Two Worlds of Provenance

by Angelina J. Steffort

  As things settled in, her stomach seemed to lurch into her feet, leaving her empty. Her mother, all those years—

  When Maray looked around, she found three pairs of eyes staring back at her, each showing their own version of horror.

  She jumped to her feet. “We need to find her.”

  No one moved.

  “What are we waiting for?”

  It was Jemin who answered, crushing her sudden hope. “If she’s in the dungeons—if she has been there for a while, there is no way of knowing what condition she is in.” His face was grave, features hard as stone. “Even if we go there now, there is no guarantee she’ll ever recover.”

  Maray ignored his suggestion. “All the more reason to go right now and free her.”

  “You haven’t seen the dungeons, Maray,” Jemin said, face unchanged.

  “You have?” she asked, feeling betrayed. There was a chance she’d see her mom again, and he was really suggesting they not pursue the possibility.

  “Jem knows the palace better than anyone,” Heck informed her, making clear he was on Jemin’s side.

  Corey, on the other hand, got to her feet and stood next to Maray, taking her hand as though she was going to run with her. “Exactly,” she said, eyes sparkling as if she was having an epiphany. “No one knows the palace like Jem. Not even the queen, I’d dare say.”

  “What exactly are you trying to tell us?” Jemin eyed her with dismay.

  “You know how to get through the palace unseen and unnoticed.” She squeezed Maray’s hand, reigniting her hope. “You did that for years when you were little.” Jemin averted his eyes as she mentioned his childhood. “If anyone can take us to the dungeons, it is you. And, if anyone can get us out, it’s you.”

  Jemin twisted his lips into a crooked line, showing disagreement. “I haven’t done that in years.”

  “And no one says you need to do that ever again,” Corey said, understanding like a big sister.

  Her tone eased the jealousy that had welled-up inside Maray’s chest earlier, but it didn’t explain what they were talking about.

  “Can someone fill me in?” she asked, feet itching to run to the palace even though she had no idea where she’d start looking. Maybe find her dad first, and with his help, free Mom.

  “Jem used to gather intel on the palace for his father,” Heck explained in his brief and eloquent manner.

  Beside him, Jemin’s cheeks blushed. It was a look she didn’t even know was possible on those confident features. He looked more like a boy than a man that way, caught, embarrassed, ashamed.

  “It’s okay, Jem.” Corey reached over with her slender, dark hand, and brushed his shoulder. “You were a child. No one should ever make a child do anything like that.”

  While Jemin’s face returned to its normal color, Heck got to his feet. “She is right, Jem. No one knows the palace and its secret passages like you do. Even if your father made you spy on the crown, he did it for good reason; we know that now.” He was referring to the revolutionaries and their cause. “It’s time to honor your father’s bravery, and his death, for the cause of a free Allinan—”

  “Free of an immortal tyrant who is planning to flood both worlds with demons,” Corey agreed, reinforcing his point.

  Everyone in the room knew they were right. Even Jemin’s features had changed. She knew he didn’t like to talk about his father much, and when she’d learned that he had died by the hand of the queen—her grandmother—the person whose image Jemin had adored for most of his childhood and youth—she’d known that must have shattered something inside of him; some fundamental belief in the institution of Allinan’s monarchy. But, it was only now that she understood how much more there was to Jemin’s past that she still didn’t know about.

  “All right.” He hesitantly rolled off the bed, body restored through Corey’s magic—something that had slipped to the background of Maray’s concerns. She’d learn to deal with her own, unique magic—once they’d found and saved her mother and her father.

  “You can’t stay here, anyway, Corey,” Jemin said and strolled to the dresser where he pulled out a drawer and reached inside with one hand. “It’s only a matter of time ’til Feris finds out how much you know. You won’t be safe here.” He slipped out of his shirt, making Maray’s thoughts flash back to the night before, and filling the empty space in her stomach with flutters, before slipping on what he’d found in the drawer. “Good I left some spare sets here,” he commented and winked at Corey.

