Different Worlds

CHAPTER 3: UNMARKED

After walking down the hallway a bit they make it to a doorway. The room past it had a long dark wood dinning table with about 12 seats. Some of the men from the great gall followed us.

I guess they were too curious to leave them alone. Five of them took a seat around the table and i noticed two guards at the door.

Ethan was studying her.

Not the way a king studied a subject.

There was no cold assessment in his eyes, no calculation of what she might be worth, no visible judgment about the strange clothes she wore or the impossible circumstances that had brought her into his hall.

He looked at her like a man trying to solve a problem that should not exist.

Fay stood several feet from the long dining table, still damp from the rain—or whatever had passed for rain on the other side of the door. Her coat clung to her body. Water dripped from the ends of her hair onto the stone floor.

Everything had quieted down the hall.

The old Steward make his way through the open doorway. He looked like he was on a mission. I stared not knowing what is going on or what is going to happen.

The old Steward stood beside Ethan, his hands folded over the top of his ledger. His narrow eyes moved over Fay with an intensity that made her feel less like a person and more like an object brought in for inspection.

Ethan gestured toward an empty chair.

“Sit.”

Fay glanced at the chair.

Then back at him.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re soaked.”

“I noticed.”

“Your lips are blue.”

Fay touched them instinctively.

The movement irritated her almost as much as his observation.

She hated that he had noticed.

She hated that her body had betrayed her in front of all these strangers.

Ethan gestured toward the chair again.

“Sit.”

This time, she did.

The chair was made of hard wood. It was cold beneath her, and the straight back offered little comfort. Fay settled into it without removing her coat. She kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, trying to stop them from trembling.

Ethan remained standing.

The Steward stepped closer.

His gaze moved over Fay’s face, then down to her coat, her shirt, and her trousers. He examined the seams of her clothing as though he expected to find some hidden message stitched into the fabric. His attention eventually settled on her shoes.

“What is that fabric?” he asked.

Fay looked down at herself.

“Cotton.”

The Steward’s brow furrowed.

“From where?”

“A store.”

He waited.

Fay waited back.

The Steward glanced at Ethan, then returned his attention to her.

“What is a*****e?”

Fay stared at him.

“A place where you buy things.”

The Steward’s expression grew genuinely troubled.

“Without a merchant’s house?”

“I guess.”

“Without a guild?”

“I don’t know.”

“Without a royal mark?”

Fay blinked.

“What?”

The Steward looked as though she had just given the wrong answer to a very important question.

“Then who owns this place where you buy things?”

“The person who owns the store.”

Silence settled over the table.

One of the men seated nearby coughed into his fist. The sound was suspiciously close to a laugh.

The Steward turned his head.

The man immediately straightened and became fascinated by the contents of his cup.

Fay looked between them.

“Do I need permission to buy things here?”

Ethan answered before the Steward could.

“Not generally.”

“Good.”

“You’ll find that ‘generally’ does a great deal of work in this country.”

Fay gave him a tired look.

“I’ve noticed.”

A faint shift passed through Ethan’s expression. It was almost amusement, though he seemed unwilling to allow it to become a smile.

The Steward lowered himself into a kneeling position beside Fay.

The sudden movement made her tense.

He reached toward her wrist.

Fay pulled away immediately.

“Don’t touch me.”

The words were quiet, but the room changed around them.

The guards near the doors straightened.

Ethan’s expression hardened.

The Steward paused with his hand suspended in the air.

“I must inspect the mark,” he said.

“What mark?”

“The house mark.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Exactly.”

He looked up at Ethan.

“No mark.”

Ethan’s face changed.

Concern.

Fear.

Possibly both.

Ethan stood straighter.

Then he moved away from his place at the table and walked around it.

“Show me,” he said.

Fay looked at him.

For a moment, she considered refusing.

She was tired of being examined. Tired of being questioned. Tired of every person in this impossible place looking at her as though she had crawled out of a grave.

But Ethan’s voice held no threat.

Only a demand for clarity.

Slowly, Fay rolled up her sleeve.

Her wrist was bare.

There was no tattoo.

No scar.

No symbol.

No family crest.

Nothing.

The Steward took her hand, more carefully this time. He turned it palm-up and examined the lines crossing her skin. Then he turned it over and studied the back of her hand.

