The Jewel and Her Lapidary

by Wilde, Fran

  A lapidary who betrays their Jewel will be shattered. The second band she’d cut from her wrist. The one her father had soldered for the first time when she was three years old, on the day of the Jewel Lin’s birth. Sima sucked a breath at remembered pain and at the rope’s harsh burn, both. She’d been at Lin’s side every day since. Slept on a pallet by her bed, made her beautiful baubles. She’d been there when her father had drugged their tea, then thrown them bound and gagged into the silver-lined pit below the throne. She had failed to protect her Jewel.

  No. She’d also been there to make Lin cover her ears as the rest of the court died. As the gems shattered.

  Sima inched closer to the ground as the pounding continued. She heard the muffled sounds of inlaid doors crying out against the iron battering ram: Strength. Fortitude.

  Those doors would hold until their last gem broke. When it did, the palace would fall with Lin inside, bound head to toe in platinum chains.

  Sima’s feet touched the ground. She gathered the edges of her heavy cloak around her and turned toward the trees. Rough stones tore her soft shoes. Her feet sank deep into mud, but she kept running. If she could make the river, the boatman could smuggle her away and both gems and lapidary would pass out of reach. She would no longer endanger the valley.

  The gems whispered, tried to tempt her with power and freedom. They’d done the same when she was a child, before she’d been bound. With every step farther from Lin, the gems grew louder.

  The King’s Lapidary, broken by his treachery, had freed the oldest gem among them: the cabochon star ruby, called the Star Cabochon. Now the minor gems clamored for control from within her cloak. Coronation sapphires, topaz, Lin’s birth emeralds. Gems to ease pain, to give courage, if they were bound correctly. Without a proper setting, each could wreak havoc on the valley. For those who could hear them, more bindings were required as protection. Vows.

  “A lapidary obeys her Jewel,” Sima whispered, her voice shaking. “A lapidary guards her gems.” She fought to hold her vows in her mind. The gems quieted for the moment. But every lapidary learned early that even the strongest among them had a breaking point.

  And Sima knew she was not very strong. She’d been nowhere near as strong as her father. And he’d shattered.

  She would not break her promises to Lin. She would keep going.

  Lapidaries must know the number of gems in their possession, their settings, their powers. The long vow made her wheeze to say it while she ran. That had been a spiral cuff, the easiest to remove.

  Escape, whispered the gems in the smoke and shadows. Release. Sima kept running. She had to hold out long enough to get in a boat. Iron hated deep water. The river was the only way out, though no gem protected the woods. Not anymore.

  Oh, Lin, Sima thought, and almost turned around. The lapidaries’ vows broken. The valley endangered once again by its gems. The legend had turned real. Now she was the last lapidary. Now she had become a thief. Now the last Jewel sat chained in her palace, her people betrayed.

  The mud of the forest turned to sand and grit beneath Sima’s feet. She was close to the river now. She crouched low, kneeling in the shadows. She could see the water glint through the last trees. No soldiers patrolled the riverbank. She tried to catch her breath.

  If she had been strong enough to destroy the minor gems herself, she’d still be at Lin’s side. But they had both spent years living with the gems. If the wrong gem broke, their minds would shatter, like Sima’s father’s. The Western Mountains’ army would claim the rest of the gems. And even a mad lapidary could cut stones, if properly bound.

  Sima had to leave. She knew that. Even as it broke her.

  “I’ll scatter them to every corner of the six kingdoms, Lin,” Sima whispered again. “I promise. I won’t return.”

  A lapidary obeys her Jewel. She would keep that vow. She stepped from the shadows and toward the river, pulling her hood up over her head. She bent her shoulders and prepared to run again.

  A shout broke the night behind her. A thick iron gauntlet wrapped her arm. Spun her around.

  A plumed iron helm loomed over Sima, dark against the night sky. The soldier cuffed her hard with his other hand, then tossed her over his shoulder. Her vision swam. Her ears rang. Gems whispered, Weakness. Failure. The hem of the cloak dragged heavy through the valley’s ashes all the way back to the palace’s broken gates.

