M. Rose - The Secret Language of Stones

I closed my eyes and saw words in the triptych I’d deciphered. The same words I’d read in the grimoire.

Make of the blood, heat.

Make of the heat, a fire.

Make of the fire, life everlasting.

The talisman around my neck began to generate heat. It traveled down my chest, down my arms, out my fingers, into the room. Like swimming in the sea at home when I was a child, I floated on the feeling and let the waves of warmth lull me. The Dowager’s teeth stopped chattering. The room grew warmer. I thought about the amazing nights I’d spent alone in my bed, with Jean Luc setting me on fire.

And then I knew what to do. I wasn’t sure if it would work. But I needed to try.

I worked the gold into a key. The metal became hotter than I could bear, but I couldn’t stop. This pain was Jean Luc’s last great gift to me. All of his energy, all of his effort, his good-bye. Tears dripped down my cheeks as I fashioned notches and ridges. Then I put the warm, soft gold into the lock and let it remain there. The lock would imprint on the gold and form the key. Once it cooled, we could use it to escape.

I won’t be there on the other side of the door, Opaline.

I heard what Jean Luc said and nodded, but was afraid to speak.

I’m trying to stay with you, but I don’t have any more time. It’s pulling me. It’s not dark anymore, my darling. There’s light. Brilliant light.

I pictured that light, the white light of a flawless diamond, welcoming Jean Luc to the next stage of his journey.

I put my hand on the key in the door. I wasn’t seeing what was in front of me. I pictured an unblemished diamond shattering and sending out incandescent splinters of rainbows until there was no light but only that dazzling white light.

The key had cooled. I turned it. Heard the tumblers move.

I opened the door.

I let the Dowager go first and then followed. I sensed that when I stepped across the threshold I would be leaving Jean Luc behind. I hesitated a moment. Then felt her bony fingers grip my wrist and pull me across from what was to what would be.

We both knew it as soon as we reached the first floor and looked out the window. All the cars were gone. We were alone in the castle. Grigori had left us in the dungeon to die. But we were not going to die. We both knew that too.

And I knew something else. Something I didn’t want to know.

The talisman around my neck had grown cold against my skin. For the first time in more than two months, no warmth emanated from it. No heat. Jean Luc had gone. My phantom lover had left me for good.

The Dowager knew where the phone was, in a small room off the library. It was really no bigger than a closet, save that it had a window. She called her sister, and Alexandra said she would arrange to have a local constable come to pick us up and cautioned us to be careful until help arrived. Even though I was certain everyone else had departed and we were the only ones still there, we locked the room from the inside and remained, both of us cowering behind the curtains that pooled on the floor.

The next hour passed slowly. We had been in shock, but the longer we waited, the more the reality of what had almost happened to us sunk in. Both of us jumped at the castle’s every creak. Were trees brushing against the window, or had Grigori come back to check on us? Was that a gull crying, or was someone calling out in Russian? What if the people Grigori had mentioned came before nightfall? What if they arrived before the police?

Finally we heard a car’s tires grating gravel. The Dowager took my hands, closed her eyes, and bowed her head, whispering a litany of words under her breath. Even though I couldn’t understand her, I knew she was praying that help had arrived. Friends, not foes.

And it had. We were taken to a safe house where we were well taken care of for the next twenty-four hours while the royal household prepared the ship to take her back to Yalta and arranged my passage to France.

And then it was time to go.

The Dowager touched my cheek and gave me a wise and sad smile. Around her neck, under her dress, the Dowager wore the emerald egg necklace. But on top of the black satin bodice, the talisman I’d made for her hung on a silken cord. She reached for it and held it tightly in her fist.

“You know, it was your magic that saved me and gave me hope when all hope had been lost. I will keep your magic orb with me always, but not to use as a gateway to whatever doom my family may or may not be experiencing.” She shook her head. “No, I will hold on to this for the promise it offers of a future, one in which they, like me, have been rescued. And that someday, in this life or the next, I will be reunited with them.”

Then she took off one of her gold rings we hadn’t needed to melt, and handed it to me.

“Will you take this as a token of my thanks?” she asked.

“I would be honored.”

She kissed me on each cheek and then let me go.

I was immensely relieved to see her off without our trying to learn the fate of her grandchildren from the talisman. The entire enterprise went against the very purpose of my ability. My job was to bring solace, not stir up turmoil. My hearing the children’s voices would have caused her nothing but pain and sorrow. She wouldn’t have been a mourner asking for closure but rather a woman who still had hope having it dashed. And in not asking me to discover her grandchildren’s fate, she had in turn given me a great gift. I never had to see her face dissolve in agonizing grief, a sight I never would have been able to unsee, never have been able to forgive myself for causing.

If I’d been traveling alone, I would have been nervous on the crossing back to France, worried that Grigori had found out I’d survived, but the Dowager had arranged with King George to have one of his guards escort me safely home. The return trip proved as smooth a journey as the voyage over had been rough. Little had I known then that Grigori had been the Bolshevik spy I was searching for on the way over.

Now I dreaded what faced me back in Paris. I was going to need to tell Monsieur Orloff and Anna about Grigori. I’d witnessed their sorrow and watched them mourn when Timur died. But he’d died with honor. I feared this in its way would be worse.

They listened to my story without emotion, but when I finished, Monsieur broke down. He sat at their dining room table and put his head in his hands and wept like a child. Anna put her arms around her husband and began to whisper in his ear. I stood to leave them, he to his grief and disappointment and she to the job of comforting.

I’d reached the door when Monsieur called out.

“Opaline, don’t go.”

I turned.

“You should stay with us. Mourn with us. You are part of our family. You’ve suffered too. This has been tragic for you as well.”

“But I’ve let you down. Because of me, Grigori is gone. You may never see him again.”

“Because of you?”

“If I hadn’t discovered what was going on in the castle, hadn’t realized what their plan was, he and I would have returned home. I’d have done what you asked-made the Dowager’s talisman and given her your gift-and Grigori’s trespass would have gone undetected. And I let Timur down. Because of me he died without hope.”

Monsieur rose and came to me. He put a hand on each of my shoulders and looked into my eyes. I’d never stood so close to him. Never noticed his eyes were the exact same brown diamonds as Grigori’s.

“Because of you, one of my sons died believing he was well loved. Even if you think you should have given him more hope than you gave him, he didn’t. He loved you, little one, and he believed you were going to be here when he came home.”