A Crane Among Wolves

29. Iseul

Wonsik is dead.

Not a moment passed without this reminder. By the fourth day, the excruciating sorrow dulled into a relentless ache, a fatigue that sank into my muscles and bones. I nevertheless endeavored to be of help to Yul. The two times she had visited me at the abandoned hut, she had stayed the night and had spent hours teaching me how to prepare my own meals, and at dawn before her departure, we would forage for greens and wild herbs.

“You knew Wonsik for some time…,” I murmured, watching as Yul gathered all that we had foraged, arranging a meal for us out of it. “How is it that you have the strength to run an entire inn and also travel over to keep me company? I would be of no use to anyone if I were in your place.”

Yul heaved a sigh. “When the sadness grows unbearable, I try to imagine what Wonsik-samchon is doing right now. He is a ghost unable to pass on to the afterlife, as he was met with an unjust fate…” Her eyes were red-rimmed as she marinated each perilla leaf, stacking them one atop the other. Then she glanced out the window at the sunrise, bruising the sky in shades of red and purple. “I imagine he is lecturing a group of ghosts this very moment, teaching them how to solve their own deaths.” She dipped her voice low, imitating Wonsik’s gruffness. “Focus yourself on the details. The truth is right before you.”

A laugh escaped me, which quickly turned into a tearful choke.

We both ended up crying as we set the bowls and chopsticks on a small, low-legged table. My eyes continued to burn as Yul shared more stories about Wonsik over our morning meal. When we were wrung dry of both tears and tales, we sat leaning against the wall, her head resting against my shoulder, her arm linked around mine. She glanced up at me. “And how is the prince faring?”

I tensed. “How should I know?”

Yul clucked her tongue. “You have spent”—she paused to count—“three days with him!”

“Three days with an unfeeling rock,” I muttered.

I had attempted to speak to him the first two days, and besides our few awkward exchanges, he had spent the entirety of his time stationed outside the hut. And when he had left each afternoon to convene with the coup leaders, I had found myself too discouraged to even write to him. By the third day, our prolonged silence had become unbreakable.

“Aigoo.” Yul jabbed her elbow into my side. “You know he has feelings. In fact, he confessed to me a concern of his. He worries you fault yourself for Wonsik’s death.”

I gripped my skirt, an ache digging its heel into my chest. “I am always too reckless, too thoughtless,” I whispered. “I oughtn’t to have left on my own—”

“It is not your fault, Iseul-ah. There is an old saying… Mun-gyeong-ji-gyo. A friendship worth sacrificing one’s life for, without any regret. Wonsik lived by that proverb. He would lay his life down gladly for his friends. So, of course you should grieve, but do not let grief consume you.” She paused, perhaps noticing my sunken shoulders. “And why should you feel guilty about walking off on your own? You are not the one who arranged this horrific incident to occur.”

“I suppose not,” I mumbled.

After a moment, she took out a book. “The prince asked me to pass this along to you, but I had forgotten about it until now.”

I hesitated, then my hands closed around the bloodstained journal. The one into which I had often seen Wonsik pouring his thoughts into. The weight over me lifted, if just for this moment, as a sense of purpose strengthened me.

“I think he would wish you to continue on with the hunt for Nameless Flower.” She then began packing her few belongings. “The investigator from the State Tribunal will be visiting the inn again, likely to interrogate us once more. So you will not see me tonight. Please do not weep over your longing to see me.”

Waving Yul away, I finally opened the journal, which was filled with notes. I skimmed past the pages that summarized the victims’ wounds, past the names of possible witnesses and the intelligence he had garnered from them. The pages overflowed with so many names and dates, along with a description of the flower found at each of the crime scenes. Then I stopped at the last page of notes, at the quick scribble of handwriting that read:

Investigator Gu

The name was underlined in one quick brushstroke, and beneath it:

Jangheung County

My heartbeat quickened. I went back, reviewing the previous pages, but there was no other mention of the investigator or this county.

A drop of cold splattered onto my nose. I glanced up at the wooden beams and thatch as more droplets leaked through the rotten straw. At once, I worried for Yul. She had, hopefully, caught a wagon ride back to the inn, as before.

Grabbing rain-catchers, I distributed them across the floor, then stilled. A memory seized me. “Jangheung County,” I whispered, a chill settling in my bones. Wonsik had said we would take our investigation there—but what was there?

Investigator Gu might have the answer.

Lost in thought, I moved slowly, closing the tattered screen window and readjusting the catchers. Then the door slid open. Yul must have returned. I glanced over my shoulder and stilled.

A man stooped under the low entrance, stepping into the room with rain dripping from the brim of his hat. He threw off his straw cloak and pulled the door shut again, then turned to face me. His face was closed, distant, and expressionless.

