Different Worlds

CHAPTER 9: THE HOUSE HAS NOT

The hall emptied slowly.

The councilmen departed in small groups, speaking in low voices. Servants returned to their duties. The dead had been carried elsewhere, and the wounded had been moved to the infirmary. Yet the Great Hall still felt like a place where something had been buried.

Thomas remained near the throne.

The seal rested on a table beside him.

The Old Steward closed the Book of Houses.

Fay stood near the doorway.

Ethan had already taken Desmond away.

“You should go with him,” Thomas said.

Fay looked at him.

“I know.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because someone should have stayed.”

Thomas’s eyes moved toward the doors.

“He is not being imprisoned.”

“That isn’t the same as being free.”

“He is injured.”

“He is your king.”

“The law has changed that.”

“No.”

Fay stepped toward him.

“The law has changed your position.”

Thomas said nothing.

“Don’t confuse the two.”

He studied her for a long moment.

“You sound like him.”

“I learned from him.”

“That may become difficult.”

“It already has.”

Thomas turned toward the throne.

“He cannot remain in the keep.”

Fay’s expression hardened.

“Why?”

“Because the seat must be seen to be occupied.”

“He can live in the keep.”

“Not as king.”

“He can live here as himself.”

Thomas looked at her.

“That is not how the court will understand it.”

“Then teach the court.”

“The court understands possession.”

“Then the court is sick.”

Thomas picked up the seal.

“The law is not concerned with sickness.”

“You keep saying that as if it absolves you.”

He looked down at the metal.

“It does not absolve me.”

“Then what does it do?”

Thomas’s voice lowered.

“It gives me a duty.”

“And what do you want?”

Silence settled between them.

Thomas looked toward the empty throne.

“Want is not relevant.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only answer that keeps the realm together.”

Fay studied him.

“You are always correct.”

“I know.”

“That must be terribly lonely.”

For the first time, something passed across his face.

Not anger.

Not offense.

Something closer to recognition.

Then it disappeared.

────────

Ethan sat beside the window in the private chamber.

His sword rested against the wall. His crown was absent. His coat hung from the back of a chair, and the space where the royal seal would once have been seemed strangely empty.

Desmond sat on the floor, feeding crumbs to his wooden horse.

Fay entered quietly and closed the door behind her.

Ethan did not turn.

“Is he eating?”

“The horse?”

“Desmond.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Fay crossed the room and sat beside him.

“You stayed.”

“For a while.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep ignoring me.”

“I have a gift.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Beyond the window, workers moved through the courtyard. Broken beams were stacked beside the walls. Soldiers carried wounded men toward the infirmary. The keep was repairing itself around them, though the damage ran deeper than stone.

Fay looked at Ethan.

“What happens now?”

“The law has to be entered.”

“And then?”

“Thomas assumes the seat.”

“And you?”

Ethan looked toward the valley.

“I remain alive.”

“That isn’t enough.”

“It may have to be.”

Fay reached for his right hand.

Ethan’s eyes dropped to it.

“Fay—”

“No.”

She laid his hand between them.

“You are not going to disappear while everyone is watching.”

“I am not disappearing.”

“You are already speaking as if you are gone.”

He looked at her.

“I lost the crown.”

“You lost a piece of metal.”

“I lost the right to stand in that hall.”

“You stood there for twenty years.”

“And now I cannot close my hand.”

Fay’s fingers tightened around his.

“Then close something else.”

Ethan looked at her.

“What?”

“A door.”

He stared at her.

“A promise,” she continued. “A memory. My hand.”

Desmond looked up from the floor.

“Papa?”

Ethan turned.

“Can you come outside?”

Ethan looked at Fay.

She nodded.

“Yes.”

He began to rise.

This time, he needed her help.

For once, he did not pretend otherwise.

────────

The courtyard was filled with repairs.

Broken beams lay stacked near the walls. Workers replaced stones in the damaged archways. Soldiers carried wounded men toward the infirmary, while others gathered discarded weapons and dragged them into piles.

Desmond ran ahead of them.

Ethan walked slowly beside Fay, his left arm held close to his body. His right hand remained curled against his side.

Desmond stopped beside a low stone wall.

“Watch this.”

He climbed onto the stones.