  * * *

  The only way to be comfortable beneath her veil of chains, Lin discovered, was to kneel on the moonstone floor with Sima’s blue cloak beneath her knees for padding.

  She passed her final minutes of freedom thinking of her father’s profile, his ready smile. She pushed aside her last vision of him, his face purple, the choking noises deep in his throat. Replaced that with memories of him on the amber throne, greeting his subjects. She loved that he’d liked to meet their gaze. Said often that he could tell a true valleyman by the way they looked you in the eye.

  Father. In the waiting silence of the palace, Lin pressed her fists hard against floor and chain. Felt the pain that bloomed there.

  Days earlier, Lin’s gauze betrothal veil had hung beneath her crown, making her father’s face, and those of her brothers and the court, soft in the light. Set in her eleventh year, when she’d been promised to a young prince of the Eastern Seas, the soft veil would not be lifted until she married. In private quarters, she’d peeked from beneath the cloth. She’d studied the way time sat heavy below her father’s eyes when he consulted his lapidary. When he thought she did not see him.

  Now her father was gone, and Lin had replaced the soft veil with one made of platinum chain.

  If she’d been a proper Jewel, one trained to command powerful lapidaries, to rule a kingdom, she felt she might have come up with a better plan than this. But the commander of the Western Mountains demanded her as bride, sought to gain her throne as well as the valley’s major gems. Lin was determined to slow their plans at least, in her father’s memory. If Lin could get away, perhaps help would come—perhaps from the Eastern Seas—given time.

  The door to the great hall and the royal quarters shouted and cracked. Another stone shattered.

  A Jewel does not cry. She does not frown. Lin’s Aba said this long ago while pinching her arm. Your kingdom is your setting, you are its light.

  Though her Aba would never instruct anyone again, Lin wished now for her guidance, even the kind that pinched her to be quiet, the kind that ignored her questions. She had such doubts, such fears.

  What was a Jewel without a lapidary? Without a court? Without a kingdom? Lin traced a finger down the fine mail chains. How did one lead a kingdom? She’d never thought to ask before.

  Lin knew her eyes were dry and clear, her face still. These were the facets of herself she had been taught to control.

  The part of her that was still afraid listened to the palace doors resist the mountain army. That part jumped with each slam of iron against wood and gold and gem. That part had seen her father dying, breath bubbling foam, lips black with poison.

  The doors shattered with a great cry, the gems—a rosette of rubies and diamonds cut in steadfast patterns—falling broken from their settings. She could not often hear gemstones, but this cry was so loud, every member of the palace left alive could hear.

  Which meant Lin was the only one who heard: Despair. Surrender.

  Running feet in heavy armor crossed the palace’s moonstone tiles. Yells echoed down hallways, punctuated by the sound of more breaking doors. Then Lin’s door smashed open. Two soldiers entered, bragging loudly about mysterious gems and riches, about honor.

  When they saw Lin kneeling beneath her veil, they fell silent. They stared.

  What do you see? Lin wondered as she rose. A Jewel? A girl? She planted her feet shoulder width apart, as far as the chains would allow. Sima had left her a few ways to defend herself, if they got close enough.

  One soldier advanced, his armor creaking. “Don’t cause us any trouble. Comm
ander Nal wants you well.”

  Lin waited and the soldier stepped forward again. He reached a hand out to her, keeping his other hand on his sword, well back from her reach.

  She spoke then. “You will let me walk on my own. I am a Jewel of the valley.”

  The two men laughed. “You were a Jewel. Where are your gems?”

  The first soldier caught hold of Lin’s left wrist. She snapped a chain hard between his gauntlet and his arm guard. Dragged hard on it with all her weight, until the man cried out. “Little witch!”

  He disentangled himself, but not before she looped another chain around his sword hilt, dangling from his left hand, and had it almost immobilized. She reached for it with her right hand, fingertips straining, but her own chains held her back. The soldier snapped her around, chain mail ringing, into the wall.

  “I told you to behave.”

  Her head banged against chains and stone. Her ears rang with impact, but she stayed on her feet. She’d never been struck so hard before. Sima had practiced fighting with her, as had her brothers until she’d been betrothed, but none ever hit her like this.

