Heart of Stone (8 page)

The truth was she had never let any male come close like that. Beznik didn’t question her story, he took it as truth, and laughed as she recounted the ridiculous boys who vied for her heart, who she rolled about with in harmless fun in empty barns. She said these things as a distraction from his lingering eyes and flippant request for her heart, as he asked her to take a chance, knowing he didn’t actually stand a chance. He didn’t know Sophie like Sophie knew herself.

The truth? Sophie was quite naïve to the way of the world, as hardened as she postured. She hadn’t done anything much more scandalous than stealing a few chickens from the market, or cursing under her breath, or scowling at the obnoxious girls she sat next to for ten years in school. In the eyes of her quaint village, she’d been marked a rebel. But in the eyes of the world? Sophie wasn’t so sure.

Sophie wound her way into town, the exact route Beznik had generously pointed out. He knew much of the towns across the entire country of Gemmes. He spent his life touring them with his
Bohème
entourage. This town, far in the Northeast, sat as far from the Royal city of
Éclat
as she could get. A large journey ahead lay ahead of her.

He suggested she walk to town, and find the closest
Aubérge,
and get herself a room. For at least a night or so, until she figured how to find her mother. Find herself.

She decided to do as Beznik recommended. Entering the mining town, she quickly noted the differences from her village. Her town was poor, of course, but it still had lush green pastures, goats free to roam and cattle meandering in hay fields. Here, a dusty film covered everything. The awning over buildings, the sidewalks, and the clothing of people passing her were all covered in a cloak of grime.

In her village much of the country’s farming took place because of the flat and fertile soil the valley offered. Still, it wasn’t much farming. Everyone knew most of the food the people of Gemmes received came from neighboring countries that traded goods for gems. The terrain of most of Gemmes proved too rocky and mountainous to grow much of anything.

The
Vallee
Sophie grew up in wasn’t a mining town, and if you wanted to mine, you had to leave home to find work. She had planned on doing the same, coming to the North for work. Everything was different before the stone reading. Everything she thought she knew become threadbare in a few short hours.

Sophie entered the dusty town realizing for the first time how her expectations might be a bit unrealistic. She had imagined leaving the
Vallee
and finding paradise. But this place, with the same storefronts her hometown had lining the street, in various stages of decline, was no different. The same filthy children darted across dusty roads, the same heaviness born from poverty hung on the faces of the men carrying pick axes as they walked by. The real difference she saw came from the faces of the many women who laughed drunkenly, hanging out second-story windows. Back home Sophie was the only girl her age that pilfered champagne with Henri and fell asleep, head spinning, from a spirit-induced buzz.

Still, Sophie unwaveringly wanted to be as brave as possible. She wouldn’t let the fact that she’d never ventured so far from home distract her from remembering all she ever wanted was a chance to leave. Now she had.

She lifted her face to the sky and breathed in deeply, letting the warm summer sun fold over her. She smiled with those red lips of hers and then began a coughing fit.

It wouldn’t stop.

“Here’s some water, Miss.” A small street boy reached out and handed a ladle to her. She drank it, thankfully and the cough subsided. She said, “Thank you,” meaning it, and began to walk away. She needed to find a place to set down her heavy bag and a bed to lie upon.

“You owe me a jasper, milady.”

Sophie turned in astonishment.
A jasper? For a sip of water?
She’d never heard such a ridiculous request. One glance at his honest face and she realized he was serious. Other young boys offered services to the people who passed them by, too.

“Fine,” she huffed, handing him her smallest one. “But, you know, water is a free commodity.”

“Nothing is free in Gemmes, milady.” The boy bowed and walked away.

Sophie took in the variety of the shops as she walked, and passed rows of market stalls. Finally seeing a tall house with a sign in the window advertising rooms for rent, Sophie walked to the
Aubérge,
relieved to be here at last. Her adventure was beginning with a slow start.

“How may I help you?” asked a woman from behind a tall desk. The woman’s hair was pinned with precision and a crisp apron hung over her dress, clearly this was an orderly hostel. The papers on her desk were neatly stacked and it appeared there wasn’t an item out of place. Sophie couldn’t help but wish it were a little less dignified. A bit more romantically askew.

“I’d like a room, and a meal.”