“Desmond—”

“I’m careful.”

Then he jumped down.

Ethan clapped with his left hand.

Desmond looked pleased.

“You do it.”

“I am too old.”

“You’re not.”

“I am injured.”

“Use the other hand.”

Ethan looked at Fay.

She smiled.

“He has your solutions.”

“He has your confidence.”

“That is unfortunate.”

Desmond grabbed Ethan’s left hand.

“Come on.”

Ethan followed him toward the wall, though he did not climb. Instead, he sat beside it.

Desmond sat beside him.

The boy leaned against his father’s side.

After a while, he asked, “Are you still Papa if you’re not king?”

Ethan looked down at him.

The question was simple.

It was also enormous.

“Yes.”

“Are you still Papa if your hand doesn’t work?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still Papa if you live somewhere else?”

Ethan went still.

Fay looked away.

“Why would I live somewhere else?” Ethan asked.

“The people in the hall were looking at you.”

“They look at everyone.”

“Not like that.”

Ethan studied his son.

“Are you going away?” Desmond asked.

Ethan pulled him close.

“Not today.”

Desmond accepted the answer.

For today.

────────

That evening, the Old Steward stood alone in the Throne Hall.

The room was empty.

The last light of day had faded from the windows, leaving the throne beneath a pale wash of moonlight.

The Book of Houses lay open before him.

The page was blank.

He turned it.

Blank.

He turned another.

Blank.

Then ink began to appear.

Slowly.

Not from a quill.

Not from any visible hand.

The letters formed across the page as though they were rising from beneath the paper itself.

ETHAN — CLAIM SUSPENDED.

The Steward stared.

A second line appeared.

THOMAS — SEAT TEMPORARILY BORNE.

The Steward closed the book.

The cover trembled beneath his hands.

He opened it again.

The words had changed.

THE HAND HAS FAILED.

Below them, a final line appeared.

THE CLAIM HAS NOT.

The Steward stepped backward.

On the table beside him, the royal seal began to vibrate.

A faint metallic sound filled the hall.

Like a knock.

Once.

Twice.

Then three times.

The Steward turned toward the doors.

They remained closed.

────────

Night settled over the keep.

In the private chamber, Fay helped Ethan remove his coat.

He struggled with the fastening.

“I can do it,” he said.

“I know.”

She waited.

His left hand worked the clasp. His right hand remained useless at his side.

The fastening slipped.

Ethan tried again.

The clasp caught against the fabric.

He pulled harder.

The seam tore.

The sound was small, but it filled the room.

Ethan stared at the damaged coat.

Fay gently took it from him.

“It’s only cloth.”

“It was my father’s.”

“I know.”

“He wore it when he became king.”

“I know.”

“He wore it when he went through the door.”

Fay looked at him.

Ethan’s voice had become distant.

“He handed it to me before he walked through.”

“You never told me that.”

“There are many things I never told you.”

“Then tell me now.”

He turned away.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because tonight I have lost enough.”

Fay folded the coat carefully and placed it over the chair.

Then she returned to him.

“You haven’t lost me.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t lost Desmond.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t lost the man you were.”

Ethan looked at her.

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s standing in front of me.”

She touched his chest.

“He’s just tired.”

Ethan took her hand.

His left hand closed around it.

His right remained against their wrists.

Unable to close.

Still present.

────────

Later, Ethan slept.

Fay sat beside the window.

The torn coat rested on the chair. Desmond’s wooden horse lay on the floor near the bed.

She reached down and picked it up.

Turning it over, she discovered a symbol carved beneath its belly.

A door.

Underneath it—

a crown.

Fay frowned.

She had seen the symbol before.

It was stamped into the royal seal.

It appeared on the Book of Houses.

It had been carved into the door beneath the city where she had first crossed into Avelor.

A soft sound came from the corridor.

Fay looked toward the door.

Three knocks.

She rose and opened it.

No one stood outside.

At the far end of the corridor, however, Thomas waited.

He held the royal seal in one hand.

Fay stepped into the doorway.

“What do you want?”

“To speak with you.”

“It’s late.”

“The law does not keep ordinary hours.”

“Neither does grief.”

Thomas’s gaze dropped to the wooden horse in her hand.

“Desmond should not be carrying symbols he does not understand.”