He repeated the inspection with her other hand.

His fingers were cool.

His expression grew more troubled with every passing second.

Finally, he released her.

“Unmarked,” he said.

The word fell into the room like a stone dropped into deep water.

Fay looked at him.

“What does that mean?”

No one answered.

She glanced toward Ethan.

He was looking at the Steward.

Fay’s patience thinned.

“What does that mean?”

Still, no one spoke.

Her voice sharpened.

“I asked what that means.”

Ethan lifted his gaze toward the men at the table.

“Leave us.”

Nobody moved.

The command seemed to pass over them without effect. A couple men looked toward the Steward, as if waiting for him to confirm that the king had truly said what they had heard.

Ethan’s voice remained calm.

“I said leave us.”

The second command was louder.

“I said leave us!”.

The men in the room rose quickly. Some bowed to Ethan. Others lowered their heads as they passed him. A couple looked at Fay as though they wanted to memorize her face before leaving.

The young lord who had watched her earlier lingered near the table.

Ethan turned his attention toward him.

The young man’s mouth tightened.

Then he bowed and left.

The large hound followed at his heels, its claws clicking against the floor.

Soon, the dining room was nearly empty.

Only Ethan, Fay, the Steward, and two guards remained near the doors. A woman carrying an armful of firewood crossed the far side of the room, keeping her eyes carefully lowered.

An old priest sat near the hearth.

He appeared not to have noticed that everyone else had gone.

Ethan looked toward him.

“Father.”

The priest raised his head.

“Sire.”

“Did you misunderstand me?”

“No.”

“Then why are you still here?”

The priest’s eyes shifted toward Fay.

“Because she came through.”

Ethan went completely still.

Fay noticed.

The priest seemed to realize his mistake, but it was too late.

Fay turned toward him.

“Through what?”

The old man said nothing.

Ethan’s voice became colder.

“Go.”

The priest bowed his head.

“Yes, Sire.”

He rose slowly, his joints creaking beneath his robes, and made his way toward the nearest exit.

Fay watched him go.

Then she looked back at Ethan.

“What did he mean?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie.”

Ethan did not deny it.

“Yes.”

Fay stared at him.

The honesty of the answer caught her off guard.

He turned toward the great doors, watching as the priest disappeared beyond them.

“You will discover,” he said, “that people in this keep lie differently.”

Fay folded her arms.

“How?”

Ethan’s gaze remained on the doors.

“Some lie because they’re afraid.”

He looked back at her.

“Some because they’re ambitious.”

His eyes settled on her face.

“And some because they believe the truth belongs to them.”

Fay studied him.

“Which one are you?”

For a moment, Ethan seemed to consider giving her an answer that would make him appear wiser, kinder, or more trustworthy than he truly was.

Instead, he said, “I’m still deciding.”

⸻

By the time the table had been cleared, only three candles remained burning in the great hall.

Their flames trembled in the draft.

The vast room had become quieter without the councilmen and nobles. The empty chairs stood around the table like silent witnesses. The fire had burned lower, leaving the far corners of the hall in shadow.

Fay sat opposite Ethan.

The Steward stood between them with his ledger open.

The book was enormous, bound in dark leather that had cracked with age. Its corners were worn smooth, and a strip of black metal ran along the spine. When the Steward turned the pages, the parchment made a dry whispering sound.

The pages were filled with names.

Some were written in careful, elegant script.

Others had faded until they were barely visible.

Several had been written over, as if someone had attempted to erase what had come before.

Some entries were marked with black wax.

Fay leaned forward.

“What is that?”

The Steward looked down at the book.

“The Book of Houses.”

“Everyone is in it?”

“Everyone who belongs.”

Fay’s eyes moved over the pages.

“And people who don’t?”

The Steward lifted his gaze.

“They are recorded differently.”

Fay looked at Ethan.

“Like me.”

“Yes,” the Steward said.

He turned several pages.

The parchment grew darker and more brittle as he moved backward through the book. At last, he stopped at an old section near the beginning.

Ethan nodded toward the page.

“Read it.”

The Steward adjusted the candle so that the light fell across the writing.

“The First Law of Entry,” he announced.

He cleared his throat.

“Any person crossing the threshold of a house without name, blood, banner, or sworn protection shall be received under the keeping of the crown until such time as their rightful house is established.”