“I suppose I can do that for you, but this is an honorable establishment. My name is Ms. Josephine, and I am a moral woman. No mucking with visitors, especially for a lady like yourself.”

Sophie’s eyes shot up, completely annoyed
.
The older woman’s gaze narrowed in on the exposed skin around the neckline of her dress. Sophie recollected the years she spent under the disapproving eye of the women in the
Vallee
. No one approved of what Sophie wore, or didn’t wear, but she dulled out the voices of the busybodies who had nothing to do with their time besides gossip about her décolletage.

“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” Sophie answered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. In truth Sophie wanted that, or at least, a version of that. Not that she had done much “mucking” … still if the opportunity presented itself, she wouldn’t dismiss the notion because of this receptionist.

“The room won’t be ready until three, but there is a place for you to set your bags, and you can take a meal in the dining hall. The rate for room and board is a tiger’s eye each night.”

“So much?”

“Well, what do you think I’m running here?”

“Of course, that will be fine.” Sophie did the mental math. With eight tiger’s eyes she wouldn’t stay long.

Ms. Josephine showed Sophie to the powder room where she freshened up. Pressing a cool cloth over her face, she sat on the stool in the small room, looking at her disheveled self in the mirror. Pulling her fingers deftly through her long hair she wound a loose bun atop her head. A few tendrils already escaped before she moved onto the next order of business, her clothes.

Grabbing a clean dress from her bag, she buttoned the fresh black fabric quickly. She smoothed the cotton over her small waist and pretended to ignore the ridiculous amount of wrinkles in the skirt. She felt better already, albeit hungry.

She entered the dining hall, admittedly less than enthused with the daily offering posted on the menu board. The noontime meal comprised of ham and bread, onion soup and
cornichons
. Somehow, she had envisioned every place other than her own home serving more exotic fare than the meals she grew up on. But ham and bread and pickles? She ate this meal frequently at her own not-mother’s house, and it cost not a single jasper to eat it there.

Sighing, she sat at the wooden common table, and waited for the help to bring her the meal. A cup of freshly brewed
café
came out first, along with a not-very-generous bowl of sugar. Still, she found herself smiling as she added three heaping teaspoons of sugar to her mug, relaxing a bit.

Even if this
Aubérge
was less grand than she envisioned, at least she chose it on her own. Independence felt as sweet as her
café au lait
tasted.

12.

Tristan

Montagne North, Gemmes

Tristan rose with a start, wiping drool off of his stumbled chin. He’d fallen asleep rather abruptly in the early evening the day before and just now woke. Fresh
café
brewed below him in the kitchen of the
Aubérge,
and it wafted to his second floor room. No matter how well rested he felt, the prospect of
café
always proved to be his real motivation.

              After getting out of bed, ready to pull on his boots, he realized they were still tied to his feet. He drew a big yawn, gave a slap to his cheeks, and smiled. Today would be good. He let the irritation of his Damien-Encounter from the night before roll off his back.

He was a Gem-Tracker, dammit!

              With the Diamond ready to be found, and his “source” leading him to this mountain, he believed, without a doubt, he would find it. After that, a single garnet. Then he’d have it all. It finally felt within his grasp.

A Gem Tracker needed a certain amount of faith. Faith in the unseen, buried parts of himself. Faith that the most beautiful rubbles could be sought after, searched for, and found. Tristan had blind faith. Why wouldn’t he? With the help of Tamsin he continually found the exact thing he wanted.

              Leaping down the stairs to the dining room, he quickly inquired about a porter. Tamsin told him he needed one. Someone to help with his bag, although he thought he could manage on his own.

Still, Tamsin made him promise to take someone up the mountain with him. Luckily Ms. Josephine offered a few names and locations, places he would surely visit after he ate.

              He walked into the dining room and found it empty, save for one woman with her back toward him. She ate soup, and he realized how late in the morning it was. In fact, it wasn’t morning at all. He’d nearly slept the day away.

A woman, he presumed to be the cook, waddled into the dining hall. Short and wide and arrogant.

“If you want to eat, you best be sitting. No reason to ruin my food on behalf of your laziness. The rest of the world worked while you slept.”

Tristan nodded his head in agreement, and decidedly kept his mouth shut. No reason to tell her what he truly thought and have her spit in his food.

