The Secret of the Emerald Sea

by Heather Matthews

  Today will be the day he sees me, she thought dreamily. I will never look better than this, and today it must be...or perhaps tonight, by moonlight...

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Blake watched the young girl tell fortunes. He could not take his eyes off of her. All the days of dreaming and wishing were over, and here she was. Her eyes were as dark green and shining as he remembered, and her hair was so pale and golden. She seemed as fragile as a doll, but when she smiled, her face radiated strength and vitality.

  He felt his side tingle more today than it had ever done before. It felt much the same as it had when the arrow first struck him on Twelfth Night. In fact, his side burned, but the ale in his belly made it easier to bear the strange sensation. He wished it would stop, but it only got stronger.

  * * * *

  The Cupid whispered in the ears of the villagers, but his eyes traveled often to the young boy who waited, fidgeting and fussing with his waistcoat, and shyly smiling at Jane. Cupid was bound to him, he knew this was true, and he wondered what destiny would bring now that he had used his arrow and was left with only one more in his quiver. Why is it Blake Stirling? he wondered. Is he good enough for Jane? In his mind, he tried to forget the memories of his last change, of his flight over the village, and the thoughts he had about Jane. They still lingered somehow, but when he was this way, everything felt different. It was easy to push such thoughts aside.

  He admired the handsomeness of the young lord as he watched his face, lit with flattering gentleness by the small glass lanterns on the tables. The Cupid, no stranger to beauty or charm, wondered for a moment what it would be like to be fully a man, in the day...or to be fully a man, a human man, at any time.

  It’s not to be, he told himself. It’s not your destiny. You found your target, and now you must see what the gods have planned for Jane, and this boy.

  Humans are inferior, in any case, the Cupid thought. They think of nothing but filling their bellies and fighting with their neighbors, and money. They are like animals. He remembered the island, where he had often been lonely until Jane came, but quite happy not to have to pose as a child and concern himself with villagers and their petty desires. He remembered in dreams another place that was neither the village nor the island. Another place he had been that was like a dream, but it was hazy...just a vague image he clung to. Some day, he wished to find that place, but perhaps it wasn’t real at all.

  It was Blake’s turn now. The Cupid smiled in his special way, all dimples and charm, and Blake’s face split into a broad grin at the sight of him as he reached over to ruffle the little boy’s hair.

  “Hello there, what’s your name?” he said, smiling over at Jane, who simply glowed as she watched the two meet.

  “He is called Arthur,” Jane said, telling him the name the boy was known by in the village. “He’s my little brother, but he’s not much of a talker. He usually just whispers to me.”

  “That’s all right,” Blake said warmly. “Would you like me to carry him while you tell my fortune?” he asked. “He looks a little heavy for you.”

  Jane blushed. “I carry him everywhere. Don’t worry about that.” She had glanced over as Blake asked to carry him, and the Cupid shot her a warning gaze, the subtlest shake of the head. “I will hold him. He helps me concentrate,” she replied quickly. The Cupid smiled.

  “Do sit down,” she said, and Blake settled across from her. Jane settled herself in an armchair, and the Cupid remained curled around her neck. Jane seemed dumbstruck. It was obvious that she was nervous and that she could not think of much to say at all. She appeared flustered as she shuffled the cards slowly. The Cupid supposed she only wanted to speak to the young man alone, as she had that night in the carriage.

  It was custom to give the person whose fortune was being told some measure of privacy, but there were many people there, and they all watched avidly from a distance as the young lord had his turn. All eyes were on them, and the Cupid could feel Jane tremble a little under her ivy green dress as her gaze rested on Blake’s amber eyes.

  For a moment, the two young lovers just looked at each other. They seemed to be in a world of their own. The Cupid pressed against her side to spur her on. He noticed that Blake’s eyes were golden, a lovely, warm brown like dark, wild honey.

  “Jane,” Blake whispered as the Cupid listened. “Jane, I have missed you...”