Fay listened in silence.

The Steward continued.

“If no rightful house can be established, the crown shall provide one.”

Fay’s expression tightened.

“Provide one?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

The Steward looked at Ethan.

That was all it took.

Fay understood.

“No.”

Ethan glanced at her.

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“I can guess.”

“Can you?”

“You’re the king.”

“Unfortunately.”

“And I’m an unnamed woman.”

“Apparently.”

“So the law says I belong to you.”

The Steward opened his mouth.

“Technically—”

“Don’t say technically.”

The Steward closed his mouth.

Fay pushed her chair back and stood.

“I’m not property.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Ethan replied.

“Your book does.”

“My book is older than I am.”

“Then your book needs updating.”

The Steward made a small, involuntary sound.

Ethan turned his head toward him.

The Steward immediately became absorbed in the ledger.

Ethan looked back at Fay.

“You are not property.”

“Then what am I?”

Ethan leaned back in his chair.

“A problem.”

Fay stared at him.

“Excuse me?”

“An interesting one.”

“That’s not better.”

“I know.”

He folded his hands on the table.

“The law says you must be protected.”

“Fine.”

“It also says you must be claimed.”

“By you?”

“If no other house can be established.”

Fay’s jaw tightened.

“And if I refuse?”

“You can refuse.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m refusing.”

Ethan nodded once.

“Good.”

Fay blinked.

“Good?”

“I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t.”

He looked toward the Steward.

“Write that she refuses the first claim.”

The Steward hesitated.

“Sire—”

“Write it.”

The Steward lowered his head and began to write.

The scratching of the quill seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet hall.

Fay watched the words appear.

“What happens now?”

“Now we determine whether you have a rightful house.”

“I told you. I don’t.”

“You have parents?”

“Yes.”

“Names?”

Fay opened her mouth.

“My mother’s name was—”

The words stopped.

Something flickered across her face.

For an instant, she saw a kitchen.

Not the kitchen in this keep, but another one. A familiar room filled with warm light. A woman stood near a counter, her hands busy with something Fay could not quite see.

Her mother’s voice drifted through the memory.

Fay knew the voice.

She knew the shape of the woman’s hands.

She knew the feeling of being loved by her.

But the memory slipped away before she could catch it.

“Fay?”

She looked up.

Ethan was watching her.

“Your mother’s name?” he asked.

Fay swallowed.

“I know it.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“I just…”

She looked down at the table.

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

Ethan studied her for a moment.

Then he nodded.

“No pressure. Your father?”

“Same answer.”

The Steward wrote something in the ledger.

Fay’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you writing?”

“That your bloodline cannot presently be verified.”

“Presently?”

“Yes.”

“You really think you’re going to find my family in a book?”

“We have found stranger things.”

Fay looked up.

“Like what?”

The Steward’s eyes shifted toward Ethan.

Ethan’s expression gave nothing away.

“Nothing you need to worry about tonight.”

Fay leaned back.

She did not believe him.

She was beginning to suspect that believing anything Ethan said was going to require a great deal of work.

⸻

The kitchens were located right next to the dinning room which was connected by swinging double doors it reminded me of a restaurant back home.

They were warmer than the great hall, brighter, and considerably louder. Fires burned beneath enormous iron pots. Steam rose from kettles and filled the air with the scents of herbs, onions, bread, and roasted meat.

People moved everywhere.

Cooks hurried between tables. Servants carried baskets and trays. Someone shouted for more salt. Someone else cursed when a pan slipped from a hook and clattered against the floor.

The noise slowed when Ethan entered.

Every head turned.

Fay followed him through the doorway, still wearing her damp clothes.

Ethan surveyed the room.

“She’s hungry.”

A broad-shouldered cook stood near the hearth. She had gray threaded through her dark hair and flour dusted across one cheek. She looked Fay up and down.

“What does she eat?”

Fay, exhausted and irritated, answered before she could stop herself.

“Food.”

The kitchen went silent.

Ethan looked at her.

Fay stared back.

“What?”

A pause passed between them.

Then Ethan said, “You’re going to enjoy the kitchens.”

He turned slightly toward the cook.

“They’re the only people here who won’t care whether you’re royal.”

The cook snorted.

“Depends who’s hungry.”

Ethan gestured toward an empty place at one of the long wooden tables.

