Heart of Stone (10 page)

“Sorry, about your parents, I mean.” Sophie spoke instinctually, knowing her words were the sort of thing appropriate to say in the moment. After all, Tristan did look sad when he mentioned them.

“Well, sounds like you don’t have your parents either. I mean, you’re here. Alone. Only girls who have nowhere else to go would be here with me.”

“I have a mother. Or I had. I don’t know. Honestly, it’s all rather confusing. Basically what I thought was true isn’t, so I left and I am here.”

Sophie wasn’t interested in the conversation, and Tristan moved to where she sat, finding a stump next to her for himself. He brushed her hair from her eyes. She froze at his touch. She wished she hadn’t.

“So this woman, Tamsin, she tells you where to go?”

Sophie used a stick to stir the fire, trying not to appear as tense as she felt. Her body felt like the fire. Things stirred inside of her, much like the flames.

“She sees things, and that helps direct me, also she seems connected to this legend in ways she won’t say. It’s like she knows more than she lets on. Does that make sense?”

“I had a stone reading before. The
Bohéme
woman who read the stones seemed to hold something back, to spare me some awful truth. So, yes. It makes sense.”

“After I visit Tamsin, I have this gut feeling that everything she says is true. Not like in my heart, deeper down. Do you ever feel that way?” Tristan asked directly. He didn’t beat around the bush with anything.

“I think I do.”

She never had the pitter-patter Henri did. He told her that his heart pounded fast, or that his heart led him to a decision – or like the night before, when he handed her the box. He said he just followed his heart.

Sophie never understood those sorts of words. It wasn’t a feeling she ever had.

But a gut-reaction? Yes. Sophie knew all about that. 

“Do you have a gut feeling about us? Being here, together?” she asked. She wasn’t coy. She wanted to know. She needed to.

“I do,” he answered.

“I suppose you want your gift?” she asked looking into his eyes. He nodded yes, ever so slightly.

Sophie leaned over, just as she’d wanted to do earlier, and kissed him.

They kissed with hands in one another’s hair, fingers grabbing hold, hungry. They kissed with deep, gasping for breath, passion. The kiss Sophie wanted, and once his breath blew in her ear and her hands were on his chest, she craved more.

Tristan gave her what she wanted.

The kisses were jagged, breathless, uneven.

Tristan pulled away, smiling dangerously.

“You will be the end of me, Bijou.”

“I think this is the beginning.”

He drew away again, first. Pushing his fingers through his hair, he paced in front of the fire pit. Sophie watched as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Come back here,” she said, patting the make shift settee fashioned from a log.

“I don’t trust myself with you.”

“I didn’t ask for your trust,” Sophie answered, laughing. “I am not a girl of prized virtue, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No … I just … you mean more than you should…more than anything … anyone I know … it scares me, it’s too much, too fast.”

“I will let it be then. Sort out your feelings alone.” She huffed, standing, clearly annoyed at his lack of follow through. “But honestly, Tristan. It is the modern age, you know. It doesn’t need to be anything more than two people having a good time.” Sophie walked to the bunkhouse.

“I think I want more than a good time,” Tristan muttered as she slipped through the doorway.

Sophie unrolled her sleeping blanket in the dusty bunkhouse. A bare plank wood floor, empty of the items making it a bunkhouse. The place had been ransacked, the door missing, but better than nothing. She slipped off her boots and opened her pack, pulling out a shawl for her shoulders. She touched her fingers to her lips, remembering Tristan’s mouth on hers and blushed. She regretted things ending as quickly as they did. She didn’t want Tristan to get all soft on her like Henri.

She rummaged in her bag for a hair comb to help maintain her tangled mess, all the messier from her tousle with Tristan. Her hand brushed against a small box.

Henri’s box.

She couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at the thought of him. Just one night ago he had promised his devotion to her, and she rejected it. But Tristan and Henri could not compare. Where Tristan proved wild, Henri remained loyal.

She wanted wild.

She would do anything to ensure this escapade with Tristan continued. She didn’t want regular life anymore.

Holding that black box in her hand, she knew how valuable the contents must be to a baker’s apprentice. He had given it to her freely, asking for nothing in return.

He wanted her heart, and she refused.

She opened the box, only because she missed him. She missed him not in longing-loving way. She missed him like she would miss a limb severed from her body.

Her jaw-dropped in disbelief at the contents of the box. She’d never seen this shining bauble before, and she couldn’t comprehend the reason Henri possessed such a stone.

