Page 47

The Prisoner

The key from Gameunjang is small and red, with a charm replica of the dongsimgyeol knot attached to its top. It clinks against the other two as I slam the Dalgyal Gwisin—Yego—into the icy ground in the forest glade before the familiar chogajip. I taste blood in my mouth as I grit my teeth, straining to hold the beast down for enough time to behead it.

Damn you, Gameunjang , I think viciously. Control your pests—

Yego heaves upward, and I tumble back into the snow, scrabbling to my feet as quickly as I can. The moment Gameunjang disappeared, Yego burst into the Temple of Ruin. This fight, this endless, damnable fight, has not ceased since. The entire way up the winding staircase was a battle; I am only relieved that the journey here, to this respite between levels, was rather short. It is exhausting, kicking and stabbing and ducking all while attempting to climb up steps.

This demon. I need to kill it. Now .

Breathing hard, I flip my sword in my hand as we circle each other. Having lost its arm, it walks hunched on its two legs, which are hidden by the stained hem of its bloody hanbok. Its teeth click, chatter, and gnash at me. “Pretty morsel,” it croons beneath wet gulps. “ Pretty morsel…”

I rush it. I go fast, and I go hard . I’m fueled by fury, and I know, as the blade of my sword nears its skinny little neck, that this is Yego’s end…

It must know it, too, because the foul thing’s mouth slackens in terror.

And then it screams.

It screams , so loudly that icicles burst and shatter from the trees like glass, that I fall to my knees, unable to see, unable to think . Blood might be trickling from my ears; I am not sure. My firesword falls from my hand, and I can feel the hot stench of its mouth as it looms over me, teeth clicking, rotating…

In the corner of my vision, there is a glint of gold.

“LINA!” That enraged voice, filled with alarm and fury, is one I know well. Snow flies upward from the ground as a heavy body collides with the Dalgyal Gwisin, tackling it with impossible strength. Holding it down so I can make the killing blow. I leap to my feet as Yego throws Rui off him, and with a faint, enraged chittering, flees into the forest. Panting, I make to go after it, but Rui—rising with a growl— gently catches my wrist.

“You’re bleeding,” he warns quietly, brushing a knuckle against my forehead. It comes away red, and I grimace at the flash of dizzying pain, remembering a nasty fall on the stairs. I freeze as my eyes land on his forehead, where a similar gash drips gold.

I blink, swaying unsteadily. No. I thought…I thought he only shared wounds with the Prophecy, with my physical body. If I’d known, I would have been more careful.

If Yego catches me, devours me…for me, it means my meager existence in here is snuffed out, that the Prophecy is rid of me and may continue on unhindered. But what would it mean for Rui? Could it kill him? My head has begun to ache, and it is not only from the cut.

“Into the chogajip, little thief,” Rui murmurs, tilting his head. “You are in no fit state to fight.”

The hut is the same as last time—the crackling fire, the soft pillows and warm blankets, the swirling snow outside. Yet on the bed, there is a wooden box of fresh bandages and a damp washcloth. I reach for them, but Rui shakes his head.

“Let me,” he whispers. “Please.”

“You can be worthy of Rui’s love if you allow yourself to be.”

Hesitantly, I give him a tiny nod, sitting on the edge of the bed. Rui stands between my legs, tilting my head this way and that, dabbing the cut delicately with the washcloth.

Thank you , I tell him. For—saving me.

“It is an undignified sort of death, to be eaten by a creature that ugly.” Delicately, he begins to bandage the wound.

My thoughts exactly , I agree, and Rui smirks. The war , I say a moment later. I haven’t had time to…look. How goes it?

Rui stands very still for a moment, smirk falling, and I know something is terribly wrong. “Ah. The Prophecy has taken Wyusan.”

I’m leaping to my feet before he can stop me, sending him staggering back a few paces at the terrible reminder. I need to go. I need to go now . No matter that my legs are trembling with exhaustion from the fight up the stairwells. I need to… I need to…

“Lina.” Rui’s eyes are grim. “You are of absolutely no use to anybody if you make yourself the Dalgyal Gwisin’s dinner.”

I give him a scathing look, mostly because I know that he is right. With pointed deliberateness, I sit back down, allowing him to finish tending to the cut.

What will you do now?

“That remains to be decided,” Rui murmurs, stepping back. “Some, ah, complications have recently arisen.”

What complications?

“Well…” Rui raises a brow and then winces when the motion makes ichor drip down his face.

Oh, for the gods’ sakes.

It’s my turn to grab the washcloth and gesture impatiently for him to sit down. He has the same cut, after all, and although it may not heal until mine does, I cannot abide the sight of it, knowing it was my doing. “You must promise me not to…overreact,” he murmurs. “This is, after all, only a minor setback. Very minor. Nothing to trouble yourself over, little thief.”

Oh, no.

Haneul Rui’s definitions of “minor setbacks” typically refer to conflicts of the earth-shattering variety. Suspicion flares up inside of me as I throw down my washcloth, tilt his head up until his eyes are fully open, and sign with cutting sharpness. Rui. What has happened?

Peering into his face, I note that those lines of stress have deepened. That his silver eyes have lost all of their sly, mischievous glitter. And gods, how my heart breaks.

Something is very wrong.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard. Through the bond, I feel apprehension, cresting on a wave of intense fear and guilt and hurt that soon crashes. His mask of indifference is crashing, and crashing hard. When his shoulders begin to shake, I do not think—I simply act .

The red thread flickers, appearing in all its scarlet glory as I wrap my arms around him, and draw him close to me. He grabs me, holds me so godsdamn tightly against him, face nestled against my stomach as he trembles. Rui’s breaths are coming fast, too fast, and I stroke his back, pressing him closer.