“The journey takes more than an hour,” I said, aimlessly flipping through Wonsik’s journal. “You and Yul need not visit so frequently. I am not a child. I can take care of myself.”

“You are in the middle of a mountain,” Daehyun replied. “It is best that you have company.”

My grip on the journal tightened. The hut was small, making avoidance impossible, and the rain poured like a waterfall, trapping us within the dark hut. I parted my lips to attempt an apology when Daehyun placed a small pouch on the table before me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“See for yourself.”

Hesitantly, I glanced inside and was startled to see a vivid assortment of hangwa, sweet confections I had only ever tried during festivals. There were slices of candied fruits, along with taffy-like pieces of sticky yeot.

“A peace offering,” he said grudgingly.

I blinked up at him, utterly bewildered.

He took off his hat and sat down before me, his lashes lowered. “I ought to have—” A muscle worked in his jaw as his countenance grew a shade paler. “I ought to have apologized sooner… I apologize for my callous words. I never meant to hurt you, truly. But I did.” He hesitated for a moment, as though searching for the right words. “I wish I could elaborate on how remorseful I feel, but I am rather inept at expressing my feelings, and so…”

I shook my head, holding my trembling hands tight below the table. “I apologize, too,” I whispered, overwhelmed with relief and joy. “The things I said, I only said in anger. I meant none of it. Truly.”

At last, he looked up at me, and his mask yielded enough for me to catch a glimpse of a vulnerable young man. “I am glad to hear it—that you do not despise me.” He gestured sheepishly at the bag. “Taste one. They are from the royal kitchen, and thus, the finest confections in all the kingdom.”

“Very well.” I picked up a candied yuja, then dropped it into my mouth. A sigh of pleasure escaped me. The slice was crispy and chewy sweet, bursting with memories of sunshine and laughter. “We ought to quarrel more often.” I reached into his peace offering pouch and picked up a candied lotus root this time.

“Given our difference in temperament,” he said dryly, “there will likely be many more quarrels to come.”

As moments passed, the block of ice between us melted into a cautious yet warm companionship. One in which brief conversations were made, but we kept to our corners, myself by the candle I’d lit and Daehyun pacing by the door. It was Wonsik’s journal that brought us together.

“I discovered it beneath Wonsik’s robe.” Daehyun flipped through the candlelit pages as I knelt next to him, my knees accidentally pressing up against his, but he did not move away. “You will continue with the investigation?” he asked.

I nodded. “I want to finish what Wonsik started.”

“Hopefully you will find Nameless Flower before the Great Event. Once the king is gone, what reason has the killer to strike again? It will be far more difficult to find him then.”

I nodded. “That gives me only two days.”

“We will put our minds together—you, myself, and Yul.”

I remained near him as he examined the notes, but when I absentmindedly touched my bandaged wrist, his attention shifted toward it.

“I swear,” he whispered in a low voice, as though to himself, “the next person to harm you will die by my own hands.”

I stopped fiddling with the binding material, unsure that I’d heard him right. “I beg your pardon?”

“The capital is no longer safe for you,” he continued. “Your uncle is right: You should leave. He has a relative you can stay with—”

“My uncle?” The mere mention of him raised the hair on my skin. “My uncle cares nothing for my safety.”

He studied me for a long moment, then slowly shut the book. “Something happened. Tell me?”

“My uncle—” My voice wavered, outrage roiling within me. “My uncle is the one who betrayed my parents to the king.”

A frown furrowed his brow. “Your uncle betrayed your parents?”

“My father was executed when a long-buried secret was revealed—that he had been present at the palace during the execution of Deposed Queen Yun. And you know how the king killed officials for merely existing in the palace that day. Such was my father’s case.”

Daehyun’s frown intensified. “Shall I have him poisoned, after all?”

I gently elbowed him. “Nothing must get in the way of the coup. Not even a personal vendetta.”

He arched a brow. “How sensible of you.”

“My sister is in the palace, have you forgotten? I cannot risk anything interfering with my plans to bring her home.”

“Of course,” he whispered.

“And there is something else.” I briefly held his arm in eagerness, his warmth sinking into my palm. “What happened in Jangheung County? Wonsik wanted to take the investigation there.”

“Jangheung?” He fell silent, wading through his memories. “It is where King Yeonsan fell apart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine this,” he murmured. “A king who feigns ignorance of his mother’s execution, while everyone in court conceals her unjust fate, including those who manipulated the former King Seongjeong into killing her.”

I leaned in, confused by his words.

“King Yeonsan suppressed his anger, and for ten years he ruled with decency and benevolence, quietly surrounding himself with trusted servitors and growing his power…”

I must have leaned in too close, for he paused to glance at me, a glance that slid along my jaw and lingered on the spot below my left ear. I subconsciously raised my hand to hide the dark freckle. My little insecurity.