Although she’d never seen it, she’d read of it just today in the
Seigneur des Cavernes
. According to the legend, only an exceedingly lucky eye could discover this transformative jewel. A jewel meant to appeal on the deepest level. The book said it would be eight-sided, the size of a plum, and clear as the water in the Sea of Gemmes.

This stone was the very diamond Tristan searched for. And Sophie had it.

She pulled the diamond from the box, and realized it was gilded to a golden band. A flash of doubt crossed her mind. Maybe it wasn’t the sixth stone Tristan wanted. She couldn’t remember the book mentioning a ring.

She slipped it on her narrow finger, instantly it felt a part of her.  Sophie didn’t fancy herself like other frivolous girls, but an absolute thirst surrounded this stone.

Considering its size, one would think it heavy, but in fact it was weightless. Holding it up to her eye, she saw straight through the gem. Clear as a windowpane.

She found herself looking through the doorframe, at Tristan who still sat by the fire. Her stomach twisted in a bundle of knots as she considered giving this gem to Tristan. She knew they were up here looking for this very diamond, the reason Tamsin had sent Tristan this way in the first place. The ring must be the reason Tristan was drawn to her. A Gem Tracker through and through and he had tracked her down.

Still.

Henri had given it to her.

Giving it away felt wrong. But finding the
trésor
felt so right.

She watched Tristan walk toward the bunkhouse. Swallowing nervously, Sophie pulled the ring off her finger, pressed it back in the box, and flung it in the pack. 

The decision could wait.

14.

Tamsin

Provence de Frontiere, Gemmes

Tamsin buried her head in her hands. Shaking hands. Hands that hurt. Hands that healed. Hands carrying secrets. Secrets of another life, the life Tamsin always tried to forget. The dream, really a nightmare, always terrified her. The dark-haired girl, screams in the night, a chest spliced open
.
But tonight it felt different.

Tamsin covered her face, as if a simple gesture blocked the images that haunted her. But nothing could block what she remembered,

She threw a look of utter disgust at the man who had not glanced at the child just born. He had no care for the helpless baby. The king was a monster like his father who had ordered all devins-guérisseurs to die. The man who forced Tamsin into seclusion, into living a secret life in the forest. She had lived a simple life of her own choosing, and she wasn’t going to lose it because she was called here tonight against her will.

Now this man, borne from the man she hated, needed her.

Tamsin quickly surveyed the scene. The babe was small, but with one look Tamsin knew her heart was resilient; she just needed her airways cleared after such a tumultuous labor.

Aimée held the baby out to Tamsin. She used a cloth to sweep away the blood from the child.

“See to the queen. She needs to deliver the afterbirth. Rub this ointment on her belly to help contract.” Tamsin handed a small jar to the midwife who did as she ordered.

Tamsin used her fingers to open the baby’s mouth and scoop the mucous lodged in her throat. She pressed gently against the child’s chest chanting words of life to her,

“Into this world you enter, my dear,

bearing the worry, bearing the fear.

Open your heart and open your mind,

in your deliverance, truth you will find.”

A yowl followed, echoing the chamber, as the newborn girl took her first breaths of life, demanding to be heard. Tamsin felt a rush of relief, and handed the child to Aimée, knowing the real work was still to be done.

The queen remained silent and still.

The nightmare was no dream. It was real. As she steadied herself from waking, her heart filled with sorrow and shame. Tamsin returned to the thoughts she repeated over and over again,
Moments strung together determine who we are, who we will become. Moments etch out our history before it is lived.
Tamsin, a prisoner in her choices, the deeds she delivered. The woman she became.

Tamsin felt the shift in the air, a shift she had been waiting for ever since the dreams began coming. The dreams reminded her of the death date that marched forward, pressing in on her, not letting her forget her part in the impending sacrifice.

She lowered herself down the steep ladder of the loft and passed Rémy. He snored loudly, sleeping in her bed. He strengthened with her concoctions, and the time and space to heal. She whispered relief as she passed him, thankful to not be alone tonight. Everything would be revealed soon enough, telling him would be a welcome release; she would no longer carry the secret of that night. Of so many nights.

She crept out the door of her cottage and breathed in the scent of lemongrass and sandalwood drifting through the trees. It hung heavy in the air as an omen. A death cry. Death of what was, or is, or is to come. The night Tamsin had waited for since the fateful eve nearly eighteen years ago, arrived at last. Crimes against humanity do not go unpunished.

Secrets do not remain secret, no matter how deep in the forest they are buried.

She could bury her head no more.

Lifting her face, she called out, knowing those who needed to hear, would. She had practiced these sacred words, words only certain souls knew. Words she hoped would be her deliverance, even though they would also be her death.