  The Cupid stared icily at the young man. Indeed, this was a love match, but he had not expected this, this desperate ardor and chemistry between the two of them, which was so moving and quite genuine. He grabbed Jane’s arm and pinched it gently to rouse her from her reverie.

  “I am happy to see you again,” she said sweetly. “I must tell your fortune now, for others wait after you, but later, perhaps, we could talk of other things.” Cupid watched her eyes glow, and then scanned the room. He knew how the two of them must look, locked in each other’s gaze.

  Jane followed his eyes and flushed. Every eye was upon them, and the other girls looked unfriendly to the Cupid. Young Lord Stirling was terribly handsome, after all, and rich to boot. There had been much talk of him among the girls of the village since the pageant. In fact, they all seemed to speak of nothing else...

  “Lay out the cards,” the Cupid whispered to her. “Do it now, Jane.”

  * * * *

  “Do you have a question, or a concern, or something you’d like to know? Or would you prefer a general reading?” Jane asked Blake, her voice shy and quiet.

  “I would like to know what lies ahead, I suppose,” he said, laughing a little. “But not if it’s terrible, please.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” she said. I will never tell you anything terrible, she vowed. I will never do anything to hurt you because I love you. Jane had made a promise that even the gods could hear, and she wondered if they were listening. From that instant, she felt an eerie sense of being watched and observed...of some clairvoyant force, not so different from her own, there in the noisy tavern. She looked around, but saw nothing out of order. It’s invisible, this spirit, or god, but something is here, looking inside of me.

  Jane laid out the cards in a standard Celtic Cross formation, feeling a strange helplessness. The cards seemed to move of their own volition, and she could not control the awful feeling of...sadness...that overtook her as she laid them face down on the wooden table. Blake’s trusting face, so beautiful, so pure and clear, made her feel confused and forlorn. Bad news, she thought irrationally. Death...gray, like a tombstone...all is blackness.

  Oh, no, she thought, as she reached to turn the face card, the card that would represent the boy she loved so dearly. She sighed in relief as she saw that it was the Page of Cups, and that card was golden and bright and just right for him. That is fine, she thought, fighting hysteria. That is as it should be.

  “This is you, my lord,” she said. “This card is the Significator. It is meant to represent you in the reading.”

  “Ok,” he answered. She suspected he knew nothing about the cards, or about fortunes. She doubted tarot cards were permitted in his home, or that he would he have had much interest in them if they were. He seemed too educated to be superstitious.

  Jane tried to look at the next card before she turned it over, tilting it toward her and turning the corner a little. The bad feeling was taking over again, and she wished she was far from this place. She wished she was back home safe in Royalton, away from this village, away even from Blake. Her promise, her vow not to hurt him, was like a thorn in her side now.

  “The next card is the past...” she whispered, and she felt a cold chill fall over the room. She felt sickness, loneliness, and despair. “You were ill,” she murmured, “desperately ill, and you felt alone.” She turned over the card and lay it face up on the wood. “You were sad.”

  “Yes,” he said, looking down. “I was sick enough to die, but somehow, I did not. My whole childhood, I was ill, always ill, with doctors going to and fro, frowning, worrying. My mother
would cry. It was terrible, but now I am well, Jane,” He flushed crimson and looked at the card. “Am I to be ill again?” he asked. To Jane, his voice seemed full of dread.

  “I...do not think so, not you...” she said, without thinking. Hastily, she went on, trying to rephrase her strange remark. “I do not feel...illness in you,” she said simply. The Cupid whispered in her ear. “You are not ill,” she said finally, smiling a little. “Definitely not. You are well and strong.”

  “Good,” he said, but he seemed uneasy. Jane felt so serious, so grave, All this was not what she expected, and she wished they could be as they were in the carriage, merry and light and romantic without all this talk of illness and things that he probably tried to forget.

  “The next card is the present,” she said, turning up the edge to glance at it before she turned it over. Some part of her already knew what she would find. She sighed as she saw the dark horsemen, Death... In an instant, the Cupid, who she knew missed nothing, flailed in her arms and started to kick, knocking all of the cards off the table. He began crying as the cards fell to the ground, and he kicked his little legs as hard as he could upon the table.

