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Iseul

Three days.

The Battle of Sanyeongto has been unceasing for three whole days .

Iseul’s face hurts from how perpetually she has been wrinkling her nose. This terrible sickbay is close to overflowing with the wounded and dying. The smelly wounded and dying.

Seojin rushes from patient to patient, dragging Iseul along with him, and does the most unforgiveable deed. He demands that she help him.

At first, she refuses, out of basic principle, but eventually the boredom wears her down. It is clear that many of these soldiers will not be fighting again. She loses nothing by popping off vials’ corks for Seojin with her teeth or holding down screaming victims as he scrapes off the affected flesh and cauterizes the wounds.

Truly. Being chained to Seojin is dull . All he does is work and occasionally eat or sleep. Once, perhaps, Iseul wouldn’t have minded spending all her nights with Ryu Seojin. Especially in such close quarters. Who knows? Perhaps the handcuffs could have been a nice little touch, adding some passion , if you will. Now, though, Iseul drives her elbow into his stomach when he snores too loud, grinds her teeth when he rolls over in his sleep and drags her with him, and practically loses her mind when he steals the blankets.

Which is every.

Other.

Minute.

Since that horrible day where she learned of the 43rd Division, Iseul has steadfastly attempted escape all of five times.

Each time, Seojin grabbed her by one of her nine tails as she thrashed, holding her far out enough that she couldn’t reach him, and kept her like that until she got a headache and was forced to shift back to her human form.

Now, she seethes as he yanks her to patient after patient, each with wounds worse than the ones before. Seethes as they spend hours breathing in the pungent smell of the sickbay, the stench of rot and blood.

At least the sickbay’s inhabitants give her clues as to what is happening on the Sanyeongto battlefield. The wounded moan their stories, cursing the “Snake-Witch,” as they’ve taken to calling her. Lina’s forces strive to cut their way from the western edge to the northern edge, where the palace lies. Having entered from the western edge, the army has now reached the northwestern sector of the capital. Yet not without much effort—more effort than Iseul expected this siege to take.

It’s likely due to that Dokkaebi emperor of hers. Word of their unfortunate joining has reached Iseul’s ears. Oh, it’s so inconvenient she could cry . Lina cannot kill the emperor without killing herself, and the pair seems to be stuck in some strange duet, where they dance around each other yet cannot harm.

Seojin has hauled her over to Ijun’s bed. The woman is not doing well, and Iseul can tell that her time is soon. Usually, this wouldn’t bother her in the slightest, but for some terribly foolish reason, Iseul has been unable to stop mulling over the 43rd Division, unable to stop feeling ill at the thought of it.

Part of her hates them. What is the use of trying if you fail? Yet another part of her is almost uncomfortable with this new knowledge.

Humans, fighting back against the Fox Hunt?

She had never heard of such a thing, had thought all humans were the same, all eager to hang Gumiho pelts on their walls, the nine tails hanging limp like dead caterpillars.

Jae is snuggled in his mother’s arms, asleep. Seojin administers the pain-relieving brew, and Ijun smiles tiredly in thanks. Her lips are chapped and almost colorless.

“Ijun,” Seojin says gently as he hands the vial back to Iseul to cap, “have you heard from your husband?” Iseul has heard that Ijun’s partner is fighting in the capital, and there is no telling if he is alive or dead. But it’s time for her to begin preparations.

Ijun seems to know Seojin’s reason for asking. “No word,” she rasps.

Iseul looks at Jae, so small, and liable to become so very, very alone. And then she looks at Seojin, whose dark, depthless eyes are mournful as he looks at the little boy. Is he thinking of his older brother, whom he lost? The way that Iseul is thinking of her family? She watches as Seojin blinks rapidly and as he murmurs a few reassurances to Ijun, before moving on to the next patient. And the next. And the next.

Each time after they visit Ijun, Iseul does not feel very well. Her skin, it becomes all clammy, and her stomach twists around in a way that is entirely unpleasant. She tries not to look back at the wounded woman and her son yet cannot stop her head from twisting. Ijun is stroking Jae’s hair, murmuring something that might be a lullaby. Swallowing hard, Iseul yanks her gaze away.