  The flutter in Maray’s stomach turned into a sharp pain. Even though Jemin’s expression didn’t suggest he was in love with Corey, it suggested that there had been something going on between them… at some point. Maray swallowed the reignited jealousy and turned to the door.

  They were sneaking along the archway to the palace, mimicking every move Jemin made. They ducked when he ducked, they sprinted when he sprinted. Maray felt like she only breathed when he breathed. He was leading them to a small side entrance she hadn’t noticed until now. It was hidden from view by some bare bushes and a statue of a naked Roman goddess. There were guards positioned on each side of the main doors; she could see them from where they were crouching at the palace wall, covered by the same bushes that had concealed the small green door in front of them.

  Jemin waited for half a minute before he darted to the door and pushed it open. It was like a choreography he had practiced for all his life. He ushered them into a small darkish room with a hasty gesture of his hand before he squeezed himself in and noiselessly shut the door behind him.

  He held one finger to his lips and tiptoed across the narrow space, silent like a cat. There was a small ladder on the side, leading up to the ceiling, and a trapdoor underneath it. Jemin craftily shifted the ladder and lifted the trapdoor open by its heavy iron ring. It didn’t make a sound—that was how carefully he was moving it—until he rested it against the brick wall behind it with a quiet thud. He stuck his head into the dark hole underneath, checking for something she couldn’t see. Then, he sat down and placed each hand on the sides of the rectangular hole and lowered his entire body into the darkness until only his head was above the floor.

  “That’s a shortcut to the dungeons,” he whispered. “I’d suggest we split up. Two go find Ambassador Johnson, and the other two go to the dungeons to find Princess Laura.”

  Maray didn’t like the idea of splitting up, but she also knew that there was limited time. Her dad would go to find Langley at some point, and Langley had informed the revolutionaries. These two combined meant that her father would face a group of rebels in the context of a dead Yutu-Langley, and potentially, they would blame him for it—given they knew Langley was a shifter. She didn’t even want to imagine what that could lead to, no matter his diplomatic skills. Officially, he was associated with the crown, and the crown belonged to Rhia. And the revolutionaries would do anything rather than cooperate with an envoy from the queen.

  “You go upstairs and find the ambassador, Heck and Corey. They won’t suspect anything if they see you in the palace hallways. You’re part of the guard of dimensions. And Corey, you could be on business for Feris. Bring him to the eastern barracks, and wait in the weapons room,” he instructed. After a nod from the two of them, Jemin pointed at Maray with his chin. “You’re coming with me.” And without waiting for her response, he disappeared into the darkness.

  Maray looked at Heck and Corey for help, but they shrugged and turned toward the back of the room, walking to a narrow door beside the shelves that were covering the walls on that side.

  “You coming?” Jemin’s voice hissed from the hole, and Maray followed his lead and climbed down after him.

  As she lowered herself down into the darkness, she wondered how far down of a jump it was. Before she could ask, a pair of hands caught her around the hips and let her slide down. She recognized the soft feel of Thaotine on Jemin’s chest as she rested her hands against it. She could smell his salty scent, and her head became heavy
, wanting to rest on his shoulder.

  “Let me get some light,” he whispered, and she could almost feel the electric current zip through the space between them. But then, Jemin froze against her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He let go of her. “My bracelet.” He sounded surprised. “It’s gone.”

  Maray knew exactly where it was, seeing the milky liquid Corey had slid it into before her as if she was staring at the lab-desk. “Corey took it off to check what Langley did to it. She said it’s a locator spell.”

  “That’s good news and bad news, then,” said Jemin, his hand searching for hers in the darkness. “That means whoever was supposed to find me… us… with it, can’t, and that I won’t be able to heal if I get injured on our little trip.”

  “Welcome to the world of the mortals,” Maray joked but got the chills. Rhia was immortal due to her mother’s blood and some spell Feris had performed, and had it been up to them, she’d be in the dungeons alongside her mother. She should really not be joking about this.

