A Crane Among Wolves

14. Daehyun

They had barely escaped overthe mountain ridge and now they were completely alone.

“Where should we go?” Iseul gasped as they continued their journey.

“We will travel the long way around,” Daehyun whispered, wincing with every step. “The mountain pass will be infested with the king’s soldiers.”

So they traveled deeper into the forbidden territory, weaving through the tangled forest, passing by skeletal villages. In the silence of their journey, Daehyun’s mind finally returned to last night.

Hyukjin was dead.

Running a hand over his haggard face, Daehyun could feel the seams that held him together coming loose. Echoes of their childhood returned, tinkling with Hyukjin’s laughter and grand declarations. He lived to serve the kingdom, and he died—for what?

A sharp ache dug into his chest, constraining his ribs until he could hardly breathe. There are too many sorrows in life to feel each too deeply. He could not slip, could not fall back into the despair he had felt when his family had died. The monthslong grief that had left him wretched. The overwhelming darkness. The hours upon hours of torment. Weeping until his entire body ached. He could not go back to it. He gritted his teeth and refused to feel and waited for the numbing fog to roll in.

“You are hurting me.”

He looked down; in his effort to stay afloat, his hand was around her wrist, gripping her with enough force to bruise.

He snatched his hand away. “Apologies.”

As they passed a tree, he snapped its branch downward.

“You said you would share with me a most dangerous secret,” she said. “What is it?”

He had many secrets, and he considered which to share with her, or whether he ought to simply fabricate one. As he calculated, he took a moment to consider her. Her hair fluttered wildly in the wind, her torn dress was stained with mud, yet no matter her disheveled appearance, she still bore the aura of a magistrate’s daughter. Magistrate Hwang was her father, according to the identification document he’d discovered in her travel sack. She belonged to a prominent yangban family. He wondered what her connections were, whether she might be of any use to him.

“You said you would go into the den of a tiger for your sister,” he said. “You would steal her from the king.”

She avoided his gaze. “I am not sure that I did, daegam. And you did not give me an answer—”

“Would you betray the king, too, if that would lead you to your sister?” he asked. At her silence, he said, “You are quiet. Are you afraid of me?”

She looked at him, dead in the eyes. “Would you betray the king?”

He tensed under her probing gaze.

“You are quiet,” she said, arching a brow. “Are you afraid of me, daegam?”

The corners of his lips twitched. Who was this girl? She belonged to yangban aristocracy, and thereby would have been raised with a Confucian upbringing, where the rules of obedience and submission were carefully instilled from a young age. Yet she behaved like a heathen. He knew he ought to despise her, but instead he was curious.

“Were you always like this?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. “Like what?”

“Rebellious.”

“It is impossible not to be,” she mumbled, half to herself. “One is imprisoned by a thousand rules as a woman, and no one will explain to me why such rules exist.”

“Your parents were strict,” he observed.

“Only to my sister. She always strove to be perfect, and her life looked dismal—” She stopped, then whispered, “Why am I telling you this?”

“And where are your mother and father?” he probed.

A muscle in her jaw worked, her lips still stubbornly clamped.

“You traveled all the way here by yourself,” he continued, “perhaps because your sister is all you have now.”

She looked at him, and he was surprised by how quick the rims of her eyes turned red. “It cannot be considered treasonous,” she whispered, “or slanderous to state a fact. The king killed my father—he ruined my family. Your brother.”

We are the same, he thought. “So you are completely alone in this kingdom. Are you not afraid?”

She raised her chin. “I am not completely alone. I have an uncle.”

“And who is your uncle?” he muttered. “The local butcher?”

“Surely you must have heard of Government Official Choi Ikjun?” She quirked a brow. “From my memory, he is a government official of the second rank. I hear that is quite high.”

“Choi Ikjun…?” he whispered, and Iseul seemed pleased by his surprise. “Of the Chungju Choe clan?”

“Yes. So you know him—”

“That is Deputy Commander Park’s closest friend.”

“I don’t follow.”

He lifted his stare to Iseul. The image of her sharpened before him, the mountains blurring into the background. She was the one. The missing piece on the janggi board.

She stumbled. He reached out and caught her shoulders to steady her, but she let out a small gasp, flinching away from him. The color had drained from her face, her hand hovering over her shoulder—a hand wet with blood.

His own hand glistened red. “You are bleeding—” He stopped, realizing it was the same shoulder he had wounded with a careless arrow.

“Well? How will you help my sister out of the palace?” Her voice was sharp, her eyes fiery. Demanding. “You promised. I hope you have not forgotten—I hope you will not go back on your word.”

“Seek revenge,” he whispered. “Only then will you save your sister.”

Her brow furrowed. “What… what do you mean?”

A twinkle in the darkness yonder interrupted them. A hut, sitting alone in the middle of a vast field.

“We must have wandered back out of the forbidden territory,” he whispered, still staring at her shoulder as a sickening sense of remorse stirred in him. “Soon it will be full dark. We will have to seek shelter here for the night.”