Heart of Stone (13 page)

What sounded like a large stampede of horses whinnied loudly outside and caused Sophie to pull her lips away from Tristan. “What is it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He tugged on her waist, drawing her to him again, as though he didn’t want her to leave for a moment; they were so close to sharing everything.

“Let me look.” Sophie pressed her hands on his bare chest giving her leverage as she rolled off the bed. She pushed aside the curtain and peeked out the window, her eyes filled with alarm at what she saw, or at least thought she saw.

“What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Tristan came to the window and kissed her lips, pulling her waist toward him.

“I think I have.” Sophie pointed out the window, showing Tristan the thing she didn’t have words for.

Half horse, half ghost. A silvery white stallion stood with his forelegs high in the air, with an ethereal man on top of him. Sophie thought if she looked away, they might not exist, and that is why she didn’t understand when Tristan grabbed her by the shoulders and spoke with urgency.

“We must go. Now!”

19.

King Marcus

Palace Royal, Gemmes

“What do you mean you’ve searched everywhere?” he screamed at the guard.

              “Your Highness, there are plenty of garnets, but none like you described. We have only pink garnet stones. You asked for Red. Blood red. But there is none.”

The guard shivered in fear; the king pushed him away in disgust.

“Drake!” he bellowed through the vault. “Vault” being a humble name for this deep and cavernous oubliette built to house the gemstones hauled here by the hands of miners, all belonging to the king.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Drake answered, he looked tired, as though he had spent his day alongside the many guards searching for the red garnet that stood apart from the rest.

“That imbecile of a guard says there isn’t a single red stone. Is this true?” He spoke with disgust dripping off his tongue. Within a day, he had transformed from a steadily unkind king, to a devastatingly angry man.

“It is true.” Drake shook his head. “What I don’t understand is
how
? Every single gemstone that enters this vault is recorded. Look, a red garnet was brought here, twenty years ago. No one kept a record of this gem leaving the vault. Look at the ledger,” Drake said, handing a large, heavy book to Marcus.

Drake scrolled his fingers down the column, “I have poured over this book, as have the historian and the accountant. No one can find a notation for when the garnet left.”

Marcus knew how important keeping precise records were. He took much pride in the accuracy, just as his father and his grandfather before him had done. They knew the key to keeping the gems safe within the palace walls. Losing track of even one of the many stones would cause a break down, quickly. Theft would follow, guards no longer trusted. Chaos incarnate.

Indicating each transaction was the trick of it, with the weight of the stone, color and type carefully documented in the ledger. This ensured nothing would ever be stolen or lost.

At least, in theory.

“So someone has stolen from me, the King of Gemmes?” Marcus yelled.

Drake clenched his jaw; having practiced patience with Marcus for years. This was no exception.

“The threat of treason against the king keeps the stones safe from thievery,” Drake spoke with a tempered tone. “I wonder … have you ever authorized a gem to be taken out of the vault? Without the accountant aware?”

“Of course not!” he shouted without pause.

Then Marcus’s jaw went slack, and his face went white.

There
had
only been one time.

One solitary time.

One solitary night.

The night everything changed for Marcus.

The night, he now realized with terror pulsing through his veins, when he forced the last jewel needed for the elusive
Trésor de L’espoir
, into the chest of his daughter, the princess.

He’d watched as the devins-guérisseur
pressed her hands against the cold chest of Queen Cozette. A thin thread of life dragged over her pale skin, exhausted from childbirth, but also headed toward the hope of being invited to the Hedge. It was clear this spell wasn’t for the faint of heart.

“Aimée. Hand me the child, I must speak to the king. Alone.” Tamsin spoke with influence. Time was short.

Aimée, with shell-shocked eyes, handed over the baby. The king was left with her, and she told him what was required.

“You will die if you want the queen to live. I must carve out your strong heart, and replace her broken one with yours. This magic is dark, but the power is real. You can still live, a while at least. A stone for a heart is the only way.”

Tamsin followed by explaining the way the spell would be cast, and when she finished the room was silent. The babe made not a noise, now sleeping soundly after such an exhausting night. The king looked between the two girls before him, weighing the cost.

“How old is the queen?” Tamsin asked.

“Eighteen years.”

“Then the spell will break in eighteen years. I can only insure the lifespan to be as long as the one traded for.”

“She will die in eighteen years? I can’t lose my queen, she is my life!”

“Not the queen. You will die in eighteen years. The spell will break and the heart of stone will no longer be bound by the incantation. I don’t want to grant anyone access to Death’s door, but life doesn’t always afford the choices we want.” Her voice was sharp, the cost was clear.

“I understand. It must be done.” The king spoke with finality. Tamsin had no choice, she would do his bidding or she would die. “But not my heart. I can’t leave her, or the kingdom. I want life. Life with her.”

The king spoke words Tamsin didn’t expect to hear. She shook her head.

“There is no other way. I need a heart, a heart surging with true love for the other. No heart of a servant will do. It must be someone truly connected in love, bound in life.”

