Page 53

The Prophecy

Sitting on the phoenix throne of Sanyeongto, I stare at the two bloody creatures before me.

Eunwoo is covered with a variety of thin, red scratches and mottled bruises. There are pine needles in his hair, along with a stray pinecone. His nose is clearly broken, his face covered in blood, and he is staring down at his feet in shame. His eyes are glassy.

Iseul, on the other hand, is smiling beatifically at me. She is notably less injured, although she is sporting a black eye and a split lip. “Lina,” she greets, waggling her fingers. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” She wears a manacle around her wrist like a fine bracelet and does not seem at all inclined to take it off. My Gumiho looks relatively the same, minus her beloved ax and the stealth suit I last saw her in. She has been fed, and her attitude is as much as it ever was—but there is something different, I think, in her glittering black eyes.

No doubt it is a product of her captivity. Iseul must be angry, now. Furious. I can use that.

“Why,” I say, “does it look like Eunwoo fell from the sky into a pine tree?”

“Because he did,” Iseul replies sweetly. “As his family is responsible for the Hunt, I took it upon myself to rectify the situation and teach a Jeon what it is to feel fear and suffering.”

Ah. “Eunwoo,” I say delicately, crossing one leg over the other, “I take it you haven’t told Iseul the exact intricacies of your situation.”

“What is there to explain?” Iseul’s eyes blaze. “He’s a Jeon .”

“You broke my nose before you even knew my family name!” Eunwoo exclaims, voice tight with emotion. He avoids my gaze. The prince is clearly frightened of losing my approval, and I watch as he fights to retain a rageful expression, rather than a wounded one. A weakling—but a useful one.

“You scared me,” she fires back. “I hate birds, and you are exceptionally birdlike.”

“I—”

Enough. I snap my fingers, and their bickering abruptly ceases. Eunwoo looks at me miserably in acute apology, and I wearily nod to him in forgiveness. To Iseul, I say, “I think you’ll find that Eunwoo hates the Jeons as much as you do, Iseul. The two of you should speak. I need collaboration, not strife. Tomorrow, we set out for Bonseyo.” In a smooth movement, I rise from the throne and descend toward the Gumiho. “But first, walk with me.”

I take her through the gleaming halls of the Sanyeongto palace and carefully fill her in on all she has missed while in captivity. The taking of Wyusan, and Yeomra’s visit. The way my wounds are tied with Haneul’s…

“Which leads us here,” I say smugly as we enter the royal gardens. Many of my Imugi, resting while they can, lay in the autumn sun, crushing flowers underneath their large bodies. Some crack open sleepy, golden eyes that widen as they recognize Iseul. Uloe, having been dozing next to Beongae, practically squeals—if such a sound is even possible for an Imugi to produce—and slithers over to Iseul, ignoring his siblings’ protests as he glides over them.

“Issseul,” he hisses excitedly, and she jumps before stroking his head, nerves still clearly frayed from Jeon Eunwoo.

“Hello, Uloe,” she greets.

But this reunion is not why I have brought Iseul to the garden. “This way,” I say, leading her to the abandoned, wooden stables located just past the garden and guarded by Daeyang. Daeyang bows as I approach and slithers out of the way, revealing musty stalls and two prisoners.

Kim Chan is tied to one post of a stall, while Haneul is tied to another not far away. Haneul’s ropes are again a formality, as it does not seem to me that the insufferable emperor would even try to leave, but Chan’s are a necessity. He is awake as we enter, our boots clipping on the cold, hay-dusted ground, and he growls something undoubtedly vulgar from behind his gag.

“Our hostages,” I say smugly to Iseul, who gapes.

“Rui?” she says in shock. “How did you— When did you—”

The emperor narrows his eyes at Iseul but behind his gag makes no move to talk. A small mercy. Through gritted teeth, I explain Haneul’s particular situation. Iseul seems to be thinking hard as her eyes move from Haneul to Chan.

“How do you keep him from teleporting?” she asks, pointing to Chan.

“It’s simple enough,” I reply with a smirk. “He’s injured. When he heals, we wound him again. And those ropes are Yejin’s creations—”

“For the ships?”

“Yes. Also,” I add with a cruel smile toward the glaring general, “the gag was soaked in a sedative brew created by Daeyang.” My Imugi healer created the brew by chewing up various herbs and spitting them out, but Iseul does not need to know that. “It keeps him…disoriented.” Indeed, if one looks closely, they’ll see that Chan’s eyes are slightly unfocused. He is not able to concentrate enough to create a portal.

“Clever,” Iseul muses. “And when we ride to Bonseyo? What will you do then?”

“They’ll come with us.” It is tempting to store the two of them in Jeoseung, but I feel that it is what the gods expect from me. They will be looking for him, and so I must keep Haneul close—and as such must keep Chan close as well. Besides, it’s been delightful, seeing Haneul worry over his friend. I may not be able to murder the emperor, but I can kill his soul easily enough. So Haneul watches as Chan suffers, and I delight in the torture of it all. I’ll drag it out, I think, before I murder Chan. It will be the most entertaining that way.

Haneul’s eyes narrow further, as if he knows exactly what I am thinking.

I smile unpleasantly.

Iseul and I leave the stables, making our way back to the palace through the gardens. “Tell me,” I say, “what information have you brought back? What strategies does the opposing army employ?”

There’s a beat of silence before Iseul shakes her head. “Not much, I’m afraid. What about your informant? That one of Bomin’s?” She snaps her fingers, thinking. “Did we ever obtain his name?”

“General Lee Yongmin,” I supply. When Bomin was alive, he guarded the general’s identity closely, even from me. I did not mind, as long as the information was steady and reliable. Since Bang Bomin’s death, I have corresponded with the general, demanding his name. Too frightened to refuse, he gave it. Now he is held to his bargain with Bomin, despite the halji-dealer’s death. “His information is valuable, but he only knows so much. I do not know what the gods plan. Tell me, Iseul, have you heard anything?”

She shakes her head. “Truthfully, Lina, I didn’t even know the emperor was here. Intelligence was rather expertly contained.”

Displeased, I clench my jaw. “It was foolish of you to be captured in the first place,” I say icily, watching the Gumiho out of the corner of my eye. “I saw what happened. Distracted by that worthless, human boy on the battlefield of Seocheonkkotbat. I warn you, Song Iseul, the next time you display such foolishness, I will not be so lenient. Nor will I come for you again.”

Iseul seems to be gritting her own teeth. “I understand,” she says.

“Rid your heart of these worthless feelings for this worthless boy. They have inconvenienced me greatly.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Iseul easily replies, like the good soldier she is. “Now, may I be excused, Your Most Excellent Majesty? I’d rather like to hunt down a nice hanbok for myself, and perhaps even a nice bath.”

With an indolent gesture, I wave her off. She does smell in need of a wash.