A Crane Among Wolves

23. Iseul

Official Choi’s laughter echoed fromdeep within Guest Hall.

Heart pounding, I hurried up the short flight of steps onto the terrace. I whispered to Wonsik, who stood guarding the entrance, “Do you think he has agreed to join—?”

“Is that my niece?” came my uncle’s voice from within, startling me. “Permit her to enter. I would like to speak to her, too.”

Wonsik and I exchanged glances. He murmured, “Behave yourself,” then slid open the double doors. At once, I walked in and was surprised to find Daehyun smiling in a quiet, subdued manner. It seemed he had received good news, yet I could not be too sure.

“Come in, my niece.” Official Choi waved. “Have a seat.”

I knelt next to him, my stare shifting from my uncle to the prince, then back to my uncle. Why did he look at me so? His eyes were twinkling with tears.

“Hwang Boyeon,” my uncle said, his voice rasping. “Do you know that on your first birthday, relatives from afar arrived to crowd around your fortune-telling game of doljabi?”

I sat straighter, unsure of why he mentioned this.

“I watched as you were placed on a mat with several symbolic objects laid before you. You skipped the fruits, the sewing needle, and picked up a gold hairpin. It was your destiny to live a prosperous life. Perhaps that is your destiny yet.”

“My destiny…?”

“Should the heavens be moved, I swear to you—I swear upon my mother’s grave—I will do all I can to have your father’s honor restored. I will find you and your sister a worthy match in marriage.” He clapped his hands, chuckling again. “For you, I have the perfect gentleman in mind, a young and handsome government official I know! What do you think?”

“That sounds… delightful,” I said, my voice lackluster even to my own ears. I had dreamed of such a destiny, yet something about my uncle’s tearful joy struck a discordant note in me. “I am so grateful, Uncle. I am so grateful that you care so much about our future—”

“It is my redemption,” he whispered, as though to himself. “After all these years!”

The two gentlemen continued to converse, and when my uncle finally left, I barely noticed—and barely noticed Wonsik coming to my side, too preoccupied as I was turning over and over the one word my uncle had uttered: redemption. Redemption from what?

“You do not smile,” came Daehyun’s voice, almost brusquely. “Does it not delight you? You might marry a handsome young man.”

Wonsik peered at me. “Marry?”

“That is of no importance at the moment,” I said sourly, shrugging their attention away. “The discussion with my uncle, daegam. How did it fare?”

“It went well,” Daehyun replied simply.

“And?” I waved my hand about. “Tell us more.”

“He has agreed to speak with Deputy Commander Park. And your uncle senses many more officials will be interested in joining, should the deputy agree to spearhead the Great Event.”

“So that is good news,” I said, feeling faint with relief.

“Very good news,” Daehyun replied, then let out a humorless laugh. “If Min Hyukjin were alive, he would be weeping with joy.”

“Daegam, I will do all I can to find Hyukjin’s killer,” Wonsik said solemnly.

“And you must find him soon,” Daehyun said. “The Great Event is in danger of unraveling so long as Nameless Flower is on the loose. We know nothing of his plans—or whom he will strike next.”

To eradicate Nameless Flower, I realized, is to guard the coup leaders—and guard my path to Suyeon.

“What is the next step with the investigation?” I asked Wonsik, determined to be of assistance. “Whom should we interview? What should we be looking for—?” I stopped, a thought brushing against the outer layer of my mind. It took a moment, then suddenly my mind flared with the memory. “Oh!”

Wonsik and Daehyun watched me, waiting.

“When we were at the site of Min Hyukjin’s death, I remember seeing royal guards. One of them hid something under a bush. A small object. I could not make out what.”

Wonsik shook his head. “The entire site was searched.”

“And nothing suspicious was found? Then it can only mean they overlooked a certain location. They did not search beneath that bush.”

“Maybe we will go inspect, another day,” Daehyun suggested.

“I trained Investigator Gu to sweep through crime scenes, to leave no rock unturned,” Wonsik said. “But if you are certain—” He paused. “What did the royal guard look like?”

“Like a crow,” I said. “Black-haired and greasy. I think his name was Gunwu.”

The moment I uttered the name, both men grew tense. At length, Daehyun said quietly, “I think you ought to explain everything to her.”

