Heart of Stone (7 page)

10.

Queen Cozette

Palace Royale, Éclat

Cozette sat upon the throne with a straight back, gentle smile, and patient eyes. She listened to the representatives for an entire day and a half, but still, she maintained composure. She listened diligently to each request delivered by a man on bended knee.

The King’s Counter stood next to her advising when she wasn’t sure if she should answer with a yes or a no, but she dutifully considered each request.
Provence de Frontiére
needs more uniforms for school children.
Provence de Extérieur
has had a bumper crop of juniper berries and needs to know where they should be sent. Or the less pleasing appeal, for more jobs to be offered to the people scared to work the mines.

These were simple requests in comparison to the one repeated over and over again, representing every region in her country. The one request she couldn’t grant. Kind words and condolences mattered not when lives were on the line.

A debilitating number of countrymen came to her, begging for more treatment options. The
Coffre au Trésor
had no cure. No hospital facilities were big enough, not enough trained nurses or doctors were on call to help. The measly reparation of a few gems given by the Palace was no longer enough to compensate for the death toll continuing to climb.

Cozette leaned back after she answered the last delegate, her heart so heavy for having no solution for the men in his Provence who were dying. She offered him compensation for travelling so far and his shoes clicked against the stone floor as he exited and Cozette felt some relief at being done with this task for the next month.

She enjoyed helping the people of her country, but the work demanded much. Work that grew more difficult as she had to deny villagers the items they believed they needed. Even with all their wealth, there were still rules as to how much each person could have. Rules that as queen, she had no choice but follow. No gem, no matter how generous the offering, could save a man dying the
Coffre au Trésor.

She had given away enough gems over the years during her charity work to be called a bleeding heart, but it wasn’t the worst thing she’d been called. She remembered her youth, her early years of marriage, how she sinisterly called others fools and clowns for their approach to politics. Her snide comments garnered her little favor from anyone, save the king, who seemed to relish in her condescension. She used to make every choice with fierce calculation, now she defaulted to tears.

The reason Marcus resented her hinged on the water works from her eyes. No longer the woman she once was, he liked her more, much more, when she’d been ruthless.

“Your Majesty, His Grace has arrived home. He requests dinner, with you, privately this evening,” Scarlet spoke discreetly in the queen’s ear.

Taken aback Cozette, a prickle of fear shot through her. Although she desperately wanted to rekindle the love she and her husband once had, she questioned his motives even now. The possibility remained that he wanted her to feel horrible. His words had a way of stabbing her heart, but it wasn’t just that. What worried her was the tightness in his eyes when he looked at her now, and the feeling that someday it might be more than his words that caused her pain.

“Thank you, Scarlet. I have seen the last representative out, would you please accompany me to my chamber to dress for the evening?”

Her safety in mind, Cozette considered another possible reason for tonight’s dinner, and reason at the forefront of her mind wasn’t a pretty one. She had waited years for him to say it. She believed only a matter of time had to pass before the king delicately removed her from the Palace, escorted away. Then he could find a real queen, one who would produce an heir. Perhaps tonight was the night. Although she braced herself for so long, she never properly prepared for it actually happening.

Scarlet laid out a fine dress for her, pink taffeta lined in crystals. It looked like a poof of purity.

“Not that. I want something … regal. Blue, with sapphire’s.” She walked in her closet where Scarlet sorted through frocks. “This one.” She held up a royal gown.

“Isn’t that one … err, quite old, Queen Cozette?” Scarlet eyed the dated dress warily.

“Yes. I wore it on the day King Marcus announced we would wed. Do you think it might still fit?” Cozette strummed her fingers across the twenty-year-old dress. Although it happened so long ago it would be impossible to forget the moment of euphoria she shared with Marcus when they were presented before Marcus’s father. She was so proud, so hopeful, so in love.

She wore this blue dress and felt like the queen she became.

“It will fit. You’re as slender as a doll.”

As Scarlet laced the corset tight, and then gingerly fastened the pearl buttons covering the back of the blue gown, nostalgia overwhelmed Cozette. If Marcus sent her away, at least she would have the memories of what was.  She watched in the mirror as Scarlet piled her hair high upon her head, face powdered with translucent dust. In a moment of longing she added black liner across her eyes in a dramatic flourish. The signature look she wore when she … well before. Before the pieces of her began to unravel.

“Your Majesty, you look like the portrait in the Great Hall, from when you were first crowned queen, but somehow more beautiful. The years have been kind to you.” Scarlet dipped her head reverently at the woman she spent her days serving.

“Oh, sweet girl. Stand, and remember this: whatever happens next, I will always have a place for you in my employ. You will not leave my side till the end of my days.”

