15. Iseul
White charm papers fluttered inthe wind, strung around the hut, as though to keep out evil spirits. But as though ghosts had slipped in upon our entering the yard, the door slid open and the shaman appeared. “Who’s there?” she called out.
“Where might the next village be, mudang-nim?” Daehyun inquired. “My wife and I injured ourselves on the journey, and we are in need of a place to rest for the night.”
Wife.I would have scoffed at this, but the pain of a thousand brimstones burned through my shoulder. I could hardly think.
“The next village is a half day’s travel away,” the shaman rasped.
Daehyun looked at me, wearing the mask of a concerned husband, then he turned to the old woman again. “May we stay here tonight?”
“You may, but with payment of sort. Do you have anything edible? Dried fruits? Dried squid?”
Daehyun paid with coins, and she happily led us to a single room. A room so small that I backed up against the wall to avoid brushing into the prince. “Surely you do not expect me to sleep here with you,” I remarked, casting him a swift glance.
His unease was evident as well. “I wouldn’t dare shut my eyes in your company,” he muttered, “lest you attack me with your blade—or rock.” He then waved a hand. “Rest. I will return shortly then remain outside, on guard for the rest of the night.”
I breathed with ease once he had left, then proceeded to examine the room. There were a low-legged table, neatly folded blankets, and a single bed mat in one corner. My exploration was cut short as the shaman arrived with a tray. There were two bowls of water and two washcloths. “For you and your husband.”
I touched my shoulder, wincing. “Do you have fresh binding material?”
“Aigoo, I forgot. I will have your husband bring it to you.”
“Where is the pri—the husband?”
“He went for a stroll, and I am not sure why he would at this hour.” She waved her hand at the night sky, framed by the opened latticed window. “My hut is on the outskirts of the forbidden territory. A few steps in the wrong direction and he will find himself among soldiers.”
Perhaps he had gone to survey the area…
“Could you inspect my wound? I worry it may be infected.” I struggled out of my jeogori jacket, gritting my teeth to keep myself from whimpering. “And perhaps you would help me tend to it—”
She clucked her tongue. “You have a husband, ask him. What else are they good for?” And with that, she left.
“Curse it,” I hissed, alone again. I slipped the straps of my skirt down over my breastband to access the bandage wrapped around my shoulder and underarm. I needed to wash my wound but was too afraid to even peel off the bandage.
The door slid open again, and I glanced up; the prince had approached as silently as a panther and now stood before me at the entrance. A quiet look of shock hardened his features. I was too dizzy for embarrassment to even register.
He set the binding material down and at once stepped out. “I will wait outside.” Once the door closed, he called in, “Perhaps you should leave the old binding material on,” just as I tugged the bandage off. I felt fresh blood flowing. Washing down my arm. Panic rose in my chest.
“What happens if I don’t?” I asked.
“The blood would have clotted, so if you peel off the binding material, it will bleed again—” He paused, then asked grimly, “You pulled off the bandage, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I whimpered.
“Sh-shall I help?”
The sight of so much blood impaired my better judgment. “Yes.”
Footsteps drew up behind me, and he pushed aside strands of my hair.
“Does it l-look awful?”
He let out a restrained sigh. “It does not appear to be too serious.”
“Is it infected?”
“No. Once we return to the capital, you will receive proper treatment to ensure that it remains that way.”
The fear of death eased away. Pain I could tolerate.
Sweat dripping down my skin, I stole a glance at our reflection in an old bronze mirror. We stood close, too close for comfort, and my muscles tensed with the need to leap away. But I forced myself to remain still under his hand, feeling his fingers move cautiously, as if he were afraid to further harm me—afraid to even touch me.
“Lift your arms,” he murmured, once the wound was cleansed, “if you are able.”
I complied, as I continued to watch him intently through the reflection. He began to wrap the long bandage around me and winced, holding his side as he worked his way around my torso. Despite his own wounds, he did not stop or falter until the last bit of the bandage was neatly secured.
“Finished,” he breathed out in relief. He helped me into my jeogori jacket with a gentleness I hadn’t thought him capable of, then he stepped away from me. “You ought to rest now. I will keep watch outside.”
