Two Worlds of Provenance

by Angelina J. Steffort

  She wondered how he was taking it to come home and find his daughter had disappeared, too. Vienna was a big city, and they had been there for just two days. There was a whole city for him to search, and he wouldn’t find her there. She wasn’t in his Vienna any longer. She was stuck in a nightmare while her father was probably freaking out, worried sick. And there was nothing she could do to contact him and let him know she was okay.

  Maray threw the picture back in the drawer and slammed it shut, ready to cry.

  Jemin

  “You are a lying son of a bitch,” Heck hissed at Jemin as they crossed the yard back to the servant quarters. “Why didn’t you tell me? You tell me everything. Even the things I don’t want to know.”

  Jemin ignored his annoyed words and focused on making it to their accommodations unnoticed by the eyes and ears of the palace. He used to be the eyes and ears of the palace himself—years ago, before he had grown so tall that he wouldn’t fit in a cupboard any longer. Those had been his early years. His father had told him what to look for, and he had found it; in the servant quarters, in the councilor’s chambers, even in the commander’s private rooms. Pieces of information—that was what his father had loved. ‘The right pieces in the right hands,’ his father had always said, ‘are worth more than jewels and gold. They are worth lives.’

  “Come on, Jem—” Heck nudged him in the side as they slipped in through the back door, “—the queen.” He emphasized the word as much as was possible in the hushed tone he was using.

  Jemin remained silent until they were safely back in his room. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. Everything that had happened brought back memories he had locked away—or at least he had tried.

  “I don’t think I have another choice but to tell Scott about her.” He changed the topic, knowing Heck would understand he wasn’t talking about the same person any longer, even if she had the same face—the same, beautiful face. He shuddered at the thought of Maray’s lapis-lazuli eyes. Not because he was afraid, the way he was of the queen, but because it got under his skin that there was another version of the woman whose photograph he had adored for all the years of his adolescence—before she had told him she had killed his father and threatened him with a dagger. There was a version of her he had been fighting for that appeared as innocent and good as he had always believed the queen was—not fighting but guarding her queendom.

  He remembered the moment he had fallen down on his knees and sworn the oath to the crown, the oath to protect their realm, whatever the cost. He hadn’t sworn to the crown; he had sworn to her.

  “Do you trust Scott?” Heck reminded him he was still there and launched himself onto Jemin’s bed. It was easy for Heck to discuss trust and distrust. He was the son of a family in high favor of the queen. Even though he despised his own heritage and would rather think of himself as someone who made it to the top all by himself, he still had a huge advantage. Everyone trusted him simply because of the name Brendal, while everyone distrusted the name Boyd. And even though he was anti-system, Heck still found the queen—at least the picture of her—to be the most beautiful girl in this world. He measured Heck’s face, considering whether he did trust Scott, and dropped his weapons belt from his hips onto the sideboard to gain time. “I know him well enough to not let him see through me,” he responded, well-aware that Heck hated his cryptic statements.

  “Dad said he is a snake.” Heck pulled out his sword and used his shirt to polish the blade. “Naturally, that makes me like him.”

  Jemin suppressed a sigh. “You’re nothing if not predictable.”

  Heck chuckled, but his features were serious for once. “If it wouldn’t affect Mom, too, I would do anything to annoy the crap out of Dad.”

  “You are already annoying the crap out of me,” Jemin joked. “Why make the effort to annoy anyone else?”

  They looked at each other— “Yeah, right, your father.” —and laughed out loud.

  It was good to be with Heck like this. It was like back in the days when his own father had made him spy on the palace for his own benefit. Heck had been his only friend. Despite the status of the Brendal family, Heck had never treated him as if he was beneath him even if he had inherited the stigma of his father’s reputation.

  “Do you remember when we stayed up all night, waiting under the windows of the queen’s chambers in hopes of catching a glimpse of her?” Heck reminded him of easier times.

  “You had a crush on her.”

  “We both had a crush on her portrait.”

  Jemin sat down on the bed and thought back on how simple life had been—for Heck at least—the crush of a thirteen-year-old, the prospect of a high-ranked career in the palace guard, maybe even a political career in the queen’s council.

  For Jemin, the only prospect had been to be tolerated. After everything his family had done to earn the crown’s dismay, he was glad Scott and Unterly could stand to be in the same room with him.

  “You know that once you tell Scott about her, there is no going back,” Heck pointed out, eyeing Jemin from the side. “I know you, Jem. You’ll never forgive yourself if anything happens to an innocent.”

  “You don’t know she’s innocent,” Jemin objected, but Heck had a point. He had seen it in her eyes—her dark-blue eyes—that there was not the slightest hint of intrigue or evil. The only fault the girl had was her face. It belonged to the queen, who would most certainly follow through with her threat the second she found out he had babbled.

  Maray

  The dim light in the room suggested it was morning—early morning. Maray had no clue what mornings looked like in this dimension. In her home dimension, she remembered the cold and grey November mornings of D.C. Even though yesterday had felt like a dream—a nightmare—she was certain it was real. The silken Thaotine pants she hadn’t bothered changing out of were proof enough. She rolled over with a groan and hit something hard.