“Your Highness, if I hear anything, anything at all from the servants, I will let you know post-haste. You know that I always serve you, first.”

“I know, my girl. I know.” Cozette walked out of her chambers, the smallest trace of sorrow lining her mouth. Then, facing Scarlet, she smiled. She had devoted friends, even if they came in unlikely places. She walked from her chamber determined to be strong.

The dining room, with the capacity to hold forty people at the large table, was set for two. Candles were lit and the guards in their fine livery stood, waiting for the queen to enter. Marcus rose from his seat when she arrived, and he gave a double take of the woman before him.

“Cozette,” he spoke quietly, as if surprised to see her before him.

“I’m so glad to see you’ve arrived home in one piece after your unexpected departure.” She carefully maintained a steady voice as she sat in the chair pulled out for her, next to him.

He looked a mess upon closer examination. She realized with horror that his nose was badly broken. Although he wore a crisp ensemble, he looked exhausted. She wanted to pull him close, hold him like she did when they were young. Instead she pretended not to notice. Their marriage was not built upon shared experiences, or the recounting of the days they spent apart. Their marriage was built upon the façade of diplomacy.

“That dress ... I swear I’ve seen it before.” A flicker of recognition swept over him, and he softened as he took her in. “And, pardon the forwardness of this, but your eyes … you look so … so….”

“So what?” Cozette said, glancing down, nervous in front of this man who once knew her so well.

“So beautiful.”

Cozette’s eyes welled with tears; the smallest hint of tenderness from Marcus melted her already dripping heart. Being nice to her now, in this moment, would make what he said next all the worse.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” she whispered, as she dabbed the corner of her eye.

              “Not at all. Not at all.” Marcus watched her as he helped himself to the food held on the tray by the servant behind him.

Cozette pulled her shoulders back, and eyed him seductively, trying to emulate the girl she once was.

“We haven’t sat alone in years, Marcus. In over a decade, at least.”

“Yes, well, I had a matter of some importance to discuss with you.” Marcus coughed, and then picked up his fork, spinning the handle in his fingers, as though deciding how to word his next sentence. “I wondered if we might host a ball. Here. In two weeks’ time.” The words gushed out, leaving Cozette speechless.

“A … a … ball? Is
that
why you invited me to dinner?” he sat dumbfounded and rightfully so. A ball? Marcus never wanted to host parties, not even for holidays. 

“Of course I would need your participation; it wouldn’t work without you. We would be inviting the Nobility from all the trade routes. We need them to see us as….” He struggled to finish.

“As what, Marcus?” She thought she had an inkling, that he wanted them to be presented as the happy couple they weren’t. It didn’t matter, not to her. She had feared the worst. Being thrown out of the palace and replaced.

“We need them to see us as the richest, the most powerful, and the most desired. They need to believe their future depends on trading with Gemmes. We need them, but I need you.”

“You need me?” Cozette spoke in disbelief.

“Of course. I need you to pretend.”

11.

Sophie

Montagne North, Gemmes

She packed her bag quickly. Stuffing a few dresses, a comb and stockings in the satchel; she realized in annoyance that Henri stood in the doorway watching.

She resolved not to speak to him, because what would she say? That leaving made her happy? Because it did. Or that he should’ve told the truth a long time ago … but he hadn’t. No. There was nothing more to say. In a way, she felt relief. Leaving was something she feared she’d never have the guts to actually do. Meeting Miora tonight gave her the motivation she needed to get the Hedge away.

“Jou-Jou, can I at least walk you to the caravans?”

“You will even if I tell you no.”

“That’s true.”

Sophie turned to face him. She wanted to want to slap him or yell at him or disagree with him. Buried beneath her indignation hid the truth, her sliver of fear. Fear that living life alone wouldn’t be quite as adventurous as life with him.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked, melancholy eyes looking at her hardened ones. She had to remain a blank slate in order to go through with this. Leaving.

“I’ve never been more sure of a single thing in my entire life.” Sophie tied her bag shut, and put her hand on the door, wanting to leave.

“Remember when we were children and our mothers would let us stay in this room for hours in the winter? How we would plot ways to torment the children in the village and to sabotage the headmaster?” Henri sat on her bed, not taking Sophie’s cue.

“I remember but, Henri, this is not the time for a walk down memory lane. If you don’t remember, I’ve suddenly become privy to the fact that my entire childhood was a farce.”

“Not all of it.”

“Yes. All of it.”

“Not you and me. We were real. We are real.”

“Don’t be like this. It’s no secret that I’m not interested in the life you offer me.” She hated herself for getting into this with him. He was ruining the friendship they’d built for seventeen years.

“The kiss was real. At Joseph’s party. I kissed you and you kissed me back.”

