Page 49

The Prophecy

“I’m willing to wager that you’re incredibly happy to see me,” Haneul says with a nasty grin as blood from a gash in his forehead trickles into his eyes. That same cut leaks green onto my skin, but I make no motion to brush it away as I stare him down, the Dokkaebi emperor Eunwoo apprehended in the dead of night, infiltrating this Sanyeongto palace from the northeastern side, armed only with his firesword and utterly alone.

A foolish plot. I felt his arrival, and he was most quickly dealt with.

Jeon Eunwoo stands behind the emperor in the throne room before the phoenix throne, a dagger held to his throat—more of a formality than anything. My newest soldier knows not to harm Haneul more than we must, knows that I suffer from the curious and altogether revolting affliction of being soul-stitched to this Dokkaebi. Yet the prince still looks at me in hopeful anticipation. I’ve already given Eunwoo my thanks, but it’s clear he wants more—more verbal praise, more chances to prove himself, more of a bond between us.

Exhausting.

Silently, I cock my head, unsure what to make of Haneul’s presence. At surface level, this seems to be some sort of pathetic assassination attempt. Yet Haneul has avoided attempts like these for precisely the same reason this one failed: I sense him. And he has gone to such lengths to keep this body alive and breathing, has certainly had some part in freeing the Prisoner from her cage… I do not believe that Haneul came here to kill me.

So why is he here?

Standing from the throne, and descending the dais, I eye him warily. I circle him, watching as his jaw works. Curious, I think. Very curious indeed.

“Why have you come, Dokkaebi?”

Sonagi, lingering in the shadows, hisses her discontent as she waits for his answers. Haneul’s eyes dart to the Mother of Imugi, and his hatred is carried toward me on the red thread of fate.

“Dokkaebi,” I snap. “I am speaking to you.”

“Yes, I know,” he retorts. “You’re very loud.” Haneul smirks. “Are you going to torture it out of me?”

I inhale thinly through my nose. He knows very well that I won’t, not when his wounds are mine as well.

“Well?” demands Haneul.

Torture him I may not, but I will not allow him to feel so comfortable in my presence. I slap him hard enough that both of us see stars. It’s to prove a point. As my cheek burns, I refuse to acknowledge it, instead lifting a finger and signaling to Sonagi, who slithers from the shadows.

Haneul barely reacted when I slapped him, save for a blink of surprise—and hurt. I sneer. Has he forgotten I am not the one he longs for? I wait, and after a long moment, I am rewarded.

“I came here,” Haneul says through ferally gritted teeth, “because the gods want to kill me.”

This is enough to take me aback—but only for a tenth of a millisecond. “I see,” I say icily as Sonagi sways back and forth, hood flared, eyeing Haneul with no insubstantial amount of hatred. “Your quest for self-preservation continues. As does your laughable mission to help her .” I feel the Prisoner now, moving through the mind, scuttling like a roach. I clench my jaw, but the mindscape is far too delicate for my gnarled, mental fingers to catch her.

It matters not.

She will face me before the end of this…and she will lose. My attention turns back to the Dokkaebi in front of me.

What is this, if not a trap? I cannot hand Haneul back to the gods if it means my death. I cannot kill him, with our fates tangled together. He has given me precisely what I wanted: his capture, his containment. Yet he does it selfishly. Haneul knows I will have no choice but to protect him. And no doubt the Dokkaebi has some plan for disruption and damage, some way to help the sniveling girl locked up in the mind.

I eye him for a moment longer. He’s not even trying to escape. Haneul is practically lounging against Eunwoo, not at all concerned with the knife at his throat. In fact, he looks entertained by it. Cursing under my breath, I wave Eunwoo away, and looking bewildered, the prince steps warily back.

Haneul turns to look at Eunwoo. “I have a question,” declares the emperor, taking in Eunwoo’s raven features. “Do you lay eggs and then feed worms to your young?”

Eunwoo flinches, appearing more hurt than I would expect of any of my soldiers. My lips flatten in displeasure, and I give him a look of warning. Encouraged by the threat of falling into disfavor, the prince hastily replies, “Watch your tongue.”

“If you insist.” Haneul smiles mockingly. And a moment later—“Do you migrate with the change of seasons?”

The prince glares at the ground, shoulders curving in.

“Can you throw your voice like a raven?”

Eunwoo’s head snaps up, and his shoulders straighten. “I can,” he says, proudly, but the sound doesn’t seem to come from his lips—it seems to come from somewhere to his left.

Haneul snickers. “How avian of you,” he drawls.

“Eunwoo,” I say sharply before the bastard prince can embarrass me further. Are those tears in his eyes? Ridiculous. “As we discussed.”

With a harsh swallow, Eunwoo nods before loping off with one last venomous, glassy glower toward Haneul, who raises his brows.

“And what general unpleasantness have you sent him off to do?”

I eye him in disgust. What am I meant to do with him?

“Perhapsss you can sssedate him,” Sonagi offers. The emperor, although he does not understand the Serpentine Language, bristles and then sneers.

“Hello, Sonagi,” he says nastily. “You’re looking well-fed. I remember, every Night of the Reaping, you’d gorge yourself on innocents. I do hope you know your palate is incredibly disturbing.”

“It’s a good idea,” I say to Sonagi, not taking my eyes off him. “But I don’t wish to test whether sedating him will also sedate me. The gods are restless. Perhaps they will come looking for him tonight.”

Haneul seems to be enjoying himself substantially more, now that we cannot kill each other and he is relatively safe from the gods. “And you, Prophecy,” he continues. “Isn’t it sad, knowing that you’re not really a person? You’re only a parasite. A pretender. But you do a terrible job of pretending to be Shin Lina.”

My jaw clenches. “I am Shin Lina,” I retort, unable to stop myself. How dare he suggest otherwise? I am Shin Lina. I am .

“Oh?” Haneul’s eyes gleam. “Interesting. You’ve actually convinced yourself that you are her.”

“Stop,” I hiss. “You know very well that I am Shin Lina, Goddess of Wrath—”

“Child of Venom, the Yeouiju, Empress of Sunpo, Empress of Sanyeongto, etcetera, etcetera,” Haneul drawls. “Spare me the titles. They only expose you for what you really are—a fraud.”

And with that, I know precisely what I will do with Haneul.

“Sonagi,” I say, breathing heavily, “fetch me a gag.”