  “Good morning,” a familiar voice said, sounding a lot as if it was spoken from a grinning mouth.

  Maray sat up in a hurry, eager to pull her hair out of her face and see who she had bumped into.

  “You look like you… slept,” Heck smiled at her from approximately ten inches from her face.

  “Slept,” Maray confirmed, pushing herself away from him and against the headboard of the bed, “and that’s about it.”

  She didn’t mention the meltdown of last night after Jemin and he had left, or the doubts about her own family. It was none of his business.

  “Anyway,” Heck got to his feet, held out a hand, and said, “breakfast’s ready.

  Maray eyed him for a long moment, considering if she should take his hand or not, until she eventually slid out of bed without his assistance. Heck hid his disappointment behind an even wider smile.

  “We got fresh rolls from the royal bakery,” he announced with pride. “If you already have to stay here, then at least we can make you feel welcome.”

  Maray glanced down at her clothes and felt oddly exposed. They were so tight-fitting that it felt as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all. Awkwardly, she looked around for the cloak Corey had given her the night before and slipped it on.

  Longing for a toothbrush, she walked over to the mysterious basin and ironed her fingers over the surface. “How does this work?”

  Heck, already at the door, turned around at her request and snapped his fingers. Water poured into the basin out of nowhere; a small trickle from the height of less than a foot.

  “You have magic?” Maray wondered and held her hands under the running water to wash her face and rinse her mouth.

  Heck shrugged in response and pushed the door open.

  “Wait,” Maray stopped at the last second before almost stepping over the threshold.

  Heck rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Corey asked me to stay in here unless it’s her who comes to get me.”

  “Good girl.” Heck’s face turned a couple of shades darker while his muscled
chest shrank and his legs became the long, hot legs of Corey’s. “I knew I could trust you.”

  Maray needed a moment to realize what had happened.

  “First lesson: magic is the strongest weapon in this realm. Not because you can hurt people badly—even a toothpick is stronger when it comes to that—but because you can make them see what you want them to see.” She started walking. “Come on.” Maray watched her curls bounce as she followed her into the long room. “I lied about being Heck, but I didn’t lie about getting breakfast.”

  Everything looked different from the night before with a spark of daylight. The shabby wooden shelves weren’t worn from age, but they seemed to be painted in a strange shade of brown that reminded Maray of honey and sawdust. Piles of books sat between bottles in a variety of shapes, filled with substances of all colors of the rainbow and more. On the small desk there were several items, hardly any which Maray recognized except for the purple crystal.

  Corey pulled out a chair for Maray and sat down on the other one, gesturing at the breadbasket and a coffeepot. “You’ll need this,” she commented as she poured a cup for Maray.

  Maray sat down, grateful for the meal and also not ready to start a new day, and smelled the coffee with delight. She was used to the bland brews she used to get in D.C. on the way to school. Since the move to Vienna, she had noticed that the local population took a lot of pride in their culture of pastries and coffee. Something she thought she could easily get used to.

  “Right?” Corey raised her own cup and took a sip. “Vienna is famous for coffee—in both worlds.” She chuckled.

  Maray watched her cheeks form cute, little dents and felt more at ease. “Have you been there?”

  Corey gave her a questioning look and picked up the breadbasket, holding it out to Maray.

  “The other dimension—” Maray found it hard to say it out loud. It made her feel as if she had accepted that this world was her new reality; and she wasn’t ready for that.

  “I am a warlock,” Corey replied as if that explained everything, still waiting for Maray to pick a roll.

  Maray hesitated to ask again, but she needed to learn about her environment. It was the only way she would have a chance to survive. “Does that mean you have or you haven’t?”

  Corey put down the basket and drew out a roll herself.

  “Warlocks don’t travel cross-border. Our magic goes dormant in the other dimension. We would be of little to no use there.” She wrinkled her nose as if the thought had a bad smell. “Heck and Jem are soldiers. Soldiers cross the borders at times when they need to protect them.” There was a sort of melancholy in her voice that made Maray wonder.

  “How does it work?” she asked instead.

  “Crossing the borders?” Corey smoothed her face over and pointed at Maray with a roll. “No chance in hell I’m telling you. You’re a warlock. You belong in this world, not the other one.”

  Her words hurt worse than Maray could have expected.

  “So, I can’t go back?” She picked up her cup, hoping to hide her pain behind it, and took a sip. “Ever?”

  Corey shook her head. “And that’s not just because you’re obviously royalty in this realm. Royalty is not supposed to cross the borders. It’s too dangerous.”

  Maray heard Corey’s words, but their meaning got lost as she refused to accept what she was saying. She would find a way to get back. She needed to return to her father. By now, he must have returned home from his event, and he must have noticed that she was missing. He might have called her mobile a million times and informed the police. She needed to let him know that she was alive and all right—at least physically.

