Heart of Stone (4 page)

“It is not just for fun, boy. Sophie, where were you born?” Miora asked, her voice quieter as she focused on the answer.

“I was born here, and I’ve always lived here. With my parents, until my papa died, five years ago.”

“Actually, you moved here when you were a baby, Sophie,” Henri corrected.

“What are you talking about?” Sophie asked.

“No, I just think I’ve heard my mother tell yours how they moved here when you were a wee babe. Of course you wouldn’t remember.” Henri smiled not realizing this information was news to Sophie.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“Tell you what? I thought you’d know. Why would I say,
‘By the way, Sophie, you weren’t born in this village?
’?”

An uncomfortable moment passed, where the two friends looked at one another, and felt a shift. Not the kind Miora felt. Something between them alone, where they realized maybe they had more secrets then they thought.

“Draw again,” Miora said, breaking the pause.

The fourth corner represented Sophie’s thoughts on the matter. Sophie pulled meteorite from the bag. 

“Meteorite is The Star stone. For you it means travel.”

“Well, Sophie is planning on leaving for the mines,” Henri scoffed. 

“Shut it. It was just an idea. It wasn’t carved in stone.” Sophie didn’t like her thoughts thrown back at her, and she certainly didn’t like the idea of her plans meshing with this stone reading. A reading she was growing agitated with. She wanted an evening filled with champagne and mockery. Not anything serious.

“Are you going to the mines, child?” Miora asked this pensively.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Sophie licked her lips and pulled the final stone from the bag, setting it on the point facing her.

The gemstone was smooth to touch, but had a sharp edge to it. It was one she recognized. It was in the
trésor
chest at home, and worth more than all the others her mother had saved. It was a slender piece of amber, warm with yellow tones across the surface, and a trace of darker orange on the perimeter. It calmed Sophie to see something she recognized.

When she looked up and saw Miora’s clouded grey eyes become clear, and Emel’s hand held to her mouth in shock, she knew she was wrong about the calming properties she thought she saw.

“What is it?” Sophie asked evenly, trying to be like the smooth amber before her.

“The fifth corner represents the final outcome,” Emel recited, as though she had worked hard on memorizing the points.

“And amber … what does it mean?”

Miora hands clutched the moonstone at her neck. She looked at Sophie with trepidation before she answered.

“Death.”

5.

Tamsin

Provence de Fronteire, Gemmes

She woke with a start. The piercing screams of the dark-haired girl with ruby red lips haunted not only at night, but also her naps, apparently. The visions had grown worse as each day she crept closer toward the day of the girl’s eighteenth year. The screams called for help. Tamsin tried to ignore them.

In her sleep she constantly replayed the night her life changed nearly eighteen years earlier,

She stepped in the queen’s chamber with trepidation in her heart. She wasn’t to be here, a forbidden soul like all devins-guérisseurs. Sentenced to death if caught like all cunning folk behind her. She was the last of her kind, and she was here anyway.

The king had summoned her.

The wailing from the bed took her breath away. Turning her head toward the cry, she saw the queen. A babe herself not twenty years of age, yet a full belly, distended with the king’s heir. Tamsin and the queen were nearly the same age, yet what different lives these two had lived.

The midwife Aimée, who had told the king where to find help, moved toward Tamsin.

With whispers she spoke, and Tamsin absorbed her words, “The queen’s in distress. The baby hasn’t descended; it’s held this way for hours. I’m out of ideas, short of slicing open the queen.”

Tamsin nodded her head slowly, knowing she had no choice but to help. She didn’t want to be here and she hated Aimée for revealing who she was to the Palace. It was a death sentence. The king would kill her if she didn’t try. The king and queen were not known for their generosity. They were known as the most ruthless pair ever to rule Gemmes.

She opened the satchel slung over her strong shoulders. “Give her this potion. She will deliver the babe within minutes.” Tamsin handed the small bottle to Aimée and everything changed for Gemmes, and for her.

              The day had turned to night while she slept in the chair, and her fire needed rekindling. She stood from her comfortable seat and took a hand full of sticks to the fire to fan the dying flames.

              Heading in the kitchen, she started brewing tea for her soon-to-arrive company.
She knew they were coming before they knocked on her heavy wooden door. She set her kettle on the stove, after filling three mugs with boiling water in preparation for them. The aroma of anise and mint saturated the air as the leaves expressed their secret smells.