“He is five.”

“That is why he should be taught.”

“By whom?”

Thomas looked toward Ethan’s sleeping chamber.

“By those who remain responsible for him.”

Fay’s expression changed.

“What does that mean?”

Thomas met her eyes.

“It means the realm cannot be divided between two claims.”

“He is not a claim.”

“He is the child of the seat.”

“He is a child.”

“The law recognizes no difference.”

Fay stepped farther into the corridor.

“Then the law is going to learn one.”

Thomas’s eyes moved to the symbol carved beneath the wooden horse.

“Where did he get that?”

“It was his toy.”

“Who carved it?”

“Ethan.”

Thomas looked unsettled for the first time.

“Did he tell you why?”

“No.”

Thomas turned his attention toward the dark corridor.

“He should have.”

Fay watched him.

“What are you afraid of?”

Thomas said nothing.

“You are always correct,” she continued. “But you’re afraid.”

He turned away.

“Get some sleep.”

“You first.”

Thomas walked down the corridor.

Fay watched until he disappeared into the shadows.

────────

When Fay returned to the chamber, Ethan was awake.

“Who was it?” he asked.

“Thomas.”

Ethan looked toward the door.

“What did he want?”

“To remind me that the law has a long memory.”

Ethan’s face hardened.

“The law has no memory.”

“The Book does.”

She placed the wooden horse on the bed between them.

“What did you carve beneath Desmond’s horse?”

Ethan went still.

“What?”

She turned it over.

“The symbol.”

He stared at it.

“I didn’t carve that.”

Fay looked at him.

“You said—”

“I carved the horse.”

He reached for it with his left hand and touched the symbol.

“Not that.”

The room grew colder.

Ethan looked toward the window.

“Where did you find it?”

“It was already there.”

“Fay.”

“What?”

He drew in a slow breath.

“If the door comes again—”

“It already came.”

“No.”

He looked at her.

“Not that door.”

A faint sound rose from beneath the floor.

A knock.

Ethan closed his eyes.

“What is it?” Fay whispered.

“The house.”

“What does it want?”

He looked down at his injured hand.

“I don’t know.”

The wooden horse slipped from the bed.

It struck the floor.

The symbol beneath it glowed faintly.

A narrow line of light appeared across the stone.

Like the outline of a door.

Ethan reached for Fay with his left hand.

She took it.

His right hand remained open beside them.

The light vanished.

────────

At dawn, Thomas stood before the empty throne.

The first light of morning touched the carved crown above the seat. He wore the silver chain at his throat, and the royal seal rested in his closed hand.

The Old Steward approached from the far side of the hall.

“You should sleep.”

“I did.”

“Did you dream?”

“No.”

“That is not always a blessing.”

Thomas looked toward the throne.

“Where is he?”

“The former king?”

Thomas’s jaw tightened.

“Ethan.”

“In the private chamber.”

“And Fay?”

“With him.”

Thomas closed his fingers more tightly around the seal.

“She cannot remain there indefinitely.”

“She is not a possession.”

“No.”

Thomas looked toward the throne.

“She is the queen.”

“The law says she passes with the seat.”

“Then the law will be obeyed.”

The Steward studied him.

“And what do you intend to do with her?”

Thomas did not answer.

The seal began to vibrate in his hand.

He looked down.

A dark line had appeared across the metal.

A c***k.

Thomas tried to open his fingers.

The seal would not move.

He pulled harder.

His hand remained closed.

“Steward.”

“Yes?”

“The seal.”

The old man reached for it.

Thomas’s fingers would not release the metal.

“Open your hand,” the Steward said.

“I am trying.”

The c***k widened.

A faint white light shone through it.

The Steward stepped backward.

Thomas looked toward the Book of Houses.

Its pages began turning by themselves.

One after another.

The sound grew louder.

Like wings.

Like rain.

Like hundreds of hands searching for a name.

Then the Book stopped.

A line of writing appeared.

THE SEAT HAS CHANGED HANDS.

A second line followed.

THE HOUSE HAS NOT.

Thomas stared at the page.

Then the final words appeared.

THE STEP DOWN IS NOT THE END.

The seal broke in his hand.

The sound echoed through the empty hall.

And beneath the keep, something knocked.