  “Is there a way to communicate between dimensions?” She put down the cup, hopeful.

  Corey eyed her with a crease on her forehead, black eyes scrutinizing her face. “There is.”

  Her words sounded truthful, and yet there was something off about them. It made Maray’s stomach squirm.

  “Finish your breakfast,” Corey ordered, serious, and got to her feet.

  She scrambled along the shelves, picking up various items, and let them vanish in her cloak.

  Maray chewed carefully, not at all tasting the fluffy bread in her mouth but thinking about her father and how difficult it must be for him not to know where she was or if anything had happened to her. She knew that after her mother left, Gerwin had become more protective of her. He had lost his wife, and he was doing everything he could to spare what was left of their family any further loss. Losing Maray would destroy him.

  “Would you help me get in touch with my dad?” she asked, not expecting that Corey would be receptive to her request, and was surprised when, after a minute of raiding the shelves, Corey planted her feet next to her.

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  As Corey led her out of the warlock quarters, the sky was still greying, purple clouds crossing above them like herded sheep. The palace windows were dark, and the big clock in the center of the roofline read quarter past seven.

  “Where are we going?” Maray whispered, following Corey’s lead as she noiselessly slid along the castle walls. The girl hadn’t filled her in about her plans but had stuffed her pockets with tools and books and eventually instructed Maray to pick up a small bundle from the back of the room. She hadn’t asked but was grateful that she got away from the sweet scent in the warlock chambers. Now that her head had cleared in the chilly November air, it felt increasingly important that she knew.

  “The other end of the castle grounds,” Corey said over her shoulder and squeezed in behind a bush at the end of the wall, pulling Maray with her by her sleeve. She turned around and pressed her finger to her lips, pointing toward the open yard with her chin.

  A small group of people were marching in formation toward them along the archway which framed the yard, each of them carrying a spear in one hand. Their armor was different from what she had seen on Jemin and Heck. It was closer to the chainmail she knew from medieval Europe than to the elegant Thaotine shirts the boys had worn last night. Their heads were covered with berets in three colors: royal blue on the women, and gold and red on the men.

  Their footsteps were a rhythmic noise that reminded Maray of a marching band that had forgotten to bring their instruments.

  “The palace guard,” Corey whispered and leaned closer against the wall.

  The formation had almost reached the end of the archway when heavy footfalls came running across the gravel. At first, she thought of a horse, but when she turned her head toward the sound, she froze. A gigantic wolf-bear was galloping in their direction, his teeth bared and eyes seemingly flaming.

  “It’s attacking!” called someone in the group, and Maray heard the rhythmic pattern of their marching fall apart into uncoordinated noise. The formation had changed into a line, all of their spears angled in a way that the Yutu would rip its throat on them if it made it to the archway.

  There were shouts of orders, and Maray thought the guards were going to attack the beast, but then Corey’s fingers clawed into her forearm, and with a wince, she noticed that the Yutu wasn’t headed for the guards, it was speeding directly toward them.

  “Run,” Corey said, not caring to keep her voice down any longer, and bolted to the other side of the bush, out of the guards’ sight.

  Maray followed, like she’d been struck by lightning, through a flowerbed and into the maze of bushes and gravel behind the castle. She stumbled through a row of scrubs, running as fast as she could, heart pounding in her chest, Corey always just within sight. Two types of fear were driving her to ignore the taste of metal as she sprinted past a fountain and slightly uphill into a less domesticated area of the park: the fear of the beast behind her and the fear of the moment she would lose Corey behind one of those gnarly walls of branches.

  After what seemed like an eternity of running but could in reality not have been much more than a minute or two, a pale yellow pavilion was within reach if they ran for it now. Mar
ay glanced over her shoulder for the millionth time to always see the same picture: an enormous Yutu eating up the welcome distance between them with every giant leap it took. Its eyes, like flames set into a slate grey, wolf-like face, hungrily staring after her.

  “In here,” Corey called and turned the corner between a line of trimmed bushes and a cluster of wild-looking trees. Maray jammed her sneakers into the ground as she cut through the grass between the trees and stood in a small meadow. Corey was just vanishing between the trees at the other end of the brown grass, again, too fast to be able to keep up.

  “Wait!” Maray followed into the forest behind the clearing and found herself in lonely twilight.

  She stopped dead. Where had Corey gone? There was no sound that would allow her to make out Corey’s direction; not even the angry pounding of the Yutu that had dominated her perception until a moment ago.

  “Corey?” She looked around, hoping to see a broken branch or a piece of torn fabric; anything that would help find her.

  Just as she had made a full circle, something warm touched her neck. She jumped and noticed puffs of fog passing her shoulders on both sides. A low panting announced that the second thing she had feared had happened: the Yutu had caught up with her.

  Jemin

  “Dammit, Corey!” Heck cursed behind him. “I thought we could trust you.”

  Jemin had sat down on the exact same footstool Maray had abused as a chair last night.

  “How could you lose her?” He shook his head at the warlock-girl, not even trying to hide his disappointment.