              Tamsin loved these visits. Even though she knew Rémy could never give her what she wanted, and that Tristan was prone to reckless living, she cared not. They were connected regardless of how Tristan behaved at the
Aubérge,
she easily dismissed his youthful behavior. For she had promised his mother, years before, that she would always keep her eye out for him. Little did she know that her eye would become her heart. She would do anything for Tristan. Anything for Tristan and Remy.

              “Tamsin?” Tristan called, after a heavy knock. He swung open the door, not waiting for her to answer. He didn’t know much about patience. No one required it of him.

              “Come sit, have some tea,” Tamsin spoke gently to him, in the motherly way she was used to. Although Tamsin was merely thirty-eight years old to Tristan’s eighteen, she knew there was a large divide between the two that a few decades would never cross, no matter how close they were to being a make-shift family. Tamsin had secrets. Tristan was an open book.

              “Thank you, my dearie,” he leaned over and kissed her cheek. Tristan was a tall and handsome man. His parents would be proud to see him so grown, had they lived to see him past the age of ten.

              Thankfully his Uncle Rémy was there at the sea that day when the oceans current carried them both away. Tristan’s naivety was swept away with them that summer day, turning him into a man with nothing to lose– having already lost the most precious thing.

“I’m not alone. Uncle Rémy is here.” Tristan pointed out the door, and the silhouette of a man Tamsin knew stood behind him.

              “I know, Tristan. You forget so quickly that I can see the unseen.” Tamsin held out her hand, for Rémy, guiding him to the warmth of the living room. He grabbed onto it, as she led him to the chair he always sat in when he was in her home. Over a month had passed since Tamsin had seen Rémy, and he didn’t look well. “How are you feeling?” Tamsin asked, sitting in another old worn chair by the fire. Her cottage was more than modest; it was meager. Garlic ropes hung from the rafters, jars lined bookshelves with concoctions, spices dried in bundles on an abandoned clothesline over the fire.

Sage burned earlier and the dusty smell lingered in the air. It felt like healing magic. It felt like home.

“Not well. My cough is getting worse. I wanted to stay in the
Aubérge
in the Southern Montage, but Tristan insisted I come to you. He thought it foolish of me to stay unattended.”

“That was good of you,” Tamsin smiled at Tristan, who carried their steaming mugs.

“The least I can do for this old man,” Tristan joked, his half smile pulled up, for just a moment. The way it did every time he tried to hide his fear. He couldn’t hide much from Tamsin, she knew him too well.

“He’s not so old, only a handful of years older than me. He has lots of life yet. He just needs my remedies more often. Daily, not monthly.” Tamsin spoke to these two casually, knowing the real reason they were here.

Clues.

She knew, but she didn’t care. For whatever reason she was able to help them in their quest with the simple leadings of her heart. She would have an inkling to where the next stone was located when in Tristan’s presence, and his alone. The things she shared, the directions, guided them. She was happy to help; someday she might share in the
trésor
Rémy promised her. Not that she wanted the wealth the gems might offer, she wanted to be there with Rémy, with Tristan. The closet thing she had to a family.

Tamsin cared little for the promise of
trésor
; her aim was to do whatever good she could with her magic. She had already done so much evil.

“We were hoping he might stay here, Tamsin. He is too weak to go with me.”

Tamsin nodded, as if it wasn’t a question for Rémy to stay. Of course he could.

“And we are so close, I need to keep searching. I have two stones left to find. Look, do you want to see the one we found in the South?” Tristan’s eyes sparkled, just like his mothers had when she spoke of the adventures her brother Rémy had, so far from the world the two women knew. Tristan’s mother would be so happy knowing her son had found adventure for himself.

He wanted this
trésor
so badly. Tamsin hoped once it was found, this boy she loved might find some real purpose in life, something deeper to live for, fight for. Something immaterial. Something real.

Someone to love.

“Show me what you’ve found,” Tamsin said, smiling. She knew he loved this part the most, showing off his perfectly cut gemstones, dug out of the earth with his bare hands.

“It’s a good one Tamsin. It is the same color of your eyes,” Rémy spoke quietly before he took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, coughing loudly in the worn linen.

Tamsin’s blushing cheeks were hidden by the fires glow, but the blush was there if you looked close enough. She pushed away thoughts of Rémy’s once strong, chiseled cheeks and broad shoulders, now over shadowed by a hunch due to the fatigue from the constant hacking of his gem-flecked lungs.

Rémy never pursued her, when all those years he could have. She knew he was focused on one thing, and one thing alone. The same thing as Tristan:
trésor
. The idea that her helping them might bring them together was a dream discarded years ago.

She never deserved love, not after the heinous way she treated love’s own beating heart.