With those words, he strode over to the door, and I was most eager for him to leave. His presence drained the air from the room, left my skin feeling overly warm and tender. But as I gingerly touched the back of my shoulder, the pain was a burning pulse, a reminder of who suffered greater than I.
“Wait,” I called out. “You ought to tend to yourself, too.”
He paused in his steps, casting a wary glance my way.
“You cannot travel covered in so much blood. It would only draw attention to yourself.”
He remained standing for a moment longer, then grudgingly moved across the room to where the fresh washcloth and bowl lay. He dipped the cloth into water and attempted to wipe the blood off the back of his head, but as he reached back, a look of pain splintered his expression. He lowered the washcloth onto a table, gritting his teeth as he held the side of his ribs.
“I could help you, if you wish,” I offered.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he struggled to regain his composure. It was then that I noticed it. His robe, the V of his neckline, revealed an angry red bruise, and I imagined there were more along his ribs.
“Let me help,” I said quietly, picking up the washcloth and wetting it in the basin of water.
When he did not protest, I stood up on my tiptoes and dabbed at the back of his head, the back of his neck. “You never told me—who wounded you?”
A tremor crawled up along his back. His emotions were unraveling, and I could hear grief surfacing in his voice. “I watched him push Hyukjin off the cliff—” He shook his head, his back tensing as an eerie calm fell over him. “There is no use grieving for the dead,” he whispered, as though to himself. “The dead are already gone.”
“And we are left behind,” I murmured to myself, dipping the cloth into water, twisting out the blood, “not knowing how to exist in this kingdom, a world where they have ceased to be.”
Daehyun stilled, then looked back at me, and we held each other’s gaze for the barest moment. I was the first to look away, rinsing out the rag again until he finally stared ahead once more. I continued to wipe the blood off his head.
“Is that how you felt when your sister disappeared?” he asked with such studied calm and coolness that I had no desire to answer.
“So… what is your secret?” I changed the subject. “You said you would share your secret with me.”
“I was going to tell you in the morning, but perhaps it is better to tell you now…”
Tell me your darkest one.He owed me a lethal secret, one terrible enough to be used as blackmail should he go back on his promise to bring my sister home. And if his secret was a mere confession about the last court lady he had seduced, then I would surely dump the entire bowl of blood-water over his head—
“I intend to commit treason,” he said, straightening the collar of his robe.
My thoughts froze. The bloody rag dropped from my hand. I quickly picked it up again. “You are lying.”
“I would not lie about this.”
Water dripping onto the floor, I stood numbly holding the rag. “What… what kind of treason?”
He finally turned to face me again. “A coup.”
A coup…?My mind remained caught in a haze of shock. Several moments passed when finally his confession registered. A coup! “Why are you telling me this secret?” It suddenly occurred to me. “You are dragging me into an insurrection—”
“A banjeong,” he said quietly. “If we succeed in changing the heavens, it will be called a banjeong. The restoration of our kingdom from King Yeonsan’s treachery.”
“And if you fail, it will be a mere banlan. A rebellion, the refusal to obey the will of heaven.” I shook my head. “I have come to bring my sister home, not to overthrow a kingdom. If you think I will have any part in your games, you are wrong.”
His gaze held mine. “You cannot carry out the first task without executing the latter. It is foolishness to think you can bargain with King Yeonsan.”
He was not wrong. The thought of catching the killer within a reasonable timeline was daunting, and the thought of trying to bargain with the king was truly petrifying. “This might fail,” I whispered. “But why are you committing”—I bit my lip, glancing at the screened door—“treason?”
When he did not respond, my curiosity doubled. “You speak of changing the heavens. You speak of saving this kingdom from Yeonsan’s tyranny. They are such grand words. But I wonder, daegam, who is it you are saving this kingdom for?”
He glanced at me, his eyes expressionless as he uttered four cold words. “There is no one.”
I blinked, confused. “There is no one? But surely you must be fighting for someone?”
“I will not pretend to be driven by honor. Should a coup occur, I will be among the first to be executed. I am disfavored by many officials, you see. But I wish to live.”
I had expected a more glorious reason for one’s desire to overthrow the king. I shook my head. “And who will lead this coup? Yourself? No one would join!”
