Page 33

CHAPTER 33

SUNHO

The Under World

Wolryudang, Seventh Ward

“WE’RE LEAVING WITHIN the hour,” Yurhee announced loudly, though there were only the three of them; Tag and Sunho sat opposite each other at one of the few intact tables. Tag had brought over a tea set, and Sunho watched as steam curled up from the cup toward the ceiling.

The teahouse bore the marks of Jaeil’s visit, broken tables and chairs, though Grandma Jin had swept away the worst of the splinters.

“Our plan is to go to Seorawon first,” Yurhee continued. “From there, we’ll head east over the mountains and arrive in Ren’s village by daybreak of the second day, and we’ll deliver the cure to her uncle.”

Sunho knew the we Yurhee spoke of included him, and his chest warmed with gratitude for all they had done—but he wouldn’t be joining them.

Ren had given up her freedom so that they might escape. Maybe she thought her aunt could offer her protection, but it wouldn’t last. He and Ren both knew who awaited her on the Floating World.

“I’m not great at telling people what to do—” Yurhee began.

“That’s not true,” Tag muttered from where he was slouched in his seat.

“—so I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether you’ll stay or come with us, though I hope it’s the latter.

“Tag,” she said, directing her attention to the silver-haired boy, who eyed her warily. Leaning forward, she whispered in a voice only meant for his ears, “Talk to him. Convince him to join us.”

Then she sauntered past the counter and through the door.

Tag sank even further into his collar, his gaze focusing on motes of dust in the air. Neither boy spoke; the tea grew tepid. At one point, Yurhee returned through the door, caught sight of them, then left, sighing loudly, grumbling about boys and their emotions.

Maybe it was the ease he felt with Tag, but Sunho was reminded of Heetae and Rohoon. It was always the three of them, after Junho had left; he remembered that now. They were never apart, eating, sleeping, and fighting side by side; they might have gone on like that forever, if it wasn’t for that night.

The memory from the mithril labs felt hazy, but he could piece together what had happened. In an effort to create the ultimate weapon, the Black Robes had injected the soldiers of the Forty-Fourth with liquefied mithril.

Some hadn’t survived. Heetae. The others, like Rohoon, became demons.

After Sunho had knocked his head against the table, he’d woken beside the old mithril factory. Had Junho brought him there? He still had hope that his brother was alive, that he’d somehow survived the transformation.

Sunho surfaced from his memories to find Tag watching him. “What will you do?” he asked, in his quiet way.

“I’m going after her,” Sunho said.

Tag nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “How will you do it?”

Sunho didn’t have an aircraft, and he wouldn’t ask Tag and Yurhee to risk their lives for him, again. There was also the medicine to consider. He wouldn’t jeopardize the cure for Ren’s uncle.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said.

Tag nodded again. “What are you going to do once you’ve reached her?”

It was a reasonable question. Sunho hadn’t any idea. Even if he could find Ren, he had no way of escaping the Floating World.

“I’ll figure that out, too.”

Tag seemed to contemplate this notion, unblinking, then nodded.

“I can’t believe what I just witnessed.” They both turned to see Yurhee standing in the doorway. “ This is how you two make plans?”

Soon after, they separated to make their individual preparations. While Yurhee packed provisions—they wouldn’t return for some time—Tag finished repairs on the flying machine, which had managed to remain intact even after the events of the night. Sunho sat outside on the steps of Wolryudang, categorizing his wounds and self-administering aid to the worst of them. He had a head injury from his fight in the labs, various cuts from when he shattered the skylight on the military base, and a black eye and busted lip from the Small Ring.

He knew that he could endure more than others, but even his body would give out without rest. Still, he would hold on. For as long as he needed to.

He regretted that he wouldn’t see Haru one last time. Since Wolryudang had been compromised, Haru was staying with Grandma Jin’s nephew. He would remain there until their network could locate his mother. If, for some reason, his mother couldn’t look out for him, he’d return to Wolryudang and stay with its proprietor.

Sunho, Yurhee, and Tag met for one last time in the main room. As Sunho took in the sturdy wooden chairs and soft lantern light, he remembered his first impression of the teahouse when he’d arrived with Ren, as if he’d stepped into a slice of heaven.