When Kang comes to relieve Seojin of his shift, Iseul cannot help but to stare at the metal muzzle rendering the advisor’s mouth useless. Like a dog. There are rumors, of course, of what the advisor did to warrant it. Attempted murder, of the best friend variety. Iseul finds this incredibly amusing as she and Seojin finally exit the festering stench-pot of the sickbay. She gulps in the fresh air of the opulent foyer, gulping down the sweet fragrance of the bubbling khana fountain…

Just as Seojin’s knees give out.

“Seojin!” Iseul snaps, tumbling down with him. She refuses to feel concern for him, but there’s a panicked sort of prickling in her heart as Seojin’s eyes flutter shut. Iseul slaps his cheeks, attempting to revive him. When that doesn’t work, she tugs insistently on one of his ears. Hard. “Get up!” she snarls, trying to disguise her fear with irritability. “Get up , get up . I don’t want to lug your dead weight around…” The tightness in her chest relaxes as Seojin stirs, his eyes fluttering open.

“Iseul?” He blinks, and she can see the exhaustion swimming in his dark eyes. For a moment, he looks fondly at her like he used to, when he was her…when he was hers. But then that fond, soft look is replaced by confusion, then by realization, and then, finally, by an emotion masked so quickly it leaves her with nothing. “We’re on the floor,” he mumbles.

“Astute observation.” Iseul bares her teeth. “Please get up. This floor is disgusting. It’s been trekked all over by bloodstained boots. And I’d really like to take a bath. The sickbay stench does tend to permeate everything.”

Seojin drags himself back to his feet with clear effort and groans under his breath.

Iseul can’t stop talking. She always has, when she is nervous. And seeing him fall like that… “A bath. I’m sure, Seojin, that you don’t want to see me naked. And gods know I’d rather gouge out my eyes than see you in the nude. How about you uncuff me? Just long enough for me to wash?” She smiles beatifically, batting her eyes up at him. “I’ll be on my very best behavior, I promise.”

Seojin snaps his head toward her, suddenly looking very awake. Perhaps infuriated by her taunts, the nervous laughter underneath that he must perceive as authentic joy. “How,” he breathes, voice filled with disbelief and anger, “can you see all of this and feel nothing ?”

“Easily,” Iseul purrs, but suddenly she’s not feeling very well again. “I remember what they did to my kind.”

“And the 43rd Division?” he snaps. It used to be so rare that his gentle voice turns hard, but it does so now, and she is…used to it. “There were those who tried to stop it , Iseul. Like Ijun’s mother. Whose daughter is now dying from Imugi venom from the same monsters you allied yourself with!”

“What’s the use in trying if you fail ?” snarls Iseul. And suddenly, there is hurt in her heart, so sharp that she flinches. “It doesn’t matter what they tried to do, because it didn’t work, and my family is dead .”

“There was a Prophecy,” Seojin replies harshly. “Just as there is now. You heard them, Iseul. Prophecies always come to fruition.”

She glares up at him, at the sad brown eyes that look hazel in just the right lighting, the gentle, beautiful face as familiar to her as her own. Seojin has always been one of the only ones brave enough to go toe-to-toe with the Dove Coop’s notorious madame. It seems like that, at least, has not changed.

“So why try?” Iseul whispers.

He shakes his head. “Because the other choice is to lay down and take it. It’s just like the emperor says. It would be cowardly to not at least try to defend these kingdoms, these people.”

Somebody has been listening to the emperor’s inspirational speeches. For all his many, many, many flaws, Iseul cannot deny that Haneul Rui is as silver tongued as can be.

It is a convincing emperor, after all, who can convince his troops to fight a losing war.

Yet there are whispers that this war isn’t as lost as once thought. With the rumored, forthcoming intervention of the gods, morale has— slightly —lifted, despite the ongoing Battle of Sanyeongto.

Just slightly.

And there wasn’t much to begin with.

“These families, Iseul—these children . Look at Jae!” With his unchained hand, he gestures behind them to the doors of the sickbay. “Do you know who he reminds me of?”