  “Shhhh,” Jane said. “Arthur, hush. What is it?” she said, embarrassed and dumbfounded by the little boy. She caught his glance as he cried and kicked, and she saw his blue-gray eyes, as cool and intelligent as ever. He had seen the card, too, and he was faking, faking, this tantrum, or whatever it was, to stop the reading.

  “Sick,” he whispered. “Must go home, Jane,” the Cupid cried, loud enough that everyone should hear him.

  “He’s sick, I’m afraid,” she told Blake. “I’m so sorry, but we must finish another time. He wishes to go home. There is a pain in his stomach, he says...”

  The Cupid cried his tears and continued to fuss as she stood up and wrapped her red cloak around his tiny body. Blake bent down, and looked strangely relieved somehow at this interruption, and he began to pick the cards for her. He handed them to her once they were in a neat pile. The Death card sat on top, the Reaper in black on his horse, and she glanced at it nervously as he gave her the deck.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, putting the cards in her pocket.

  “I will walk you both home,” Blake said. “Please, I would like to carry the boy.”

  The Cupid stretched his arms out to him, then nestled into the young man’s arms while she waited. Blake was so gentle with the Cupid, whose cheeks were streaked now with tears, and then they left the pub as those disappointed patrons who had waited for their fortunes headed back to their friends, grumbling all the while.

  “The little one is ill,” she heard them chatter. But Jane did not care much about them. Glasses would still be filled and brought to tables, music would play on, and the scene would be forgotten as soon as the trio left the pub and headed out into the snowy night.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Cupid breathed in the scent of youth and health and innocence that the young man emanated, but as he did so, he continued to cry and squirm, and then pretended to fall asleep. He watched through slitted eyes—for he was wide awake—as Jane smiled up at the sight of Blake with the charming toddler in his arms. If you only knew, he thought wryly, just who, or what, you are holding...

  Now Cupid was quiet, the pair had a chance to talk freely, away from the eyes and ears of the village, and the Cupid could listen to everything they said. Cupid felt the bond between the two. It seemed to bring heat and light to the dark and frigid night. He relaxed into the warmth, as though it were a hot bath, letting the love the two shared bathe him in peace. He thought no more of his night flight or of his misgivings. He was serene and content as he listened to the couple talk and chatter. They were stumbling over their words, each of them desperate to share their thoughts, each of them desperate to be with the other.

  “I...think of you often,” Blake said, staring into her eyes as they walked through the town square. “I think of nothing else, in truth.” They stopped walking for a moment. Jane wore Blake’s heavy coat over her gown, and the Cupid was wrapped snug in her crimson cloak.

  “Are you not cold?” Jane asked worriedly.

  “No,” he said. “I should be, but I am not.” He leaned forward then, suddenly, and stroked her cheek. It was cool and ivory pale in the darkness. The Cupid was so close to her, too.

  She stared at him, her emerald eyes blazing. “I am so happy to talk with you,” she said, and there was true passion in her voice. She was full fifteen now, and she loved this boy with all of her heart—the Cupid was certain of it.

  Blake leaned forward and kissed her lips so gently. “My love,” he whispered to Jane.

  The Cupid could almost feel her lips on his own, as they had been that night in the sky, as the couple’s kiss went on and on. He watched as she held Blake’s kiss, and then returned it, gently and tentatively. Her eyes were closed now.

  After a moment, they separated and continued walking, and Blake carried the Cupid over the uneven, snowy slopes that led to the farmhouse.

  “May I see you, Jane, tomorrow?” Blake asked as they went up to the front door. The farmhouse was shabby, and for a moment, the Cupid wondered if Jane was ashamed. It was clean, of course, but everything was old and in disrepair. For a moment, the Cupid felt a sort of wrenching despair. Jane...I am sorry, he thought sadly.

  “Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “I fear I have been too forward,” Blake said, and his tone was worried.