“Do you mind?” he asked the woman as he rounded the long table, pulling out the chair opposite her.

She looked up and he paused, she was more a creature from the wild than a girl from the village. She had to be from some place far from here, for he knew his eyes had never seen the looks of her. Aloof in her simplicity, she considered him with dark eyes. Her face framed with a tangle of wild black hair and a slight curve to her red mouth. 

She bit her lip.

He was enchanted.

“Of course you may sit. Don’t know why you’d ask. I’m a boarder, not the queen.”

Tristan sat and rested his elbows against the table, nervously tapping his fingers against the course wood grain, staring at her.

“So you just tap to…?” She spoke. To him. With annoyance in her eyes.

“Honestly, I am quite at a loss for words.”

“And why is that?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Because you terrify me.”

“And why is that?” She lowered her eyebrow.

“Because, I mean, look at you.” Tristan pushed back in his chair looking for the cook. This girl confused him with her lack of curiosity. In truth, it always, always, had been the other way around.

“You’re not from here, are you?” he asked.

“No. Although honestly,” she said, tearing off a hunk of bread and smearing it with butter, “I may as well have. Let’s say I’ve had a bit of a mid-life awakening and am starting over.” She took a bite of the bread in a way that would never be described as dainty. Holding no regard for his watchful eyes, and with her dress cut scandalously low, she didn’t seem to notice his enchantment.

“Mid-life you say? You’re what, sixteen years old? Your life expectancy is rather short don’t you think?” Tristan took a sip of
café
as the cook set soup and bread in front of him.

“Seventeen and eleven twelfths if you must know. So actually I think my regard for my breadth of life is quite reasonable considering the dust in this village. I swear I will die of the
Coffre au Trésor
before I’m twenty.”

Tristan tried to hide his emotions as she said this, but try as he might tears sprung to his eyes most unexpectedly. Uncle Rémy was dying of this very thing, this very moment. He turned his head, to avoid the inevitable questions that females always seem to have when a man expresses his emotions.

Curiously, she asked nothing of his tears, she dismissed his feelings as quickly as they arrived.

“You know, you might be careful throwing out the term ‘Treasure Chest.’ Many men do die that way.”

“I know. My fath-- a man I once knew met his maker in the same fashion.” She took a drink of her
café
, swallowed with disgust, and then added two heaping teaspoons of sugar to her mug.

“Sweet enough, my dear?” Tristan asked, not able to take his eyes off her. Inexplicably she held him in complete suspense. The worst part? She seemed to have no idea this magnetic attraction took place.

“Sweet enough now. I don’t know who is brewing this
café
, but I hope it’s better tomorrow. Was it any good yesterday?”

“I arrived last night. Haven’t had any until now.” Tristan held the cup to his lips and took a sip. Delicious. He had no idea why she complained.

“Horrible, right?” she asked.

Tristan wanted to stop discussing hot beverages and begin discussing more important things. Such as whether or not she had a suitor.

              Tristan was not new to the world of women. Uncle Rémy always spent time with ladies when they arrived in a new place. By the age of thirteen Tristan was already finding ways to kiss girls behind market stalls, and more.

“I’ve had better I suppose,” he said as he set down his
café
cup. He attempted to smile his most charming chin-dimpled grin. “Now tell me, what is your name?”

“Sophie Bijou, if you must know.” She didn’t ask for his, which perplexed him. Why didn’t she care?

“Bijou?” he said smiling. “We have a gem in our midst. Perhaps it is you I am in search of.”

“And why is that?” She tilted her head to the side and more tendrils fell from her bun. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m a Gem Tracker.” That line usually caused girls to swoon.

“What is that?” She pursed her perfect lips and shook her head, not understanding.

“Truly?”
Where had this girl come from?
He took a small volume from his satchel, earmarked and heavily used, and handed it over. She took the rare book, one of the few of its kind, titled,
Seigneur des Cavernes
gingerly
.
A simple legend that explained the gems that needed to be found, the path to the mountain once they were all garnered and how to open the mystical cavern.

              “Is this like the fabled story books that tell of the Hedge and its magical Riders?” Sophie asked. “I used to read those legends over and over when I was a girl … dream of being accepted to their realm when I died. It’s sinister, though isn’t it? The idea of either an invitation to ride with them, or just, be dead.
Fini
.”