Her throat is suddenly so, so dry. “Don’t say it,” she warns quietly. Furiously, she blinks back tears as Seojin says—

“You. He reminds me of you . He’s so small, and so scared. Yet he puts on a brave face, even though we all can see he is breaking underneath it. Jae is going to lose his mother and likely his father. Because of Lina. Because of the side you took in this war. Don’t you see?” Seojin’s voice cracks. “This is why I fight back, why I joined Gyeulcheon. And I think that if you let yourself feel something other than rage and hate, you’d join us, too—”

“Shut up,” she spits, curling her hands into fists.

“No,” Seojin replies, shaking his head gently but firmly. “No, Iseul. I won’t give up on you. Even these past few days, you’ve changed. You’ve stopped taunting the patients. You’ve stopped telling them you want to eat their livers and suck out their souls. You even stopped pinching them when I’m not looking. Please, Iseul.” On impulse, he grabs her hand, the one chained to his own, interlocking his fingers with hers. “Let yourself feel .”

She stares down at their joined hands. “I can’t,” she whispers, so quietly that she is surprised when Seojin doesn’t miss it.

“Why can’t you?” he asks, so softly it breaks her heart.

“The only thing I have anymore is my rage,” she rasps before she can stop herself, forgetting for a moment that she is meant to hate him forevermore. “I’m nothing without it.”

“You have more than just your rage. You always have, spitfire.” His throat bobs, and she watches it through tear-blurred vision.

“No,” she whispers, “I don’t.”

“You do,” he insists, raking a hand through his hair. His expression… It’s almost desperate. He’s staring at a point on her face. The bottom of her nose? No, she realizes, her…lips. “You have—me. You always have.”

“ Liar ,” Iseul spits, trying to jerk away but only bringing him closer, the chain between them rattling. “You walked away from me. You got me captured. You continue to snore when I need to sleep, and you insist on guilt-tripping me at every possible route. I know what you’re doing, Seojin, and it’s not going to wor —”

Yet before Iseul can finish her sentence, he closes the distance between them. Bewildered, Iseul gnashes her teeth, but then he’s lifting his chained hand to her chin. And his touch is so very…gentle. Her skin all of a sudden feels far too hot, and her heart is pounding as he presses his lips against hers, shy, hesitant, claiming.

Iseul’s mind eddies out completely.

What…

This is…well, this is a turn of events that she had not at all foreseen. Iseul’s eyes are wide open.

She has never been more confused.

They’ve kissed before, during the days of bumbling lips and bumping noses—once, Iseul nearly stole his soul by accident (or at least she swore it was an accident; it’s true that she was feeling a bit hungry)—but those times were in their youth, innocent golden days. Never since have they… Has he…

Her lips have parted in utter shock. Iseul is slightly worried that her shock is making kissing her like kissing a dead fish.

What a stain on her reputation. She is a madame , after all. She will not… She will not allow herself to be a—a dead fish .

In the back of her mind, Iseul suspects that somehow Seojin has outplayed her, but she simply doesn’t care because his lips are soft and his hand is wrapping around her hair, tugging her closer, and the chain between them is rattling and she cannot get enough of him. Ryu Seojin is kissing her, the boy who, for so long, only seemed to think of her as a friend and then an enemy, is kissing her, and it’s surprisingly delectable.

She vaguely remembers that one of her Doves did give him kissing lessons, and she applauds Jiho for doing her job exceptionally well.

When she finally draws back, breathless, Seojin’s chest rises and falls unevenly.

“You have me ,” he rasps, eyes so wide and hopeful, and she suddenly understands: he gave this to her, to show her…that she is not alone. “You have me, Iseul.” Seojin swallows hard, reaching a shaking hand toward her, tenderly brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Is it enough?” he whispers, searching her eyes. “Is it?”

It almost sounds as if he is begging.

Pleading.

Is it enough?

It is…it is…

She does not understand what it is. This buoyant feeling in her chest. This sweetness on her lips.

“I…” Iseul stares down at the chain connecting them. “I don’t know yet,” she whispers, but it’s not a no.

Damn him, it’s not a no.