  “I only want to honor you, and love you...” he stammered.

  Yes, I am sure you do, the Cupid thought darkly. For who would not honor my Jane?

  * * * *

  After Jane unlocked the heavy padlock on the front door, she stared up at him and smiled. There were stars behind Blake like a theatre backdrop—they twinkled...and there was a crescent moon, and the sky was like black velvet against the warm topaz of his hair, his skin and his eyes. I will remember this moment forever, she thought. I will carry it in my heart like a poem until I die.

  “You have honored me,” she said. “You have made me so happy.”

  He grinned. “I shall pick you up tomorrow, then, and we could walk through the forest, perhaps, with the boy, and play in the snow.”

  “I will wait for you here whenever you would like to come, but I must go to the Crown of Thorns each night around seven o’clock.” She sighed. Every night I must go. Every day I am tired afterwards...but it has brought me to this, and so I must be grateful for it.

  “No matter,” Blake answered soothingly. “I will come early, around noon. We will have plenty of time. Put your brother to bed, and tomorrow we will visit, and if he is still unwell, we will play outside another time instead.”

  “I think he will be better,” Jane said, trying not to laugh. She knew the Cupid was listening to every word they said. “These things pass so quickly with him. I should not be surprised if he is better already.”

  Blake laughed and turned to go. “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he whispered, turning back to kiss her again. She wished to stay there with him forever, but she broke their kiss and helped him as he took his coat off her shoulder and put it back on.

  Moments later, Blake was gone. I kissed him, she thought wildly. I kissed him. My first kiss, and it was...everything one could ask for...” For a moment, she remembered the Cupid’s kiss, but quickly put it out of her mind.

  Jane closed the door behind her, and plunked the Cupid, who was wide awake, onto the floor with a thump. She hugged herself and closed her eyes. He kissed me, she said to herself. I kissed him.

  * * * *

  The Cupid watched her reverie, remembering the Death card that had shown itself during the young lord’s reading. He did not tell Jane that he had removed that particular card from the pack before they set out that night because he was not sure why he had been compelled to do so. After all, the Death card was unsettling, but it generally indicated transformation, not physical demise. He had kept many sec
rets from her, and this was simply another detail he chose not to share. But in their room, the Death card lay under his things, face down.

  The Death card should not have been in that deck at all, he thought, alarmed. Who put another there, and why? While the couple had walked home, he had been too enthralled by their romance to ponder this disturbing turn of events.

  Now, when Jane was so distracted, he felt it was safe to go and see if he had chosen another card by mistake, but the original Death card was still there, bundled under his neatly folded clothes. He hid it in another place while Jane sat at the kitchen table, starry-eyed and clearly reluctant to break the spell of her moonlit walk by talking with him. The Cupid remembered the dark figure on the road and he wondered at the cold, bleak feeling that had overtaken him at the tavern just as Jane was about to turn the card over...

  Someone is here, he thought. Someone is interfering with the lovers, and with my own destiny.

  Soon after these troubling thoughts surfaced, he lay in his bed, beside Jane as always, and pretended to sleep so that he didn’t have to discuss the events of the night with her. It was too soon. He thought hard about the bad feelings that had come over him at the pub.

  Unlike Jane, the Cupid was unable to take solace in kisses and sweet words. There was magic present, some kind of black magic, and they must leave the town, but it was too soon. The lovers were only just meeting their fate. I will find out what is going on, he thought. I cannot leave here yet. It is too soon, and there is some reason we are here, something yet to be revealed to me.

  He knew he was placing Jane in danger, but he could not leave here, not yet. He must fulfill his destiny. It was his reason for being. But he cursed the gods who filled him with dark ambitions he did not fully understand, and he prayed the girl would not be made to pay the price for his actions. And he wondered as he had so many times before, why this village? Something was drawing closer, moving silent in the cold winter air, and he knew suddenly that is was all part of what was yet to come, and part of the greater purpose he could not see. The purpose that made him reach for his other arrow and worry its sharp tip against his tiny fingers all through the sleepless night.