“It’s a sapphire.” Tristan grinned, his tanned face livened by the bright blue stone in his palm. He handed it to her, the one who helped him find it.

“A stone said to bring tranquility in times of great stress and turmoil,” Tamsin said knowingly. Her words were hushed and she took the stone from Tristan, gingerly, as if the minerals within the sapphire might relieve some of the pain in her own heart. Goodness knows nothing else ever had the power to relieve her of her past.

“It also means royalty,” Tristan said, standing tall, as if relishing in the moment. He looked royal himself. “Which is why Uncle Rémy and I have decided to bestow it unto you, for safe keeping. You are the royal queen of this hunt!”

“No, no, no.” Tamsin shook her head and pushed the stone to Rémy, sitting beside her.

She wanted to help them because she could, not because she wanted something in return. She no longer performed magic for gain. That is why she lived in such a humble home; she wouldn’t accept anything in return for her skills. She wanted to feel her penance daily. It was the only way she knew how to make her wrong right.

“I know how you hate payment. So how about this, once all the stones are found, we will request it back. This way, it ensures you will travel with us when we are ready to unlock the
trésor
. In the meantime you can look at it and remember how close we are!” Tristan’s charisma was too charming for Tamsin to ignore.

“Fine, but I’m not keeping it forever, and I don’t need to go with you to the mountain.” Tamsin had bigger reasons for not wanting to go. She never left her forest dwelling for long. Hidden among the shield of the forest was the one place she felt safe. The
Provence de Frontiere
was deep in the heart of the woods, far from the Palace Royale. “Knowing you will be there, claiming it, is enough.

“Hardly, Tamsin.” Rémy spoke so only Tamsin heard. “Hardly.”

“The other four stones are in the
Aubérge
in the
Northern Montagne
, far from the King. Now the fifth stone is with you, deep in the woods,” Tristan said with a smile that turned to a yawn. “How about a clue and then we can go to bed? I’m leaving this old man with you when I leave at dawn.”

***

The next morning Tamsin woke from her recurring nightmare, with a cold sweat beading on her forehead, clinging to her own beating heart as she tried to control her breath.

It was if Aimée, her old friend was back in the room, as if the night was happening all over again,

“You swear it won’t hurt her? The king will take my head if I brought you here to perform magie noire,” Aimee asked.

“I had no choice but to come when the king’s horseman arrived at my door with drawn swords. I will not forget this betrayal, Aimée.” Tamsin shook her head in disgust. Aimée had once been her friend, but no more. They practiced different medicine, and for different customers.

Tamsin had no desire to do the king’s bidding. The king was a cruel man, too young for the power he held and she knew he held power over her.

Aimée went to the queen, who had half a dozen attendants at the birth, though the king wasn’t in sight. She uncorked the bottle and handed the potion to the queen. Tamsin watched as she swallowed it between contractions. Sweat poured down her ivory skin, a mess of tangled black hair flowed over pillows under the canopied bed. A more regal room Tamsin had never seen.

“Aagghhhhhh,” wailed the queen, as she pressed her hands against the bed. Aimée looked terrified, but she managed to guide the emerging child. The queen gave a final push and moan, before collapsing on the mattress.

The heir of Gemmes was in the arms of Aimée.

The king rushed in the room, past Tamsin, who still hovered in the shadows of the door, not wanting to be witnessed arriving at all. She wanted to leave. This was no place for her kind.

“My Cozette!” The king, a young man with long dark hair and taut cheeks, shouted and ran to the bedside where the queen lay. She lay silent and she laid still and Tamsin knew in that moment things would grow much darker this night.

She felt the shift in the air. The open window pushed in a gust of wind, pounding across heavy drapes. Still, the room remained silent.

No cry from the mother and no cry from the babe.

Tamsin blinked fast, knowing her personal penance wasn’t enough anymore for what had happened that night. She knew the time was coming that she would need to find the girl herself. Keep her safe by using dark magic she had sworn off. It was the only way she could live with herself. The only way to stave off dreams of the dark haired girl screaming, the piercing sound that haunted her.

She quickly descended the ladder from the loft where she had slept, and crossed the room to the front door. She walked outside and found Tristan tightening the leather straps on his sturdy pack slung over his shoulders. He traveled lightly, a blanket was secured at the top of his bag, and a jug of water swung at his side. A wide brimmed leather hat was on his head, ready to block the afternoon sun.

“You’re leaving then?” she asked.

“I should arrive by late afternoon if I hurry. The hardest part of the trip is over with … getting Rémy here. I didn’t want to say it in front of him last night Tamsin, but I’m scared he won’t hold on for much longer.”