“It will not be I,” he said dryly, “and I will not bore you yet with an explanation. I give you until our return to the capital to decide—whether you will join us or not.”
“Who is us?”
“Wonsik and Madam Yul and Hyuk—” His expression darkened. “The three of us.”
“And if I refuse to join?”
“Then I suspect you will never see your sister again.”
I suspected, too, that I would never live to see the next day if I refused.
The shaking would not cease, not even as the sky grew pitch dark outside, not even as I lay still for hours, staring at the screened door that bore the prince’s lantern-lit silhouette, his figure rigid and on guard.
“A coup…” I was alone, yet found myself whispering the words, needing to taste them on my tongue.
It was startling to imagine—a kingdom no longer ruled by King Yeonsan. The past two years of his tyranny had felt endless, more like a decade. It seemed impossible. Everyone believed that the king was chosen by the will of heaven. Could it really be changed?
I sucked in a deep, nervous breath, then let it out slowly.
I did not expect to sleep, not when my thoughts were so crowded, but when I finally closed my eyes, I was swept away into the past. I dreamed of Mother, imagined her arms around me. My sister lying on the other side. Father quietly reading by candlelight on a low table.
Moon, moon, bright moon…Mother’s voice sang a song, a familiar lullaby.
With my gold axe, I will cut down the cinnamon tree
Trim it smooth with my jade axe
A house to build all thatched with straw
Rooms there shall be one, two, three
One for Suyeon
One for Iseul
One for me and my husband
May we live there a thousand years
Ten thousand years together—
The singing cut off dead, and when I looked, I found myself lying in a pool of blood. Mother and Father and Suyeon lying with their arms sprawled open, eyes unblinking, and I was screaming. Horror and grief splintered through me, the agony intolerable.
Seek revenge.The memory of Daehyun’s words greeted me in the dark as I finally opened my eyes, swollen from crying in my sleep. Seek revenge. Only then will you save your sister.
My eyes were still puffy when the sun rose. Moving my arms carefully, I rose to my feet, refreshed myself with the fresh bowl of water someone had brought in for me. I then stepped out and came to an abrupt halt.
A shadowy figure sat on the veranda, back straight and legs crossed, studying a book opened on a low-legged table. My eyes adjusted in the early-morning dimness, and I recognized Wonsik. He flipped a page, dipped a calligraphy brush into ink, then rolled up his sleeve as he wrote down a note. It was his investigative journal.
“How did you find us?” I asked.
He looked up. A deep shadow was cast over his face, yet I could hear the relief in his voice. “You are awake at last. I followed the markers left behind for me by the prince.”
So that was why the prince had been purposely snapping branches. “Are we leaving now?” I asked.
“We will leave tomorrow,” Wonsik said, returning his attention to the journal. “The king’s guards still infest the entire western pass.”
My thoughts moved within my mind as slow as a slug, then another memory shifted into focus: the prince’s dangerous proposition. My chest constricted—the thought of a coup filled me like a thousand birds fluttering their wings in my chest. I collapsed onto the veranda next to Wonsik, staring ahead blankly.
“He told me,” Wonsik said simply, turning a page.
Now I gaped at him. He is part of it, too, I remembered. “Everything? You do not look pleased.”
“It is a perilous game the prince has lured you into. I was equally disapproving when Hyukjin persuaded Yul to join.”
I glanced around, then lowered my voice. “Does your prince want to be king?”
“No. If one hopes to sway the majority government, it is best to choose the most obvious and least controversial candidate. The only other legitimate heir: Grand Prince Jinseong.”
I nodded slowly. “Hopefully King Yeonsan does not kill the grand prince before the—the Great Event occurs.”
“The king has kept him alive all these years, and I think he will continue to do so. The grand prince’s mother, the Dowager Queen, is like a mother to His Majesty. And for that reason alone, the grand prince has not faced execution.”
I nodded, then shook my head. A wave of anxiety struck me. “The probability of this event succeeding seems impossibly low. Besides you, ajusshi, we are all so young. Yul, Prince Daehyun, and I…”
“History moves its course, Young Mistress Iseul,” he murmured, flipping the page of his journal. He took up his calligraphy brush again. “But it is the youth who point the current in its direction.”