“Feed her.”

The cook pointed at the bench.

“Sit.”

Fay sat.

The order was so familiar that she obeyed before remembering she had spent the last hour resisting every command anyone gave her.

A bowl of soup appeared in front of her.

Then bread.

Cheese.

Roasted vegetables.

Fay stared at the meal.

“You made this?”

The cook gave her a flat look.

“No. The ghosts did.”

Fay turned toward Ethan.

He had taken a seat across from her.

“She does that,” he said. “She makes strangers question reality.”

“I’ve been doing it for forty years,” the cook replied.

Fay picked up the spoon.

She tasted the soup.

Warmth spread across her tongue and down her throat.

She closed her eyes.

For the first time since she had stepped through the door, something inside her loosened.

The food was real.

The heat was real.

The weight of the bowl beneath her fingers was real.

She took another spoonful.

Then another.

Ethan watched her without speaking.

“This is good,” Fay said.

The cook straightened proudly.

“Of course it is.”

Fay looked down into the bowl.

“What is it?”

“Soup.”

Fay looked at Ethan.

He shook his head slightly.

“Don’t ask.”

The cook laughed.

Fay continued eating.

For a while, neither she nor Ethan spoke.

Around them, the kitchen resumed its rhythm. Pots clanged. Fires crackled. Servants moved past them carrying baskets of vegetables and fresh loaves of bread.

It was almost peaceful.

Then Fay lowered her spoon.

“Why did you help me?”

Ethan looked at her.

“You were cold.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

“You could have let the law take me.”

“I could have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Ethan’s gaze shifted toward the fire.

The flames reflected in his eyes.

“Because I’ve spent too long watching people use the law as an excuse to stop being human.”

Fay studied him.

“And you’re different?”

Ethan was quiet for a long time.

“No.”

The answer was softer than she expected.

He continued to look into the fire.

“I just know what it costs.”

Something in Fay’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

She lowered her eyes to the soup and took another bite.

⸻

Later, Fay approached a tall window at the far end of the bedroom Ethan assigned her to. The bed was huge it looked bigger than a king size bad home. It have red and gold colors all throughout the bed spread and pillows. The walls where stone and all the furniture was a dark wood.

The as she looked out the window she touched the glass it was cold beneath her fingertips.

Outside was a sky unlike any she had ever seen.

The darkness was deeper here, untouched by the orange haze of city lights. Stars filled the heavens in impossible numbers, scattered across the black expanse like shards of silver. The moon hung enormous above the distant hills.

Fay stared at it.

“Where am I?”

Ethan’s voice came from behind her.

“Avelor.”

She turned.

He stood in the doorway, holding a bundle of folded clothes.

Fay glanced at the bundle.

Then at him.

“You knock?”

“Usually.”

“Usually?”

“You didn’t close the door.”

“I didn’t know if I was allowed.”

Ethan entered and set the clothes on a nearby table.

“You’re allowed, for tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.”

A small smile passed between them.

It disappeared almost immediately.

Ethan turned to leave.

“Ethan.”

He stopped.

Fay hesitated.

“The door I came through.”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

He did not answer.

Fay took a step toward him.

“You know.”

“Yes.”

“Can I go back?”

Silence stretched between them.

At last, Ethan turned.

“I don’t know.”

“But you know where it is.”

“I know where it was.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

Fay’s voice grew urgent.

“Take me there.”

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because the door doesn’t always lead where you think it will.”

“It led here.”

“Exactly.”

Fay watched him carefully.

“You’re afraid of it.”

Ethan considered lying.

She could see the decision pass through him.

Then he told the truth.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Ethan’s expression darkened.

“Because my father went through one.”

Fay’s breath caught.

“He never came back.”

“What happened?”

“Nobody knows.”

Ethan stepped backward toward the door.

“Get some sleep.”

“Ethan.”

He stopped again.

Fay looked down at the folded clothes.

Then back at him.

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

“Goodnight, Fay.”

He closed the door behind him.

Fay stood alone.

She looked at the clothes.

Then at the bed prepared for her.

Then at the window.

Slowly, she walked toward it again.

Outside, somewhere in the dark, a bell rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Fay rested her forehead against the cold glass.

“I’m going home,” she whispered.

She did not know whether she was making a promise or begging the world to listen.