Her eyes were bright. The stories of Hedge Rider’s always caused reflection, Tristan knew because he felt the same way about those stories from his childhood.

“This is no joke. It’s real. Besides, the Hedge could be a real place you know. Maybe when you die, they’ll look upon you and ask you to ride with them as a ghost, seeking out those souls worthy of an afterlife. Don’t be such a pessimist.”

“Sure,” she said, rolling her eyes, but then opened the book cautiously, her eyes widening the further down the page she read. Tristan ate the soup as she finished.

“Is this real? You look for buried
trésor
?” She scoffed.

She’d hurt him. Sure, older women thought him a joke – but no young woman ever thought him a clown. They thought him a master. A rebel. A man.

“Not impressed?” He was out of tricks.

“No … I didn’t say that … I’ve never … Well, it is interesting,” she said flatly.

“Please, be more dismissive, my dear.”

“But isn’t it illegal? Taking gems from the king’s mountain without giving him claim?”

“Legality is such a bore.”

“So you’re a thief?” She cocked her head to the side, and smiled. To Tristan’s surprise she seemed to like this idea.

“Technically.”

“Tristan,” she read his name from the inside of the books cover, the tilt of her tongue erotic as the Hedge Riders were fabled to be. “If this is the truth, you must show me your gems. If I can see, then I can believe.”

“Ahh, you say my name so … so….”

“So what, Tristan?” she asked, haughtier this time, making the impossible possible.

“So … generously.”

She turned her head, smiling broadly. If he knew her better he’d know Sophie never offered such praise. As for the rising blush on her cheeks, well, that was plain unheard of.

“My gems are in a secret hiding place, in this town.”

“It’s rather stupid to be so cavalier. The king has killed for smaller offenses you know.”

Disapproval filled her eyes, but Tristan couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to do anything that would cause this girl to leave.

“I can trust you,” he said, meaning it completely, even if he didn’t know why.

“You’re a fool, that’s what you are,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“But I can trust you, can’t I? I feel it. Like, I was supposed to find you.”

“Track me, you mean?”

Funny too
, Tristan realized. She epitomized perfection.

“Let me show you the jewels,” he said, with a heartfelt inflection.

“Alright….” Sophie drew the word out slowly, as if she wasn’t sure of him. “How do you know I haven’t made better plans for my day?”

“Well, do you?” he asked.

“Not particularly.”

“So you can come.” Tristan suddenly struck with the most brilliant idea. “Say, I need a porter, you know, so I’m not alone in the Montagne. Come with me!”

“Seriously? Me, in the woods, as your porter? I don’t think I’m exactly built for the job. The dress, for starters.” She laughed at him.

“Okay, so not porter. My companion, that sounds better, right? I’m headed up these mountains to find my sixth gem. You can help, you know, by telling me romantic stories of the trysts you’ve had, or want to have.” He tried to act nonchalant, and winked.

“So you want me to accompany an arrogant Gem Tracker in the wooded mountains, alone no less. May I add this Tracker is a stranger?”

“Well, I’ll pay you of course,” Tristan countered.

She laughed.

A real, absolute genuine laugh. Not the sort of laugh an intimidated person makes. A laugh that had Tristan at the edge of his seat. He’d do anything to get this creature to make that sound again. Bewitched, entirely and completely, and he wanted more.

“It’s not funny,
Mon Petit Bijou
. I’ll take you and show you what is real, what is meant to be found.”

“Why do you think I’d entertain such a proposal?” Her voice grew soft, as though she truly wanted to understand why he asked her.

“Because you are a girl far from home. Alone and unafraid and exactly the sort of companion I want. You don’t lay all your cards on the table, as I do. Which makes me trust you, although all I know of you is that you have a name, which matches mine. Bijou and the Gem Tracker, undoubtedly worse pairs have been made.”

“Well, if were headed to some secret hiding place, I most certainly require a
pain au chocolat
first.”

She stood, and held her hand out for him. He kissed it, not wanting to let go. Somehow he did, as even Gem Trackers have their decency.

This was a dining hall after all. The rest would have to wait for a room with a door that closed.

With a lock and a key.