  “So, what do we do?” she asked and took his hand, finding it easy to locate his fingers in the darkness, and again the electric current ran through her skin. He rewarded her touch with a squeeze. “Aren’t you afraid I will burn you again?” she asked almost as an afterthought.

  “I am not afraid of you,” he whispered, closing his fingers more tightly around hers.

  His words weren’t exactly what she’d expected to hear—though she didn’t know what she’d expected.

  He pulled her along in the darkness, setting one quiet footstep after the other.

  “Where are the dungeons?” Maray wondered how long they were going to move without seeing their hands before their faces.

  “One-hundred steps to the east, twenty-three steps to the north, down the stairs, and the same thing over.” The way he sounded as if he was chanting a nursery rhyme made Maray wonder how often he’d been down here.

  “You come here a lot?” She instinctively moved a bit closer and started counting.

  He didn’t answer her question. “There should be more light once we make it to the dungeon level,” he informed her instead.

  Maray didn’t push for an answer. What did it matter how many times he’d been down here as long as he knew the way… and as long as he was going to get them out of there again?

  “Turn left,” he instructed and sharply pulled her around.

  Something hard brushed her arm, and she shrank even closer into Jemin.

  “You all right?” he asked, sounding absent and not whispering any longer.

  Maray didn’t let go of his hand to check what was beside her.

  “Probably just the wall,” she hoped.

  “Probably.” He stopped and pushed her behind him. “The stairs are very narrow with high steps. Stay behind me. In case you slip, I’ll catch you.”

  He started walking, not letting go of her hand. Maray’s heart pounded—mostly because of fear from what they might find down in the dungeons. But, a small part of her was excited that Jemin helping her through the darkness involved body contact.

  As they slowly tested their way down, and the air became cooler and more humid, Maray could see the outline of a narrow path in front of Jemin as she looked past his shoulder. Light was coming from the end of it, painting a half circle under the stone ceiling.

  They had almost reached the bottom of the stairs when her foot slipped on the edge of a step that was lower than the rest of them. She put one hand against the wall, trying to gain balance, but Jemin spun around the moment he heard her gasp and caught her around the waist with his free hand.

  “Thanks.” She felt his face close to hers, heard his accelerated breath—probably from adrenaline—and swallowed a lump in her throat.

  “Before we go in there,” he said, not giving away if he was affected by their proximity as much as she was, “I want you to know that whatever we find there, I am here to protect you. I am here to help you through it.”

  She knew it was her mother and her condition he was referring to, and she felt hot all of a sudden.

  “Take a breath, Maray,” he said calmly, despite his ragged breathing. “I am here with you.” He reached up to stroke her cheek. “I’ll be with you all the way.”

  Not even half-ready, Maray nodded, gratitude and affection spreading and replacing her fear. She straightened her back. Her father always said, ‘Everything is easier if you have someone to support you,’ and she intended to listen to his advice.

  “Ready?” Jemin didn’t wait for her reaction before setting the two of them in motion with cautious steps, not letting go of her.

  As they stepped through the door, Maray found herself facing a wall. They had hit a corridor from the side through a little door which was almost seamlessly integrated into the granite wall. The walls and ceiling were smooth—not polished, but a more coarse type of smooth. Like chiseled out of a solid rock and treated with sandpaper. Torches were set into small niches in the floor, flickering orange and yellow.

  Jemin led the way to the left. His hand was still holding hers, but he walked like he didn’t seem to notice.

  One-hundred steps, Maray counted, and when she was at one-hundred-and-twelve, Jemin pulled her left again, into a short side corridor she hadn’t seen, followed by stairs that were similar to the first ones but less steep. The lower they climbed, the slower Jemin got, and when they had almost reached the bottom, he turned around and held his finger to his lips again.

  Maray nodded. She wouldn’t have dared to speak now that they were approaching an open space.

