M. Rose - The Secret Language of Stones

My fingers found a two-inch-long gold rod. A remnant of what I’d heated and stretched upstairs, planning to use as a binding around the Dowager’s talisman. It would work fine if I could heat it. I thought about the soldering torch in my bedroom. Just above me somewhere upstairs-near and yet impossibly far at the same time.

I tried to remember what I’d read in the grimoire my mother gave me. There’d been a spell for putting fires out. Another for drawing water to you. One for sending it rushing away. Had there been one for creating fire out of thin air? I thought so, but I couldn’t be sure. There must have been. The book contained dozens and dozens of spells, but I had been lax in learning the lessons of my heritage and how to harness my power.

Heat? How could I summon heat?

And then I thought of Jean Luc. He was a source of heat. I grasped his talisman and closed my eyes. Tried to connect and summon him.

I felt nothing.

I grasped the talisman tighter.

“I need you,” I whispered.

Still no answer.

Had he in fact left? Was our time over? He’d just warned me it was becoming more difficult for him to come to me and one day he’d be gone. But so suddenly?

“Jean Luc?” I heard the panic in my voice. “Jean Luc?”

And then, ah yes, I sensed him. That delicious warm breeze. Weaker than ever before, but there.

Not quite time yet, but soon.

“I need you to help me. I need your heat.”

You possess your own, Opaline. Just claim it.

“But how?”

You know. I think you’ve always known.

“I don’t. Tell me.”

Nothing. Silence. What did he mean?

In my desperation to understand what Jean Luc meant, to help the Dowager, I finally stopped trying to make sense. I had to save her. That’s all I knew.

Holding the small rod between my fingers, I focused on it and willed it to heat. I told it to, insisting it warm so I could use tweezers to bend it into a shape I could fit inside the lock.

My whole body went rigid. My eyes saw blood-red blackness. For a moment, it seemed as if I’d in fact stopped breathing. I put all of my weight and my energy and my life force into the two inches of gold pressed between my fingers.

The gold began to heat… In seconds it became so hot I could barely hold it. The only pain I’d ever welcomed. If anyone had told me I’d be able to do this, I would have sworn it was impossible. How had I- No, there was no time to think through this wonder. The Dowager was in danger and I needed to find out if the reason was contained in the chain of eggs I wore around my neck.

Working as fast as I could, using the two random tools I happened to be carrying in my pocket-the tweezers and a file-I fashioned the soft gold into a makeshift key with three notches mimicking Monsieur Orloff’s key for the ruby eggs-just a bit smaller. Calling on my memory of the original.

Done, I put the new key on the stone floor to let it cool and harden before trying it out. If I used it while it was still soft, I might break it. Only then did I realize how badly I’d burned my fingertips. Closing my eyes, I tried to cast the pain off in the same way I’d brought on the heat and felt the intensity lessen. Not a lot, but enough for me to pick up the key and fit it into the egg. Feeling the lock catch, I turned it.

The lock sprung open. I pried apart the egg’s shell and peered inside.

I stared down at a brilliant blue diamond that must have weighed at least ten carats. Teardrop-shaped, and as flawless as any I’d ever seen. A sliver of ice, shimmering, frozen, dazzling.

Opening the next egg, I found a heart-shaped pink diamond. Sparkling like a rainbow on fire.

Inside the next egg sat an oval canary diamond. In the next, a pale green diamond. In each of the thirty green enamel eggs, I found an extraordinary colored diamond. A king’s ransom-a tsar’s ransom’s worth of jewels. Each glittered and shone and twinkled in my lap like a droplet of colored water in sunshine. These were worth enough to bribe an army, to rescue a royal family, to rebuild an empire. It wasn’t a rumor. The stories were true. I was staring at part of the treasure the tsar, worried about rumors of a revolution, had entrusted to Monsieur Orloff to take out of the country and secrete away for a time when his family needed them.

And now, the tsar’s mother did need them and Monsieur had entrusted them to me to give to her and I was going to fail. Unless…

Was this what Grigori and Yasin wanted? The Bolsheviks required money. Could I trade the diamonds for the Dowager’s life? For mine? Could I trust Grigori to take the stones and leave us alive? What if their plan had been to steal the jewels and destroy the great Romanov matriarch as well?

Carefully, I replaced every stone into its hiding place, locked each egg, and then slipped the treasure-laden necklace back over my head and under my chemise.

Then I opened the ruby egg that had held the original key. Once more, I unfolded the note, this time wrapping it around the new key. I now guessed the note explained about the hidden stones in the emerald egg necklace. Or perhaps it was a message meant to be found to throw someone off the track of the other necklace. Knowing Monsieur as well as I did, I guessed the latter.

After putting my tools and my glasses back in my pocket, I stood. I needed to find help from someone I could trust.

As quietly as I could, I crept out of the stone archway, nervous to be leaving the safety of my shadowed hiding place. But I wasn’t going to waste any time trying to find my way through the maze of rooms. I was just looking for a way out. And I found it. A window large enough for me to crawl out of. Opening it was relatively easy, and in moments, I was outside in the dripping rain, standing on the soggy grass.

I took several deep breaths. Dampness filled my lungs. The fog hung heavy over the cliff, so misty I could only see a few feet in front of me. My urge to run almost overwhelmed me. What did I care about the woman bound and gagged, deep inside the castle? She wasn’t my sovereign; I wasn’t her liege, but only a jeweler who made watches… who heard voices. Incapable of being a heroine in an adventure story.

Except how could I leave her? A terrified woman who’d lost her son, her country, perhaps even her grandchildren.

But this wasn’t my battle, wasn’t my family. I took my first steps away from the castle wall. Started to run. I would find the road. Someone would stop. I could go to the police, send help for the Dowager, then go back to Paris. No, to Cannes. I never needed to go back to Paris.

But I could still see the Dowager’s eyes boring into mine. I couldn’t just leave her. Especially when around my neck I wore what might be all it would take to save her.

Turning, I stared at the impossible building, trying to figure out where exactly the ancient wing was, but the fog and the last renovation hid the clues. I was just as lost looking at it from the outside as on the inside.

I circled around it, knowing I’d come to the front or back entrance soon. My plan was to find Briggs. While I could have been wrong, I believed what he’d intimated to Grigori-that he worked for the British royal family and had been lent to the castle for the occasion. I’d tell him what I’d seen and he’d be able to get help.

I’d reached the east end of the castle and turned. Around the corner, I saw Grigori and Yasin walking toward me. Consternation on their faces.

“We’ve been looking for you, ” Grigori said. “Where did you get to?”

I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. I searched his face. Did he know something, or was I projecting my fear?

“I was working when one of my headaches started…” I’d decided to tell him as much of the truth as I could. Not at all sure I was calm enough to lie well. “Sometimes fresh air helps. I’ve been walking.”