  Lin felt the lack of her gems then more than ever. For her pain, Sima would have whispered peace to the opals. The gems in their settings would have magnified the feeling, eased her pain. Sapphires, spoken properly, would have radiated calm.

  Instead, Lin had nothing to cushion the blow but despair and loss.

  She let go of the sword’s hilt. Stopped trying to tangle the clumsy soldiers in her chains. Beneath her veil, sweat ran into her eyes and made them sting. Her hair caught in the chains and tangled painfully when she turned her head. She tasted iron in her mouth.

  The soldier waited until she knelt. Then he secured her hands behind her.

  A Jewel holds her head up, Aba might have said. She leads by example.

  Except that Aba had never spoken to her of leadership. No one had. Her father, brothers, and sisters had kept much from her. Because she was so young. Our one perfect Jewel, they’d said, and shooed her from the room when the lapidaries conferred and the diplomats debated. She and Sima too.

  She’d always demanded to stay, but Aba had started in with the musts and the does nots. Sima had gently steered her from anything remotely like harm. She’d been ordered to care for Lin like any treasure being readied for export.

  But when Aba napped, Lin had demanded her lapidary join her to listen at doorways and bribe the maids who waited at table. She’d gathered as much gossip as she could. She’d learned about the kingdoms and what they sold. She’d strained to hear the stories of newfound gems and their risks and powers.

  Gossip and heavy doors blurred sound as much as her gauze veil had blurred sight. Lin had seen nothing of the kingdom clearly and she knew it.

  The soldier leaned in once to lift Lin to his shoulder. He couldn’t figure out how to put his hands on her without becoming tangled in her chains. Lin, her head throbbing, refused to help him. Fear overwhelmed her. Memories broke loose. She had no gems to calm her. To keep her from shaking as the soldier lifted her to take her to meet the commander. A new betrothal.

  Betrayal. Betrothal. She imagined the lapidary’s hands on her father’s goblet, as soldiers grabbed at her chains. Father drank his final wine and the great gems shattered. Strangers in the palace. No one coming to help. Those who hadn’t gone mad from gems or died from poison had run away. But Lin would not run. She would face her fate. She stopped shaking.

  Because a Jewel protects their people. It was what her father would have done.

  Were there people left to protect? The artisans and miners, the craftsmen, and the people of the valley still lived.

  Perhaps the mountain army would relent, once they realized the gems were broken and no Lapidaries remained to speak the gems. Perhaps Lin could stall long enough to negotiate terms that would help her people. She hoped to try.

  The soldier released her bound hands and jerked her arms up as high as they would go. The chains rattled. He hauled her forward and bent his shoulder.

  Her chains hit his armor like hail on a rooftop, sharp and slick and cold.

  Without a word, the soldier turned and carried Lin, last Jewel of the valley, ass-first from her quarters and into his commander’s audience.

  * * *

  Local Walks: The Ruins. According to local legend, the large blocks of moonstone at the far edge of the area’s largest grazing meadow are from the ancient palace. The walk that takes you there from the river cuts a pleasant half-hour’s time through the forest, and the grazing meadows provide a beautiful view of the Western Mountain range. Exercise caution, as at least one hiker has fallen into an ancient shaft or pit.

  Should you choose to continue your walk beyond the Ruins, terrain will shortly become rough. The Valley narrows rapidly as the foothills of the mountains encroach.

  . . . from A Guide to the Remote River Valleys, by M. Lankin, East Quadril

  * * *

  In the moonstone hall where generations of valley kings had held court, Sima’s robe left a muddy smear on the pale tiles. When she lifted her head, she saw Lin, draped in her chains, hauled through the broken doors behind her.

  Despair, the gems said. Sima fought against the word, though it wrapped her tight.

  “We caught this one over the wall,” the first soldier said, pushing Sima down before the amber throne. Lin was deposited beside her a moment later. All around them, mountain army guards cleaned their swords and tipped crates of belongings onto the floor.