⸻

Ethan entered his chamber and closed the door behind him.

The room was larger than Fay’s guest chamber but no warmer. A wide bed stood against one wall, covered in dark blankets. A heavy wooden table occupied the center of the room. His sword belt hung from a chair, and a small fire burned low in the hearth.

Ethan removed his belt and placed it on the chair.

Then he pulled off his boots.

Only after he sat down did the weight of the night finally reach him.

He rubbed both hands over his face.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in.”

The Steward entered.

He closed the door carefully behind him.

“You should not have sent everyone away,” he said.

Ethan leaned back in his chair.

“I know.”

“The council will object.”

“They object when it rains.”

“This is different.”

Ethan looked at him.

“How?”

The Steward hesitated.

“She has no house. No blood mark. No language from any recognized kingdom. She came through a sealed threshold.”

Ethan’s face changed.

The Steward moved toward the table.

“There is another matter.”

“What?”

The old man slowly closed the distance between them.

“The law did not record her as an arrival.”

Ethan sat forward.

“What did it record?”

The Steward placed the Book of Houses on the table.

He opened it.

A fresh page lay near the back.

Fay’s name had been written across it in dark ink.

Beneath her name was a second line.

Ethan leaned closer.

The Steward pointed to the words.

FAY — RETURNED.

Ethan’s face went completely still.

“Who wrote that?”

“The book did did.”

“I have never seen this page.”

“I know.”

Ethan reached toward the writing.

He touched the ink with one finger.

It was still wet.

He pulled his hand back.

“Burn the page.”

The Steward stared at him.

“And the girl?”

Ethan looked toward the closed door.

His voice was low.

“Nobody touches her.”

“Even if the law claims her?”

Ethan’s gaze hardened.

“Especially then.”

⸻

Fay could not sleep.

She lay beneath the unfamiliar blankets with her eyes open, listening to the keep settle around her.

The stones creaked.

The wind moved through the narrow spaces between the walls.

Somewhere far away, a door opened and closed.

Then footsteps passed outside her chamber.

Fay held her breath.

The footsteps stopped.

Silence followed.

She sat up.

The room was dark except for the faint glow of the dying fire.

Fay looked toward the door.

Nothing moved.

Slowly, she climbed out of bed.

She crossed the room and pressed her ear against the wood.

Voices murmured on the other side.

The Steward.

And another man.

“The king has ordered that no one approach her,” the Steward said.

The other man’s voice was low.

“He cannot protect her forever.”

“No.”

“Then what?”

A pause.

Fay held herself perfectly still.

At last, the Steward answered.

“We wait.”

Fay stepped away from the door.

Her eyes narrowed.

She turned toward the window.

Outside, the courtyard lay beneath the moonlight.

At first, she saw nothing.

Then a figure moved near the far wall.

A woman stood alone in the courtyard.

She appeared ancient.

Her body was thin beneath a long, dark garment. Her hair hung around her face in pale strands. She stood perfectly still, staring directly toward Fay’s window.

Fay froze.

The woman slowly raised one hand.

Then she pointed at Fay.

A chill moved through Fay’s body.

She stepped backward.

The woman lowered her arm.

Then she turned and began to walk away.

Fay rushed closer to the glass.

She watched until the woman disappeared into the shadows.

Only then did Fay realize she had been holding her breath.

⸻

Ethan stood at his own window.

He had seen the woman.

He had watched her emerge into the courtyard.

He had watched her raise her hand.

He had watched her point toward Fay’s room.

Now he drew the curtains closed.

The movement was deliberate.

Almost careful.

He turned away from the window.

The Book of Houses lay on the table.

Ethan approached it slowly.

The Steward had not burned the page.

Of course he hadn’t.

Ethan opened the book.

Fay’s name remained where it had been written.

Beneath it:

RETURNED.

He stared at the word.

Then, slowly, another line began to appear.

Ink spread across the parchment by itself.

The letters formed one at a time.

Ethan did not move.

The message became clear.

THE DOOR HAS OPENED.

His throat tightened.

“No.”

The ink continued to move.

A second line appeared beneath the first.

THE CLAIM WILL FAIL.

Ethan closed the book.

The sound echoed through the chamber.

His hand remained on the cover.

For the first time that night, the king of Avelor looked afraid.