Sophie looked at Henri. His eyes brimmed with tears, his face soft in the places hers was strong.

"Don't cry, Henri. You'll embarrass yourself," Sophie scolded.

"No. It would be impossible to feel embarrassment when all I feel is longing. You are leaving. The girl I have spent my days with, the girl I want to spend my life with, is leaving."

Henri took a small box from the pocket of his jacket and offered it to her with a trembling hand.

"This is for you. I wanted to give it to you with the promise of forever strung between us, but I know now that isn't happening. You never had me in mind when you planned your future."

"Henri, don't." Sophie shook her head. The words he said couldn't be taken back. Speaking them would change everything between them, forever.

"This is a gift from me to you, no strings attached."

He held it so solemnly, so un-Henri-like; that she grabbed the box so he would stop looking at her like that.

"Alright." She stuffed it in the pocket of her dress. "I will keep in touch. Obviously. Letters and such. Okay? Just get over me, all right? Find some silly girl I would hate and fall madly in love to spite me."

"That is exactly why I love you."

"Ugh. Henri. No. Don't say that. I promise you, when we cross paths again; we will have the champagne toast we were supposed to have last night. Until then, bonjour." Sophie leaned in and kissed his cheeks gently, and stole away through the bushes.

Sophie determined to not look back. Looking back would make her weak, and now she needed to be strong. She discreetly walked through the campsites, passing fires with cooling embers. Everyone prepared to leave.

Herself included.

Finding herself outside Beznik's wagon she smiled with fake enthusiasm, because leaving, without Henri, assumed so much uncertainty. Before, when she imagined becoming a miner, not much changed about who Sophie was. Now everything felt different.

Who were her parents? Did they long for adventure as she did? Sophie wanted to hold onto the notion that they left for a noble cause, but Sophie was a bit too jaded for entertaining those sorts of notions for long. The truth was, Sophie's parents left. Her. She only wanted to know why.

"Sophie!" Beznik called as she walked toward him. His dopey lopsided grin genuine, and Sophie knew she'd be safe in his company.

"Is Emel here?" Sophie asked biting her lip. She wasn't interested in starting the trip with that girl.

"No, I think she ... err ... she is sleeping with a friend tonight. It's you and I, dearie.

"This is more generous than I deserve. I just want to avoid ... her." Sophie pointed to the wagon that turned her world upside down.

"Come on, you can sit up here, keep me company while I drive." He took Sophie's hand and helped her up the wooden ladder to the painted wagon's bench. He walked to the back of the wagon to drop off her bag.

Beznik took the reigns as the caravan's line began to move. "I'd best be sitting if I were you. And keep quiet. The others wouldn't very much like us taking a Gemmes girl with us."

"Well, I'm wearing Miora's moonstone, I must not be all that terrible."

"Terrible or not, you'll be a long way from home," Beznik said. "And I'm not looking at your necklace, the rest of what you are wearing is what I'm admiring.

Sophie looked at her low-cut black dress, her chest indiscriminately perky, and sleeves short for the summer weather exposing her pinky flesh. A bit of her underclothes poked above her neckline. She didn't bother to push it down. If someone was eager to look, she didn't much care.

"Alright, Beznik, on with the show." She tempered his lingering eyes with a staring contest.

Eventually Beznik gave in and laughed with her, his gentle, although forward demeanor, put her at ease, allowing her room to relax.

The wagon began to move and the caravan of Bohemes began their climb to Montagne North.

Sophie obediently sat, and helped herself to creme caramels brushed with sea salt and chocolates infused with lavender that Beznik handed her. "To convince you to be my bride," he said with his goofy grin. She swooned with each bite and decided Beznik ridiculous in all the right ways, therefore a perfect confidant. Henri was gone, after all. Sophie knew enough to know having a few friends in the world looking out for her wasn't her worst idea.

After hours of detailing their mostly mundane lives to one another on the bench of that wagon, Sophie realized she would be okay.

Sophie also realized, for the first time in her life, that friends provided something besides company. At this moment, as she left the only world she knew, she appreciated the distraction.

The wagon stopped abruptly, and Sophie found herself oddly nostalgic as she stepped out of the cart knowing she wouldn't return the same way she came. Nothing would be the same from this moment on.

"Now listen, our caravan goes in a circle, clockwise around the country. It is our way. I'm telling you so you can always find me, if you so wish."

Beznik leaned over to give Sophie a kiss on her cheek. Sophie withdrew at first, not liking the affection, but looking at his optimistic brown eyes and crooked teeth and nose; she shook her head with a smile and let him kiss both cheeks.

"Thank you, Beznik," Sophie said flatly to the man who'd travelled so far out of his way for her. Even if his motive was to convince her to join his Boheme tribe, she needed the ride.

"Off with you, and stay safe. A crazy girl like you could get killed in the woods if it wasn't for that moonstone warning you of danger," Beznik cautioned as he lifted her heavy leather pack out of the wagon. "And if you ever change your mind, remember I am still in need of a good wife ... but not too good!" he said with a wink and a hearty laugh.

"Goodbye, you fool," she said, shaking her head at him. Sophie turned and slung her bag over her shoulder, and turned toward the path that would lead her to a miner's village.

Sophie walked for a half a mile, hard to do in her long skirts carrying a heavy pack. She immediately wished she'd asked Henri for some trousers. Although on second thought, that would have been incredibly awkward considering how she left things with him.

Stopping, she caught her breath, and watched the Bohemes amble across the mountain slope, continuing their journey.

She pulled out her loaf of bread, realizing her not-mother had tucked a pouch of jasper in the bag for her, and also several tigers' eyes and a few pieces of onyx. She knew what a sacrifice her not-mother made by giving them to her. It offered a slight relief. Although Sophie had done her share of petty thievery, finding a place to sleep would be much easier now.

She realized, suddenly, how tired she'd become. She'd expected to sleep in the wagon, but Beznik had been quite the chatterbox, and insisted that the two of them recount all their adventures. Sophie recalled her embarrassment, for Beznik had experienced much more than her, although they were close in age.

She'd never admit it to him, but the stories she shared were slightly exaggerated. Such as the tales she told of the experiences she had with other ... ahem ... men. She wanted him to think she was accustomed to his forward request for betrothal, of love.

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 nave 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 Boheme entourage. This town, far in the Northeast, sat as far from the Royal city of eclat as she could get. A large journey ahead lay ahead of her.

He suggested she walk to town, and find the closest Auberge, 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 Auberge, 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 decolletage.

"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 cafe 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 Auberge was less grand than she envisioned, at least she chose it on her own. Independence felt as sweet as her cafe au lait tasted.

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 cafe brewed below him in the kitchen of the Auberge, and it wafted to his second floor room. No matter how well rested he felt, the prospect of cafe 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 cafe 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 Tresor 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 Remy 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.