“Not mine. Use the child’s. The child’s heart will work. Do it.” He pointed his finger toward the sleeping babe, innocent and pure.

Tamsin shivered in understanding. “Splitting open the babe’s heart would work, but the pain it would cause the queen to know the choice you made will change her. A daughter with a ticking clock bound to her life’s breath. Do you want that?”

“It must be done,” he said piercingly. “Can you do it?”

“This is dark material; perhaps the reason the old king had ordered death to the devins-guérisseur’s before me. I’m a simple folk.”

“Answer the question,” Marcus demanded.

“Yes, I learned this magic as a child, but it will bind me to a darker world. The hope of eternity spent in the Hedge would evaporate; they only accepted the worthy.” Her eyes flooded with tears, this request Marcus made would change the lives of everyone in this room. No one would be spared.

“Do it, and be gone.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” Tamsin’s lips quivered, the shame associated with this kind of magic already seemed to steal her courage. “Have one of your men bring a gem. A small one that will fit in the tiny cavity. The color and sort matters not.”

Seventeen years and eleven months ago he had called a guard to withdraw a stone, any stone would do. He had handed it to the
devins-guérisseur,
a young woman who cast a dark spell
,
summoned by his men. He realized with horror the truth.

He stole his daughter’s living organ, and gave her a heart of stone. Hiding this buried truth held no gain.

He needed to come clean to Cozette, because now he needed to find his daughter. He needed the gem.

“Mon Dieu!” he shouted, leaving the vault.

20.

Tristan

En Route to Provence de Frontiere, Gemmes

“
Merde
.
Merde
.
Merde
.” Tristan kept walking, shaking his head, and pushing his fingers through his hair, causing the waves to upend. They had walked for two hours already. Still he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, to see if anyone closed in on them.

Sophie rolled her eyes.

“I don’t get why you’re freaking out. Even if it was the Hedge … which I highly doubt … what would they want with us? Surely they don’t need some measly gems.”

Tristan rolled his eyes for a change.

He was consumed with this girl, but Hedge, was she difficult. Not like the girls he usually met. No, Sophie had an opinion and an attitude about everything. If things weren’t so stressful, he would have the energy to entertain her ridiculous whims and fancy – but as it were, someone was chasing him.

“Look, Sophie, I know the king has informants tracking me. That is nothing new. He has spies everywhere, but this is different. You saw those beasts. They weren’t of this world.”

Tristan repositioned his backpack, and kept his steady clip through the trees. He’d rushed to get Sophie out of the
Aubérge,
without stopping to get a good look at the animals. He knew the king had an infantry, but this was otherworldly.

“Oh goodness, Tristan. What’s the big deal? We left before they saw us. They have no idea who we are. That we are on the run. From them.”

It was as if the moment the silvery rider saw them together, he fled. Tristan couldn’t shake the truth: they were being followed. By something or someone. Whoever it was had tracked him quickly. No one but Tamsin knew where he headed next.

“You said you were friends with
Bohèmes
. Was that them?” Tristan asked, an edge to his voice.

“No. The
Bohèmes
are harmless. They don’t do anything but play fiddles over bon fires. Oh, and give terrifying stone readings.”

Sophie shoved another chocolate in her mouth. He swore she lived off of sugary confections. Unfortunately, he realized, it didn’t help with her sour mood.

The day turned to night as they moved east through the woods, and Tristan’s body ached. His shoulders were tender from his heavy pack, and his feet were worn from the fast pace. This morning had started off so well, Sophie gave him the best gift in the world. The eight-sided diamond. Then they were in his room, and Sophie had been so willing to give herself to him. He would have taken her.

Then the rider’s showed up and changed everything.

“Where are you taking us, anyways?” Sophie asked loudly, though Tristan had repeatedly requested her to be quieter. “We’ve walked for hours.”

“I’m taking you to Tamsin’s house. She’ll know what to do. We can rest tonight, but if we want to make it there by tomorrow we need to move at dawn.”

“Fine,” she huffed as they rounded the corner toward a small clearing, well covered by the trees looming overhead.

“Let’s stop here for the night. I’m beat.” Tristan dropped his bag at the base of a large oak tree. He started untying the canvas tarp that hung from the bottom of his pack. “I’ll set up the tent.”

“Lovely.” Sophie tightened her lips. “You know, you didn’t answer my question. About taking me to the city of
Éclat
when this is all over.”

Tristan stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her. Really look at her. He found it impossible to describe in words what she meant to him. He was drawn to her, obviously. Not in a gentle way. In a visceral, tormenting sort of way. In a rip-her-dress-off sort of way. In a need-to-be-consumed-by-her sort of way. In a way one shouldn’t say out loud.

That is what scared him. He didn’t trust himself with her.

“I will take you anywhere and everywhere. I need to find this last stone, first. I need you with me. I don’t want to lose sight of you. Do you understand?” He walked to her and took her hands in his.