“After Queen Yun’s execution,” he continued, his gaze brushing across my lips for the barest moment, “the queen’s mother, Lady Shin of the Goryeong Shin clan, was exiled to South Jeolla province—to Jangheung County.”

My hand dropped. “What? The king’s grandmother lives in Jangheung County?”

“Lived. She is deceased.” He flipped through the journal one last time, then returned it to me. “Before her death, a government official by the name of Im Sahong arranged for the king to meet His Majesty’s maternal grandmother, Lady Shin. Until then, the king hadn’t realized she was still alive.”

“And then?” I could barely speak, breathless with trepidation. “What happened?”

“The grandmother revealed Deposed Queen Yun’s execution robe, and upon it was the queen’s last message to her son, written in her own blood. Avenge my death.”

A hand over my mouth, I straightened myself once more. “Nameless Flower also leaves bloody messages on robes,” I remarked, heart pounding in my chest.

“It may just be a coincidence. The killer wishes to taunt the king, and so he leaves a message on whatever writing material is available…” He folded his arms, then shook his head. “And few know of this—of the deposed queen’s bloody robe. And fewer still know of the message left behind.”

“But you know of it. And likely everyone close to the king knows of it as well.” I pinched my lower lip in thought. “Somehow all of this connects to Investigator Gu. Wonsik met with the investigator the day before his death—they vaguely mentioned this meeting on our visit to the House of Bright Flowers. And the investigator’s name is the last thing Wonsik wrote—”

A sizzle, and a gasp of darkness filled the hut.

Rain had dropped through the roof, extinguishing the candle.

Quickly, I rummaged for the flint box and tried to light the candle again, but the fire would not catch. “The wick is too damp,” I muttered. Surveying the dimly lit hut, I stumbled about, hoping to find another candle left by Yul—

My face smacked into a solid, warm chest. I retreated quickly, stepped on my skirt, and flailed backward until Daehyun caught my waist. We both collided into the low table and went crashing to the floor. I remained still, completely winded. Then I became aware of who it was I lay upon.

“It is impossible to see anything,” I whispered nervously, rising onto my forearms to move, but his hand stilled me, resting on the small of my back. Our gazes locked in the stormy gray half-light, our breaths intertwining. There were moments, I knew, when the earth and stars eclipsed each other. Yet I had never thought it possible that my heart and mind could move in such a way, shifting within the expanse and centering my attention on the man before me. As though seeing him for the first time, I noticed the little details: the shape of his lips, the small and faint scar nicking his right cheek, his luminous dark eyes that yielded under my gaze, revealing the emotions that flickered by, from desire to desire.

His hand slid along my spine, then held the back of my neck, gently drawing me closer. My lips burned, yearning to seal my mouth to his, to taste him out of curiosity—but in that moment, as his heart beat against my palm, a wave of vulnerability washed over me.

Beware, a haunting whisper echoed in my ear. Those you hold dear always die in the end. And he will surely die.

I could already feel the ghostly echoes from the future, the splitting pain, the days spent feeling lost, not knowing how to exist with all the sorrow.

I refused to ever feel that way again.

“No.” My voice wavered, and I moved to stand.

The prince also rose to his feet, and I half expected him to grab my wrist, to drag me to him.

“You needn’t look at me in such a manner,” he said.

“In what manner?”

“As though I will force you.”

“You do not wish to… kiss me?”

He offered me a wry smile. “What does it matter what I wish?” he said quietly, striding up and brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You said no, and I will receive your word as a royal command.”

My throat had dried. I could not form a single response.

“The rain has stopped.” Releasing me, he crossed the room, though not soon enough to hide his flushed cheeks. “I shall remain outside to keep guard. Investigator Gu is at the inn. It is best we remain cautious.”

The door slid shut behind him, and my knees lost their strength.

Quietly lowering myself, I sat by the door, palm pressed to my thundering heart. The prince is not going to die, I repeated to myself, over and over, trying to dispel the rising dread. It is but a silly omen. He will not die this year. The year is nearly over.

Gradually, the overwhelming anxiety receded, leaving only a trickle of unease. With a deep breath, I faced the reality of the moment. I had nearly kissed the prince, but more shocking still was that he wanted to kiss me. I reached for the floor, tracing my finger in the dust as I listened to Daehyun’s movement outside the rickety brushwood door.

“Daegam?” I whispered, my heart beating fast. No matter how flustered I was, I could not neglect the task ahead of me. “As I am unable to, would you interview Investigator Gu for me? And then we must also speak with Crow.”

“Who is Crow?”

“Wonsik’s son. It is the sobriquet I gave him.” I continued to trace, wanting to hear his voice again. “Wonsik was suspicious of his son for a reason. Crow might have known about the bloody message…” At some point, I no longer knew what I was even saying, my thoughts elsewhere. And when I looked down, I stilled, realizing I had traced out his name.

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