“Henri. It was one solitary kiss. One kiss a relationship does not make.” Forcing the issue exhausted her, but he pressed her to explain. “Now. If you’d like to go with me through the woods, you are welcome to escort me,
as a friend
.”

“I will.”

“Good, now let me say good bye to my moth … to Francesca. Meet me in five hours, back here. Try and get some sleep, alright?”

Henri nodded his head, and then slipped out. She hoped he wouldn’t cry in the alleyway or something ridiculous. He did seem quite wounded. How was she to know one single kiss would cause her best friend to become love-crazed?

Sophie attempted to sleep, but her mind reeled with words from Miora, words from her not-mother, words from Henri. She tossed and turned, and then eventually stood and went to say “good-bye.”

Walking into the kitchen, bag slung on her shoulders she saw Francesca wrapping bread and cheese in cloth.

“You don’t have to do that, you know. You aren’t my mother,” Sophie snapped.

“Shush, child. I owe you this. Take the food, and know I don’t hold it against you for wanting to go.”

A moment of stillness passed between them during the time most children would grow emotional over leaving their home for the first time. The time fashioned for tearful goodbyes.

“Take these gems, too.” She held out a modest pouch and Sophie took it, knowing she would need these stones for her trek. The generous gift came unexpected. “These gems are from the man who called you his daughter. Remember, if striking out on your own doesn’t go as you hoped, I am here. I will still be in this small village. The village I came to with a babe in my arms those many years ago. I came here to give you life and you have lived. Even if it wasn’t how you wanted.”

Francesca’s eyes teemed with tears, and the wrinkles of her face revealed how hard raising Sophie had been. Being her mother had taken a toll on her in more ways than one.

“Well, thanks for the gems, and the food. Bread Henri baked, I suppose.” Sophie stuffed it in her pack.

“I suppose he did. He delivers bread here every single morning for you, although he says it’s for us.”

“Yeah well, I owe him one then, okay?”

“Sophie, sometimes the adventure we’re looking for is in front of us.”

“Sure.” Sophie thought her mother a fool. If she had any clue about the omen Miora sentenced her to tonight, she would understand that Sophie had little choice. “Alright, I’m off. I’ll write, so you don’t think wolves or something dramatic has eaten me.”

“I love you, Sophie Bijou.

“I know you do.”

Sophie left her mother’s house without a tear or a hug or a kiss. She left without saying the words her mother spoke, because they meant nothing except expectation. She never thought to say the things she didn’t feel.

Henri waited for her, more distressed than he had looked the night before. It was annoying to see him sullen when she had the ominous fortune looming over her. Henri hadn’t spent the night having his life unravel.

They walked in silence through the trees. The night heavy, and the mood heavy too. Sophie clutched the still warm moonstone necklace. She had no plan of what would happen after Beznik dropped her off in the North, but she’d start her trek east, believing that she would find what she looked for one way or another.

When they reached the clearing where Beznik’s wagon corralled, they both stopped instinctively.
Bohèmes
hitched their horses as early morning yawns crossed the mouths of men preparing to leave. Five wagons were getting hitched to go.

Sophie looked at Henri. His eyes brimmed with tears, his face soft in the places hers was strong.

“Don’t cry, Henri. You’ll embarrass yourself,” Sophie scolded.

“No. It would be impossible to feel embarrassment when all I feel is longing. You are leaving. The girl I have spent my days with, the girl I want to spend my life with, is leaving.”

              Henri took a small box from the pocket of his jacket and offered it to her with a trembling hand.

“This is for you. I wanted to give it to you with the promise of forever strung between us, but I know now that isn’t happening. You never had me in mind when you planned your future.”

“Henri, don’t.” Sophie shook her head. The words he said couldn’t be taken back. Speaking them would change everything between them, forever.

“This is a gift from me to you, no strings attached.”

He held it so solemnly, so un-Henri-like; that she grabbed the box so he would stop looking at her like that.

“Alright.” She stuffed it in the pocket of her dress. “I will keep in touch. Obviously. Letters and such. Okay? Just get over me, all right? Find some silly girl I would hate and fall madly in love to spite me.”

“That is exactly why I love you.”

“Ugh. Henri. No. Don’t say that. I promise you, when we cross paths again; we will have the champagne toast we were supposed to have last night. Until then,
bonjour
.” Sophie leaned in and kissed his cheeks gently, and stole away through the bushes.

Sophie determined to not look back. Looking back would make her weak, and now she needed to be strong. She discreetly walked through the campsites, passing fires with cooling embers. Everyone prepared to leave.

Herself included.

Finding herself outside Beznik’s wagon she smiled with fake enthusiasm, because leaving, without Henri, assumed so much uncertainty. Before, when she imagined becoming a miner, not much changed about
who
Sophie was. Now everything felt different.