Grandma Jin stood by the bar, wiping down teacups, smug after winning an argument with Yurhee. The younger woman had wanted the older woman to leave. The captain’s soldiers had threatened her; they could do so again.

If they haven’t gotten me in the past fifty years , Grandma Jin responded, they won’t get me in the next fifty.

Fifty years? Yurhee had gaped. Grandma Jin, you’re seventy now .

Damn right! she’d said, cackling.

Now, Yurhee sighed, one hand on her waist. Sunho remembered that’s how she’d greeted him at the mithril factory. “Tag and I are leaving soon. You’re welcome to anything in the building, weapons, food. Whatever you might need.”

“All I need is my sword,” Sunho said, “and…” He thought again of that night, recalling the tool they’d used to scale the walls of the mithril factory. “A grappling gun.”

Yurhee raised a brow, but she didn’t question him, leaving the room and returning with her utility belt.

“Thank you,” Sunho said, buckling the belt around his waist.

“Is this really the path you want to take?” Yurhee blurted. “Ren is the heir to the Floating World. A princess. There will always be someone after her, wanting to use her. Her life will never be easy. Nor will yours, should you choose to walk beside her.”

Sunho understood what Yurhee was saying. As an orphan, then a soldier, then an experiment, he’d already walked a difficult path. He could choose to leave it.

Not like Ren could.

She’d been born a celestial maiden, with all that entailed. And yet, if there was a choice, he’d already made it.

Ren hadn’t chosen her own destiny, but he’d chosen his.

“You’re wrong,” Sunho said quietly, and Yurhee lifted a brow. “She’s nobody. A troupe performer. No more, no less.”

A beat of silence passed, then Yurhee laughed, loudly, and Tag shook his head with a smile.

“When you reach Ren’s village,” Sunho said, “will you stay there?”

“At least for a short while. For all my worldly ways, I’ve never seen an open sky. And Tag probably wants to look at some sheep.”

Tag said nothing to this, which indicated that he agreed.

“Then we’ll meet again,” Sunho said.

“Yeah.” Yurhee grinned. “We’ll see you again.”

SUNHO DIDN’T WAIT long after Yurhee and Tag left before heading out himself. From the seventh ward, he made his way past his old apartment building, where he spotted his cot and other belongings had been thrown onto the streets, most of which had been scavenged.

From there, he headed toward the Wall. The checkpoint guard glanced briefly at his papers before waving him through. It was the Festival of Light—those entering the city had been accounted for, and those leaving were of little consequence. According to the flyers disseminated throughout the city, the girl the Sareniyan army had been searching for had been arrested. She was an imposter and would face judgment for her crimes on the Floating World. Sunho lifted his boot where he’d stepped on one of these flyers, and it was picked up by the wind, fluttering behind him as he swept past the gate.

There were four mining camps, each a half hour outside the city walls by foot. As Sunho approached the southwest camp, he lifted his gaze, following the length of the Tower that extended upward at a height greater than even the Wall. Sunho jogged the last half mile to the mining camp. It was closed for the festival. The two guards who oversaw the equipment had drunk themselves into early stupors. Sunho slipped by them easily.

Inside the Tower, he entered the mechanized lift, shutting the metal gate behind him and pressing down the lever.

It ascended slowly, the frame rattling as it took him higher and higher.

He closed his eyes against the lights that flickered at every thirty-yard marker: sixty, ninety, one hundred and twenty, one hundred and fifty…

Fifteen minutes later, the elevator jolted to a halt. He’d reached the top of the Tower. The screaming wind bit at him as he stepped from the lift. Here, the reinforced structure of the Tower ended; instead, scaffolds extended into the sky. He studied the puzzle of interlocking wooden beams that creaked and swayed. It was a wonder they hadn’t collapsed. Above them were the quarries.

The lift had only taken him a quarter of the way.

The Festival of Light would culminate at dawn.

He thought again of Yurhee’s question.

Is this really the path you want to take?

When he closed his eyes, he could see sunlight, but not the light that burned—the light as it appeared through Ren’s paper umbrella.

Adjusting the strap of his scabbard across his back, he began to climb.