Wonsik remained silent, his gaze still lowered, and his hands gathered before him. “I told you, did I not, that I had a daughter?”

“Yes,” I said, growing uneasy.

“I had a son, too. A child who walked out of my life forever.” His broad shoulders rose and fell, an unsteady breath escaping him. “King Yeonsan stole my daughter, but she managed to escape. And so the king ordered my son, then a military student, to arrest his own sister or be killed. He chased after her, but before he could catch her, she… she killed herself.”

My mind went blank, my body numb with cold. All I could do was listen, horrified.

“The guard you witnessed hiding the object, whatever it might have been… he is my son.” A muscle worked in Wonsik’s jaw. “And I have been suspicious of my son for some time now but found no clear evidence tying him to the case.”

“What…” My voice failed. I tried again. “What led to your suspicion?”

Wonsik let out another wavering breath. His eyes grew red. “My son was the first at the site of the very first murder. During the police interrogation, he claimed he’d found the corpse with a bloody message written on the robe, but that when he returned with reinforcements, the message was gone.”

I frowned. “How could it be gone?”

“Someone had smeared more blood over it. I believed it was the killer, that he’d returned to hide what he had written.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Perhaps he had written it in the spur of the moment. Perhaps he did not think it through properly, as he clearly did with his following kills. Whatever the case, when my son was questioned about the message, he claimed that the writing had been illegible. But I know my son—I know when he lies; he always fiddles with his right ear. I confronted him many times, but it would always result in us arguing about his sister.”

Wonsik ran both hands over his haggard face, and shaking his head, he murmured, “My daughter died when she was fourteen. My son’s betrayal nearly killed me. The ones I loved most dragged me through the darkest of hours. Yet in the next life, I would still love them again.”

Royal Guard Crow was Wonsik’s son.

I tossed and turned, haunted by this revelation. The restlessness became intolerable when dawn arrived with the ringing of the great bell. Rising from the bed mat, I ventured out of the spare room and down the corridor, touching the lattice adorning the hanji screens. All the lanterns had been blown out in the mansion. The servants had retired to their quarters for the night and had not yet risen.

How can it be?I thought, striding fast, desperate to shake off the restlessness. How can such a greasy, vile-looking man be Wonsik’s son?

I paused. The sliding doors to a room had not fully shut. The shadows within beckoned me, promising distraction from the heartache. Stepping in, I looked around; it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, barely illuminated by the braziers glowing in the courtyard outside.

It was a library. Tall, open bookshelves lined the walls. Books were stacked, organized by subject: history, poetry, essays, Confucian classics, politics, military, and war. And where there were no shelves, lacquered furniture and precious vases were on display. I paused before one, catching sight of my reflection against the porcelain; my braid had loosened, and my jacket had come undone from the tossing and turning, leaving a collarbone bare. Reaching for the jacket ribbons, I retied it closed and meant to rebraid my hair when my attention drifted.

There was a desk at the head of the library. Covering the table were sheets of exquisite watercolor illustrations, of mountains and rivers, forests and waterfalls. The illustration at the very top had fresh paint, the wet ink gleaming along the mountain ridge. There was a tiny hut at the top of a slope, and upon closer inspection, I noticed two small figures within. Two young boys reading a book.

“Did you sleep at all?”

I whirled around at the male voice, my heart quickening at the sight of Daehyun. He stood tall, his complexion as ethereal as moonlight, accentuated by dark and stern eyebrows. As he approached, I instinctively took a small step back, but my hip pressed up against the table. Warmth crept up to my cheeks as he joined my side and our gazes met. In that moment, an unsettling intimacy enveloped us in the pre-dawn hour. The world had fallen into a hushed stillness, closing around me and the prince with eyes that offered glimpses into his painted world—of private thoughts and memories and dreams.

“I’m—I’m sorry. I should not have looked.”

Nonchalantly, he cleared away the illustrations. “It helps put my mind at ease. Painting.” Then he stilled, glancing at where my sleeve grazed his. “Were you thinking of him, too?”

“Whom—?” It took a moment to remember. Wonsik’s son.

The heaviness returned.

“I wish my eyes were wrong,” I whispered. “I wish I had not seen Crow hide anything.”