Who were her parents? Did they long for adventure as she did? Sophie wanted to hold onto the notion that they left for a noble cause, but Sophie was a bit too jaded for entertaining those sorts of notions for long. The truth was, Sophie’s parents left. Her. She only wanted to know why.

“Sophie!” Beznik called as she walked toward him. His dopey lopsided grin genuine, and Sophie knew she’d be safe in his company.

“Is Emel here?” Sophie asked biting her lip. She wasn’t interested in starting the trip with that girl.

“No, I think she … err … she is sleeping with a friend tonight. It’s you and I, dearie.

“This is more generous than I deserve. I just want to avoid … her.” Sophie pointed to the wagon that turned her world upside down.

“Come on, you can sit up here, keep me company while I drive.” He took Sophie’s hand and helped her up the wooden ladder to the painted wagon’s bench. He walked to the back of the wagon to drop off her bag.

              Beznik took the reigns as the caravan’s line began to move. “I’d best be sitting if I were you. And keep quiet. The others wouldn’t very much like us taking a Gemmes girl with us.”

              “Well, I’m wearing Miora’s moonstone, I must not be all that terrible.”

“Terrible or not, you’ll be a long way from home,” Beznik said. “And I’m not looking at your necklace, the rest of what you are wearing is what I’m admiring.

Sophie looked at her low-cut black dress, her chest indiscriminately perky, and sleeves short for the summer weather exposing her pinky flesh. A bit of her underclothes poked above her neckline. She didn’t bother to push it down. If someone was eager to look, she didn’t much care.

“Alright, Beznik, on with the show.” She tempered his lingering eyes with a staring contest.

Eventually Beznik gave in and laughed with her, his gentle, although forward demeanor, put her at ease, allowing her room to relax.

The wagon began to move and the caravan of
Bohèmes
began their climb to
Montagne North.

Sophie obediently sat, and helped herself to
crème caramels
brushed with sea salt and chocolates infused with lavender that Beznik handed her. “To convince you to be my bride,” he said with his goofy grin. She swooned with each bite and decided Beznik ridiculous in all the right ways, therefore a perfect confidant. Henri was gone, after all. Sophie knew enough to know having a few friends in the world looking out for her wasn’t her worst idea.

After hours of detailing their mostly mundane lives to one another on the bench of that wagon, Sophie realized she would be okay.

              Sophie also realized, for the first time in her life, that friends provided something besides company. At this moment, as she left the only world she knew, she appreciated the distraction.

              The wagon stopped abruptly, and Sophie found herself oddly nostalgic as she stepped out of the cart knowing she wouldn’t return the same way she came. Nothing would be the same from this moment on.

“Now listen, our caravan goes in a circle, clockwise around the country. It is our way. I’m telling you so you can always find me, if you so wish.”

Beznik leaned over to give Sophie a kiss on her cheek. Sophie withdrew at first, not liking the affection, but looking at his optimistic brown eyes and crooked teeth and nose; she shook her head with a smile and let him kiss both cheeks.

“Thank you, Beznik,” Sophie said flatly to the man who’d travelled so far out of his way for her. Even if his motive was to convince her to join his
Bohème
tribe, she needed the ride.

“Off with you, and stay safe. A crazy girl like you could get killed in the woods if it wasn’t for that moonstone warning you of danger,” Beznik cautioned as he lifted her heavy leather pack out of the wagon. “And if you ever change your mind, remember I am still in need of a good wife … but not
too
good!” he said with a wink and a hearty laugh.

“Goodbye, you fool,” she said, shaking her head at him. Sophie turned and slung her bag over her shoulder, and turned toward the path that would lead her to a miner’s village.

Sophie walked for a half a mile, hard to do in her long skirts carrying a heavy pack. She immediately wished she’d asked Henri for some trousers. Although on second thought, that would have been incredibly awkward considering how she left things with him.

Stopping, she caught her breath, and watched the
Bohèmes
amble across the mountain slope, continuing their journey.

She pulled out her loaf of bread, realizing her not-mother had tucked a pouch of jasper in the bag for her, and also several tigers’ eyes and a few pieces of onyx. She knew what a sacrifice her not-mother made by giving them to her. It offered a slight relief. Although Sophie had done her share of petty thievery, finding a place to sleep would be much easier now.

She realized, suddenly, how tired she’d become. She’d expected to sleep in the wagon, but Beznik had been quite the chatterbox, and insisted that the two of them recount all their adventures. Sophie recalled her embarrassment, for Beznik had experienced much more than her, although they were close in age.

She’d never admit it to him, but the stories she shared were slightly exaggerated. Such as the tales she told of the experiences she had with other … ahem … men. She wanted him to think she was accustomed to his forward request for betrothal, of love.