  “These two are all who remain? Impossible. Find the lapidary.” Commander Nal’s voice rang sharp across the moonstones. Her soldiers rushed to obey her.

  A woman at the head of an army. Sima’s surprise must have registered on her face, because the soldier delivered a slap so hard it nearly sat her down on the moonstone tiles. Through blurred eyes, Sima eyed the commander’s cloak, looking for the Star Cabochon. The cabochon was the largest ruby in the six kingdoms and the only one that blazed with a six-armed star. Neither Sima nor Lin had found it when they’d searched the bodies of the dead in the palace. She’d found the setting. Had known her father had broken its bindings because for one long moment the cabochon’s unfettered voice had pounded her ears. She had felt its desires—the wants of the deep earth, the pressures wrought by age and power—and had almost been bent to its will. Then the voice silenced and Sima’s father had plummeted from the palace wall, broken.

  If the commander had the cabochon, she could compel anyone to do anything she wanted. Whole kingdoms, even.

  But the commander wore a plain baldric and iron spurs, not gems. Her heels rang against moonstone when she stepped forward to inspect the platinum cuffs on Lin’s wrists, the tight bands at Lin’s ankles. Though her eyes looked tired and she ran a hand through her dusty hair, the commander bore the grime of a battle fought, not watched. She rode with her men, Sima realized.

  Jewels did not do that. They’d needed no armies, thanks to the gems.

  “The lapidary knew my terms,” Commander Nal said in a voice as cold as Lin’s chains. “The valley’s most powerful gems for me and a royal Jewel to wed for my son. The strength of mountain and valley together will make a most powerful kingdom. But this is not a veil that will be removed easily, and there are no gems. What is this trick?”

  Two guards carried the answer into the hall. A broken body, the man’s ruined face turned black with blood.

  At the sight, Nal stepped back. Her spurs sounded alarm.

  “The gems broke your lapidary, Commander,” Lin said from behind her veil of chains. “They destroy anyone who does not know how to control them.” She lifted her head to meet Nal’s gaze. Then her chains rang as she bowed low. “If your terms included all that remained of the valley’s treasury, I present my dowry.”

  Sima watched Nal’s eyes narrow. She’d seen that look before, on her father’s face. The commander hated dissent. Or, Sima reasoned, feared it enough to destroy it. Sima wished the gems hidden in her cl
oak would whisper calm to Lin, to herself. Instead, the gems urged Escape. They would not be controlled. Sima held herself still. Focused on Lin and what she could do for her without gems.

  Lapidaries heed their Jewel first, gems second. The band that had bound her left forefinger. A vow for a leader’s lapidary, though Lin was raised to marry rather than rule. Her lapidary had needed the skill only to make ornaments that soothed and calmed. Sima had no experience making the glittering weapons that, with the right whisper, sang in a way that compelled those within earshot and beyond.

  Lin’s chains shook as she stood upright again.

  Nal’s advisors leaned in and murmured advice. Nal held up a hand and moved two steps closer, her boots beating back the quiet. She pulled Lin forward first, then nodded to her men. At her gesture, several guards put their hands on the grate beside the throne.

  The white-jade columns of the valley’s royal hall echoed with the sound of metal grinding stone as the soldiers uncovered the ancient pit again. A new, rank smell rose into the hall.

  They tossed the body of the king’s lapidary into the pit and left the grate open.

  Lin, her golden eyes hidden behind the veil’s chains, stayed silent. Resolute. As she watched, Sima vowed she would not cringe. She would not pull the stones from the cloak, though they whispered Freedom and Power.

  If Nal knew what she bore in her cloak, Sima would not be Lin’s lapidary for long. Whether Nal had the Star Cabochon or not.

  Nal spoke so that all could hear her. “When you marry my son tomorrow, Jewel, your people will see your face filled with happiness. Then they will follow your example. Remove the veil now.”

  Lin swallowed. “Forgive me, Commander, but I cannot. My lapidary spoke binding charms when she soldered my veil around me. As with our mail, which you know well, these chains cannot be cut.”

  Nal’s face flushed red and a hush passed over her soldiers. She seemed used to being obeyed.