Page 11

The Prophecy

“Answer me,” I snarl over the din. My blade is the closest it has ever been to Haneul’s neck. It is not protected by Imugi scale. I can drive it through his flesh. I can cut off his head. Even he would not survive that. But first, this matter.

What door has he seen?

The Prisoner is little more than a laconic speck of dust in my mind. She doesn’t speak, or if she does, it never reaches my ears. She does not move. But if there is a door that means that there is an exit. And I cannot afford that weakness to live again in this body.

How did Haneul see this door? Did he stumble upon it while tracking me through the red thread of fate? My lips thin. I do not like this new development.

Haneul tilts his head. He does not look very concerned by his imminent death. A hint of a cold smile plays on his lips. Steely resolution shoots down the thread between us. “You mean to say you don’t know?”

I narrow my eyes. “I will not ask again.”

The emperor, with his usual insolence, tells me that in his dream, he opened a door to find a small rabbit.

Which then somehow shifted into me and killed him.

This sounds not at all familiar. I tilt my head, eyes narrowing. He could be lying. Yet I do not feel any deceit through the bond. Is he so skilled a liar that I cannot feel it? Or perhaps my nighttime terrorizing of the Dokkaebi emperor has conditioned his mind to expect nightmares, even when I am not present. The smile I know he hates twists my lips, but as my eyes snap to a point past Haneul’s shoulders, all my amusement dissipates.

I watch as my limp, unconscious Gumiho is dragged into a corridor of shadow by a Dokkaebi warrior. Iseul disappears.

Blood rushes to my head, muting the war around me. For a moment, I am so stunned that I waver, and Haneul laughs softly. Mockingly. “Missing something?” he asks silkily, his own portal emerging behind him. Before I can react, he disappears, leaving only air where my sword was.

I choke on outrage, whirling around to find him reappearing in the midst of the battle, shouting to his and Wyusan’s forces. Is he ordering a retreat?

No. No, of course not.

He and his forces are doing better than they ever have previously—why throw that away? Becoming accustomed to the reality of the battle, his forces are organizing themselves into neater formations.

He has shouted something else.

Something that sounds like, Take her alive.

Me?

Why? What foolishness has overcome him?

Soldiers pair off in fours, each one facing a different way. As my Imugi surround them, their blue swords gouge their scales in each direction. The screams of my serpents fill the air, and as I run through the trampled camp, rainwater blurring my vision, I scour the flower gardens for Sonagi.

There. She is fighting off a wave of Dokkaebi in the middle of the field. They fall from her venom but are quickly replaced by more nearby warriors, filling the gap in their ranks. Panting hard, I turn slowly in a circle.

I do not like what I see.

There are Imugi bodies leaking green blood. I see at least five. In one day, my forces have decreased by eight powerful serpents and one priceless Gumiho. My fingers curl into fists. Gyeulcheon and Wyusan are winning.

The enemy’s wounded are being tended to, hauled off the battlelines by Kang and Seojin—who has cost me one of my most precious weapons. My wounded are suffering and dying. Daeyang, one of Sonagi’s eldests, serves as my healer for the Imugi. Where is he?

Soldiers rush me from different angles, each sensing an opening. One lands a blow to my bad leg, and I hiss in pain, stumbling back. Their blue swords smoke in the rain. Mud flies as they rush me again—

Dodge. Cut. Flip. Duck.

Over and over.

This needs to end.

I need to regain the advantage. I need to find Moon.

But the tides have turned. Earlier this night, I believed that all taking Wyusan would require was the empress’ death. Yet with these Dokkaebi fireswords, her troops are still a threat. They will still hold fast, attempting to block me from Fulfillment even when their empress dies. They will fight.

And if they forge more swords, if they give these damned weapons to the common people—even a child could pose a threat with one of these in their hands. My strategy is crumbling before my eyes. For the first time since this war began, I wonder if my victory is not as assured as I believe. I am Shin Lina, a living Prophecy—and yet I am losing this battle. The siege that I instigated.

This should not be happening.

One of the soldiers’ blades nicks my cheek as I whirl. Contrary to Haneul’s shout, they are not trying to “take me alive,” as they did Iseul. Although I have summoned the scales to frame my face, I still feel a sharp stab of pain. A trickle of green blood runs down my face. I fight harder, faster, pushing myself through the bedlam. Making my way toward Moon, who is facing one of mine, clutching her double-swords and dodging the sprays of venom.

Killing her will not accomplish as much as I hoped, but perhaps it will disorient the armies enough for me to regain the offense.

Silently, I curse Iseul for failing in her mission and leaving me to clean up her damn mess.

No matter. I will take care of Moon myself .