“Come out from the Hedge, from the line between this world and the next. Find your place among the living.” She stood, finding buried strength, the kind of strength she needed now. “I call upon the magic of the healers before me. Magic denied to itself for reasons of mercy. I call upon that magic now.”

Tamsin shook in fear, her heart beating fast, as she remembered the treasonous night so long ago. She had cast a spell that split apart mother and child, which gave life and sentenced death. She called upon magic again, but this magic was different. The words she spoke this night were eternal, were from the place in between. She called these words and the Hedge Riders answered.

As she stood at the front door of her moss-covered cottage, deep under the arms of oak trees, she saw the Riders in their ghost-like glory. They were mounted on steeds not of this world. Not horses from a mythological dark netherworld, either, where beasts gnashed teeth and demanded to be heard. No, the legendary Hedge Riders came from the ethereal space between reality and dream. From a line that rarely has the privilege to be crossed.

The leader of the Hedge Riders sat upon a silvery four-legged beast twice the size of the dozen behind him. He appeared strong and not quite a man, more like a ghostly mirage of splendor. He sat magnificent in his silver cloak and flowing white hair.

He clasped the hand of the Hedge Rider beside him.  A woman-like creature, but more than a woman. More than a human. More than anything Tamsin dreamt up. Even as a child when she read of the Riders in her books of fairy tales, never did she imagine them so impressive. The female Rider radiated glory. She glowed under the moon-filled sky. They were an ethereal pair, majestic in their grandeur. Majestic in their power.

The leader called out to Tamsin in a gentle yet commanding voice, “I am Victor, and this is Treala.” He opened his hand wide beckoning the regal woman beside him. “I answer the castings you made this night. You call upon the Hedge, dark healer. We know why you call. Tell us your desire.” 

Tamsin swallowed hard, knowing the reckoning arrived. The time to cower had passed, she needed to be strong. She spoke.

“We must find the girl. The girl with a heart of stone. The girl whose heart I took. The girl whose birth subjected me to the dark magic of my ancestors. The girl whom I will give my life for now.” Tamsin’s voice held steady, although her innards quaked in her admission. She had never said these words aloud before.

Tamsin continued to explain to the Riders of the babe she carried in her arms, and how the signs were few, yet she knew now the time to find her approached. The girl must be found; for she was the Princess of Gemmes.

“We will find her, yes, but only because we’ve watched her soul for all the years of her life,” Victor answered.

“You know of her?” Tamsin asked terrified. She knew few things of the Riders, she knew they chose souls worthy of dwelling with them in the Hedge. She knew they had deep connections with their partners in the afterlife. She knew few were invited to live beyond the parameters of this earth, and that if they chose you, it meant you were worthy in their eyes. Not because you were good or bad, but
because you were
.

“This girl caught our eye because the magic you performed on her changed her,” Treala said strongly. “She hasn’t lived fully, nor did she die quickly. She is tethered to the in-between. She has spent her life in a Hedge of sorts.”

“You have practiced this magic in the shadows of the forest, yes?” Victor asked, though clearly he knew the answer, and his wispy eyes beseeched her.

Tamsin nodded. She hated herself for using the dark magic she loathed, but she had. After the queen, there had been more. So many more. Time and time again she had used the magic when the people in need found her in the woods, seeking help. Tamsin knew the Hedge was her only chance at redemption.

If they would help her.

If they helped her find Sophie she could offer her own heart as a living sacrifice. And Sophie would live. Tamsin hoped, in the shadowy lining of her own dark heart, that she might be worthy of the Hedge. That her own murky deeds might be forgiven in this offering. That they would see her carve out her own heart for the girl and that the Riders would take her back with them.

Victor solemnly bowed to Tamsin. They had never met before, yet Tamsin always knew the Hedge existed. Her own lineage garnered little honor. Her mother and grandmother taught her to cast spells when darker magic reigned. Then genocide came to the
devins-guérisseurs
. Rulers demanded death to the pagan spellcasters, declaring cunning folk to be hung.

Death came to Tamsin’s family. The death Tamsin narrowly escaped. Youth and wisdom spared her life.

She may not be so lucky twice. Lucky enough to be chosen. The Hedge Riders were powerful and beautiful, death-defying. It is not an easy place to tread … the place between life and death.

For so many days she had been haunted. Haunted by the vision of the knife plunging in the newborn’s chest. Haunted by the screams of the midwife Aimée in the shadowy night. Haunted by the black shriveled heart of the now breathing queen. She would do anything to make her wrongs right.

She would do what she hadn’t had the courage to do before.

She would give of herself when the princess was found and hope for the chance to live in the dangerous in-between.