush, sister, our job is to treat the ones who come on our path with generosity.” He looked at Sophie and raised his eyebrows in what appeared to be his sexiest pose.

“Oh, brother. You just want a wife. You’re ridiculous you know that?” Emel started walking away, but before she left she turned and said, “You know, Henri, last summer when we met I couldn’t understand why someone as sweet as you would be in love with a girl like her. You’re wasting your time, you know that? The nice girls will treat you better. Girls like me.” With that she turned on her heels and left.

Henri opened his mouth to disagree, but quickly shut it. He looked back at Sophie, wanting to gauge her response.

She ignored Emel’s words completely, and instead turned to Beznik and smiled a ridiculously fake smile.

“Yeah, maybe I will. I mean, I’m headed to the mines anyway. That was my plan.”

“Perfect!” Beznik clapped his hands, and danced a little jig in front of them. “We leave at dawn.”

Sophie’s eyes grew wide as she tried to decipher what exactly she had gotten herself into.

“It’s settled. I’ll be back. I just need to go get some things.” Sophie nodded her head and puckered her lips. Like there was more she wanted to say, but she didn’t. Instead she turned back to the woods toward their village.