She looked at him. Her tangled hair across her face, but her deep dark eyes told him that she understood perfectly.

It appeared a romantic, tender moment for Tristan, a moment where he confessed his feelings to her. But Sophie didn’t let him become sentimental.

“How about picking up where we left off?” She eyed him seductively, tempting him.

He let her. A girl willing to take the reins fulfilled every man’s fantasy. He didn’t want to be the resistor.

“Were you like this with your
beau
Henri?” he asked, testing the waters, as she tugged at his shirt. The air was warm in the dusk. A summer breeze floated through the air filling him with memories of the sea. Tristan clearly more sentimental than he’d like to admit.

“I wasn’t like this with him.” She sighed, and shook her head. “Not that he ever tried. I suppose if he had, all on his own, I wouldn’t have resisted.”

Tristan moved his hands across the small of her back and she leaned toward him, pressing her chest against his. It filled him with desire. Her chest was warm. Too warm.

“What is this for?” he asked, pulling out the hot moonstone from under her blouse.

“A gift from the
Bohème
stone reader. Miora
.
The one who told me to run away. Why?” She leaned in and kissed his lips. He wanted to keep moving, but he hesitated.

Tristan drew back slightly, causing her to moan at his pulling away.

“Are you kidding me?” Sophie whined. “You have a girl in the woods, ready to pull off her clothes and you want to debate a stupid necklace?”

As she spoke, the moonstone grew hotter still, burning her skin.

“Ouch.” She grabbed the stone and yanked it off her neck.

“Why did she give you that?” Tristan felt a bit ill. His usually rosy face drained of color, like he was one of those ghost riders himself.

“At the reading she basically told me all about my death and demise. Apparently this stone is supposed to warn of a threat nearby.”

“The ghost riders. They’re following us; aren’t they?” Tristan’s eyes grew wide in fright. He looked at Sophie again, this time differently, like she wasn’t the person he thought.

“Fine. We can keep walking, if that’s what you mean.” She shoved the stone in her pocket, and leaned over to fold the tarp. “I didn’t know you were so superstitious.”

Tristan thought back to the moment he met her, at the
Aubérge.
She sat by herself, eating soup so nonchalant. She traveled alone, had no qualms about hiking in the woods with him, a stranger. As much as he wanted her, he knew that sort of behavior from a female companion was erratic at worst, irrational at best. 

She seemed to have no regard for the world in which she lived. No regard for him, for that matter. She wanted his body; which was a compliment one couldn’t reject … especially him. He was a wooer of woman, no doubt. She hadn’t shown any real concern for him as a person.

Suspicion flooded his mind again, that Sophie was the one after him, his
trésor
. Not the supposed ghost riders. Not the King’s Légion. She could be here, right now, to get the
Trésor de L’espoir
herself. She reacted ridiculously uninformed when he explained trackers. Surely no one was that out of touch with the world.
And she had the diamond!

“Why did you come to the woods with me? Why are you here, now? Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asked, but his voice grew loud as he kept looking at this girl before him, trying to figure out what was real and what wasn’t.

“I came because you asked me. Because I ran away from home and you are handsome and told me funny stories and I wanted to be with you,” she hurled back. “I came because I have nowhere else to go!” She glared at him, obviously offended by his questions. By him.

But he didn’t care.

The
Trésor de L’espoir
held more worth than she, and he knew Uncle Rémy would be furious at his foolish behavior, bringing a stranger into their pot.
But
look at her
, he thought to himself,
so delicious, so tempting.

“We need to get to Tamsin. She’ll know if I can trust you or not.”

“Are you kidding me? You don’t trust me anymore? What, you think I’m some
trésor
-stalker? I’m the one who gave you the precious diamond. I trusted you!”

Sophie threw the tent tarp to the ground and took her pack from the forest floor.

“Do not come after me. I swear I will hurt you if you do. You’re too scared to come near me, anyways. You can’t handle a woman like me. I shouldn’t have bothered with a boy like you.” She spit the words in his face. “You aren’t a real Gem Tracker, you know that? You rely on an old
sorcière
in the woods to give you your clues. A real tracker could manage without the dust of a
devins-guérisseur
.”

She started running away, deep in the woods, vanishing the same way she had entered his life. All at once.

He didn’t chase her. He felt a fool. Driven by his lust for this foolish girl, he nearly threw away everything to be with her. He’d gotten what he needed. The eight-sided diamond was in his possession, and he would find the blood red garnet, too.

I’ll prove that ridiculous girl wrong
, he thought.

Her words had cut at the heart of things, though. He didn’t feel good enough, accomplished. He sought this
trésor
like a child, hoping to become worthy, important enough … once it was found. Deep down he believed she knew the truth, that he wasn’t good at tracking. He
did
rely on Tamsin and Uncle Rémy, and rode on their coattails all the way to the floorboards at Madame Josephine’s.

He took off the opposite route of Sophie, and the opposite direction to Tamsin’s house.

He went south, alone, determined to find the final stone all by himself.