How long has it been since I have held him like this?

Rui’s breath hitches as he hyperventilates, and I almost speak, then. Almost murmur comforting words. They bloom on my tongue, tasting bitter and sweet all at once. Yet when I part my lips, debilitating fear and horrible shame slashes through me, and I find myself sealing my lips once more, settling for holding my—my husband as he is overcome with a terrible panic that I feel through the red thread of fate. We stay like this for a long, long moment, until he begins to coax his sudden terror back down.

I watch him pull away and desperately try to don the mask he wore for so long—that casual, cool mien signifying wry amusement. But the cracks in it have become so deep that I wonder if he will ever wear it again.

Tell me, Rui , I sign. Let me help. Whatever it is.

“Well,” he says, and I watch as he tries to smile in that old, sharp way, “I think that the gods have decided to kill me. Tonight, in fact.”

Blood roars in my ears. My hands shake.

No. This is…bad. This is very bad indeed. My stomach plummets, and bile threatens to creep up my throat, but I attempt to remain calm for Rui. I have seen his despair; I will not add to it. Yet through the red thread, my fear hits him so strongly that he winces, glancing down at the red thread.

“I do not find this plot of theirs much to my liking. It goes against Fate herself.”

Will they not listen to reason? I ask desperately, and his eyes darken.

“Gameunjang warned me not to speak of the ‘secrets of fate,’” he replies quietly. “I do not know if doing so would be ruinous. If somehow it would…warp the outcome.”

Perhaps if Gameunjang herself was not on our side, I would grapple with this. I would wonder if we should allow this, this sacrifice, for the greater good. Yet the Goddess of Fate herself is attempting to help us stop this Prophecy. We must heed her urgings.

What will you do? I ask Rui instead, with the terrible feeling that we are balancing ever so carefully upon a deadly precipice.

Rui grimaces. And I know that look of his so well that it is all I can do not to slap my hands against my forehead.

Rui. I give him a scathing glare. Please tell me that you are not going to try and fight deities on your own.

The fallout…it would be disastrous… Surely that’s not what Gameunjang wishes.

After a long pause, he says, “I am not going to try and fight deities on my own.”

I am glad to hear it.

His mouth twitches. “I’m going to do something even worse.”

What could possibly be worse—

“Oh, dear. Look at the time,” Rui suddenly says, eyes flicking to his bare wrist. He stands from the bed, turning half his face into shadow, hiding from the merry fire crackling in the hearth. “I fear I have to leave now—”

Rui—

“—but I’ll return soon, my love—”

Don’t call me that and then run away from my question, you insufferable Dokkaebi—

“—farewell—”

The door appears, but before he can step through it, I launch myself out of bed and tackle him. Without my immortal strength, I don’t expect to make much of an impact…but I take him by surprise and he stumbles. We fall to the wooden floorboards with a crash loud enough to shake the trees outside.

Rui’s breath leaves him in a rush of disbelief while I glower down at him.

Explain yourself , I demand, worry making my head ache. Rui is one to make rash decisions, and if he is preparing to rush headlong into something he is not ready for…

Is it a trick of the firelight, or is that a hint of his old mirth dancing across his face, there and then gone? His expression does look softer, the stress lines barely visible as he gazes up at me. My hair falls like a waterfall around us.

Rui , I prompt.

“It’s an entirely benign idea,” he murmurs.

You said—

“Completely harmless,” Rui rasps as he brushes a strand of hair out of my face, and suddenly I’m acutely aware that I am lying atop him, on his chest. That I can feel his heartbeat, slamming wildly against his ribs, that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, through his armor. His arms slowly, hesitantly, come up to hold me against him—as if cradling a bird with broken wings.

I don’t roll away. Not this time.

I… can’t .

Because in this moment, with the snow drifting outside the window, and the fire popping, crackling in its hearth… In this moment, nestled against him, he feels like home.

In this moment, I know that what he, and what Gameunjang, said is true. That we, the two of us, are soul-stitched in love. He may be soul-stitched to the Prophecy in hatred, but between us , it is something so different.

“Lina,” he rasps, and I know that he felt it, my sudden hesitancy. “Please,” he begs. Begs . “Please, don’t leave me again. Not when I’ve only just found you.” The desperation in his voice is raw, bleeding with fear and hope. Rui’s grip around me tightens, as if he is frightened I will be ripped away from him once more, hidden in another secret corner of an unfathomable realm, nothing but a ghost of myself.

Yet on my skin, Gameunjang’s key is warm. The small dongsimgyeol charm is a reminder, given by Fate herself. That perhaps I am worthy of him after all.

“You don’t need to feel guilty,” he whispers hoarsely, knowing precisely what I am feeling. “Not with me. Never with me. This…” Rui shakes his head. “What we have, little thief…it’s ordained by destiny itself. This is right . Tell me that you don’t feel it, too. Tell me and I will leave. But if you feel it…” He scans my face, eyes bright with emotion. “If you feel it, Lina… Stay.”

The truth is a cherry blossom, riding the swirls and gusts of wind, tumbling and turning. The truth is a bright, shimmering ember burning a hole in my heart. The truth is light in the darkness, a comfort to the pain, a salve to my bleeding wounds.

The truth is that I feel it, too.

Of course I feel it. Despite everything I have done, everything he has done… Yes, I feel it. Like it is as much a part of me as my blood or my bones.

And with that admission, it is like magnetism, what happens next—some great and terrible force of attraction that lowers my head and brings my lips gently to his, pressing against him like the brush of a feather, light and sweet and soft.

I kiss him, and it is like I am breathing for the very first time since I lost myself to the darkness.