  She couldn’t see far past the walls of the staircase, but there was something there that reminded her of the medieval iron chains she’d seen in documentaries.

  The smell of mold and foul foods blew into her face as they stepped into the small room, and Maray gagged and covered her nose and mouth with her free hand.

  Jemin glanced at her, seemingly unimpressed by the stench, and pointed to the side.

  There was a heavy, wooden door with a small, barred window that presented a view of the back of a man wearing a helmet. She froze, heart racing with fear. Of course the dungeons were guarded. It would have surprised her if they hadn’t been.

  Jemin’s hand left hers and grabbed for his sword instead. “Follow me,” he mouthed, and ducked against the wall behind him.

  She mimicked his movements and slid along the wall that was rough stone now, suppressing winces as the edges pushed into her back. The iron chains she had seen from the stairs were rusty and spread along the floor as if they had been laid out to clean, abandoned metal brushes sitting in between them. Jemin continued until he was right at the door, then turned around and beckoned her to stay where she was. He pointed at her belt, gesturing for her to pull her weapon before he ducked under the window and turned his sword so he was holding it hilt-up.

  Maray didn’t know what to expect but obediently reached for her dagger. It resonated with power in her hand as she pulled it as quietly as possible from under her cloak—

  The noise was sharp, almost a screech, as the dagger slid out of its sheath, and everything happened in a blur. The soldier behind the door turned around, his eyes locking on hers with recognition as she noticed in horror she had alerted him. Jemin flashed up from where he had been lurking under the window and rammed his sword through the bars, hitting the man with a shove between his surprised eyes.

  “He didn’t feel much of this,” said Jemin as he noticed her horrified expression. “He’ll have a big bruise and a headache when he wakes up, though.” He pulled the sword back between the bars and wiped off the stains of blood on his sleeve. His face was as hard as when she’d first met him. Pure soldier, no trace of the sweet Jemin she had gotten to know. She swallowed.

  With a quick motion, he grabbed her free hand again and shouldered the door open. Maray stared at his shirt, unable to look anywhere else. Was this what his job was like on a daily basis? Sneaking up on and knocking out people?
How often had he done this? Had he killed people? She hadn’t given it a thought with the Yutu that had attacked them, but this man had not even seen him. He didn’t have a chance to defend himself or to fight for his life.

  Jemin tugged on her arm when she stumbled over the unconscious guard’s legs. She didn’t look down for fear of what she would find there but floundered along behind him, his voice a buzz in the background, repeating that he was there with her, that he wouldn’t leave her side.

  As they rushed through the fire-lit space, Maray forced herself to pull herself together and look. This was about her mother. She needed to be alert and pay attention to where they were going. She needed to face whatever was coming.

  There was a line of iron bars on both sides of them, each separating the corridor from the cells behind them. They did look like the ones from the documentaries she’d been thinking about earlier; only the smell of earth and rotting flesh made it real.

  “We are almost there,” Jemin said, not slowing down. “There are normally no guards down here, so something must be going on.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if checking to make sure she was still there, even though he hadn’t let go of her hand.

  He reached for the narrow door as they approached the end of the tunnel, sword in hand, and opened it with a fast pull, weapon ready to smash into the next skull.

  Maray held her breath and waited, her own dagger resonating with what felt like bloodlust.

  Nothing happened. There was no sound but the dripping of water somewhere she couldn’t see.

  “Clear.” Jemin stepped over the threshold, not releasing the tension from his limbs until he had verified there was no imminent danger.

  Maray followed and found herself looking into a half-lit room. It had a low ceiling, just high enough for tall Jemin to stand up straight. There were no iron bars in here, only bare walls. And in the center of the room, half-hidden behind Jemin, there was an iron bed. It reminded her of the hospital cots she knew from the world where she had grown up, and yet it was different; more delicate with ornaments at the foot, circling around a ‘C’—the Cornay ‘C’.