“Crow?” He didn’t bother to ask for clarification. “Wonsik may be kind and warm to you, but he is brutal, too. He will not hesitate to betray the one he loves if it means bringing justice.”

I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to push away the ache. Somehow, I knew Wonsik would ruthlessly pursue the truth, no matter the cost. And I also knew the cost of it would crush him. I did not wish to think of it.

“Your paintings are lovely,” I said, changing the subject. “Have you been to these places?”

“Most of them are conjured from my imagination,” he said distantly. “From poems I have read.”

“Then perhaps, when the Great Event is over, and when everything has settled, you could visit these places. Anywhere.”

“I am just here until I am not. I do not think of one, five, or ten years in the future.”

“But if you had to,” I pressed, “where would you wish to venture first?”

He stood quiet for so long I thought our conversation had ended, then he finally spoke.

“Our kingdom is surrounded by the sea, yet I have never seen it…,” he confessed, grappling with every word. “I should like to stand before the very expanse that literati scholars have captured in their writings. To witness this vast eternity.” There was a beat of silence, and then he murmured under his breath, “To believe that life is far greater than this one wretched moment.”

“And you shall experience it, I’m sure.”

He looked doubtful.

“We will all die in the end,” I said lightly, “but most of us simply do not know when.” I would likely never see him again after the Great Event, and this thought emboldened me to spare a few words of kindness. “Whether your days are many or few, daegam, I hope you will embrace each one. I hope you will go visit the sea, and perhaps find a good friend to accompany you. Perhaps Wonsik will go with you.”

He let out a single, humorless laugh. “And endure lectures throughout the journey?”

I suppressed a smile.

For a few moments longer, we remained standing awkwardly, me staring at his hand on the desk, and him staring off in a different direction. In the enveloping darkness of the early morning, his proximity felt far too intimate. I nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, then sought refuge before a vase, pretending to study it.

“We had several precious ones in my old home,” I babbled, acutely aware of his lingering gaze. “I broke at least half of them.”

“That does not come as a surprise to me.”

“When should Wonsik and I leave?” I asked.

“We are leaving together in an hour or so.”

“You too?”

“I am meeting with Yeongho.”

I nodded. “Well then, I shall see you later—”

“Wait.”

I stilled, my heartbeat quickening as I felt his presence close in behind me. His cool hand wrapped around my wrist, and a crisp sheet of paper slipped into my hand.

“A palace servant delivered it this morning.”

I glanced down at it, and everything in me quieted. It was a letter. And even before opening it, my hands had begun to shake. It was as though I could feel her voice lifting from the pages.

To my sister, Iseul—

I have thought little else but of your visit. Please forget my cold words to you. In truth, your presence brought me great comfort, and I hold on to the memory of you as a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder of all that is still good and lovely in this kingdom. There is so much more I wish to say, but I dare not be seen writing to you.Know that I am resilient, and I will remain so until we can reunite once more. I love you, little sister.

I will always love you.

—Hwang Suyeon

My feet moved of their own accord. I wasn’t sure what took hold of me, but I embraced him. His hands startled onto my shoulder, as though assuming I’d lunged in attack. I tightened my arms around him, and he remained deathly still. He may have stopped breathing, too. But moment by moment, his muscles eased, and his defensive grip slipped away, and he remained there, embraced by me.

“You did this for me…?” I spoke to his silk robe. “Why?”

He stayed quiet for a long time, then he looked down at me, his brow furrowed with puzzlement. “I’m… not entirely sure.”

His answer did not satisfy, but I was grateful nevertheless.

Releasing him, I rushed over to the screened window. I reread the letter by the braziers’ glow, over and over, unable to look away from my sister’s achingly familiar handwriting. Suyeon loved me. She loved me still. She would always love me. Joy burned in my heart, so searing that tears welled in my eyes.

“You are pleased?” Daehyun asked, joining me at the window.

“Thank you for this letter. Truly,” I whispered, my voice straining under the emotion. “You are not so despicable after all.”

“I suppose I was quite despicable when we first met,” he murmured, cracking open the window. The smell of rain swept in. “Hopefully in the next lifetime, we will meet again,” he said, glancing down at me. “And in kinder circumstances.”

I gazed up and offered him a small smile. “I hope so, too.”