32. Daehyun
Wine bottles clinked as laughterexploded from next door. It was daytime, and the House of Bright Flowers still rumbled with music and merriment.
“You could have any woman, daegam.” The deputy commander’s voice dipped low as he stared across the low-legged table. “Any courtesan, as many as you desire, and you would hold influence over the government when all this is over. Such a bright future awaits you; do not endanger it over a slip of a girl. Iseul wishes to reunite with her sister? She may do so after the Great Event. A mere trek over to Official Wu Sayong’s residence, and there her sister will be.”
Daehyun tapped his finger on the lacquered surface, struggling to keep his composure. He had spent nearly three hours in conversation with the deputy, attempting to reverse his decision, yet it had merely come to this: a refusal to free one girl, and a bribe.
“Must I repeat myself?” Daehyun muttered. “Young Mistress Suyeon—Iseul’s sister—must be returned home. It is my request.”
“Forgive my insolence, daegam… But the entire future of this kingdom rests not upon you, but upon the government officials who have joined this cause. It is they who I must please.”
The deputy’s snub did little to offend him, for Daehyun knew who he was—an outcast prince, illegitimate and parentless, and it mattered naught to the deputy whether he lived or died. He was not Grand Prince Jinseong; he was not this kingdom’s future.
“If you do not reverse your decision,” Daehyun said calmly, “do not expect that I will stay silent.”
The faintest snarl flickered across the deputy’s lips. “The path to a new government is made of broken hearts. Endure the heartache, daegam. You are young; your heart will heal, and so will hers. But we absolutely need to attempt to keep bloodshed to a minimum, and that means persuading as many officials as possible to join our side, through whatever means—”
“The Milwicheong,” Daehyun interrupted. “If I can gather a mob of over eight hundred rebels within the capital, on the night of the Great Event, would you then reconsider?”
The deputy paused. His scowling brows lifted, replaced by a look of intrigue. “You mean… to break free the traitors from Milwicheong Prison…?” He remained still, his back straight, his stare pinned to the floor in thought. “They would be too malnourished to be a fighting force.”
“They would amplify the unrest,” Daehyun pressed, grasping onto this thread of hope. “They would be the spark needed to rally the people’s spirits. To turn the capital against the king and his soldiers.”
The deputy commander nodded and slowly lifted his stare to Daehyun. “It seems to me that you have too much time to spare, daegam, to be worrying about the Hwang sisters. I leave this task to you, then, and will provide you with my personal soldiers. You will infiltrate the Milwicheong when we attack the fort. It should be simple enough, in the midst of chaos.”
“Then I have your word?” Daehyun asked, his stare unwavering on the man. “You will persuade Official Wu to leave Suyeon alone—”
“You misunderstand me, daegam. We are called to fight for the kingdom, for the people. Not for two sisters.”
“Deputy—!”
“I am a man of my word, and I have given Official Wu Sayong my word. It cannot be taken back.” With that, the deputy rose to his feet and stalked over to the door, then paused before leaving. “If we fail, we will all be arrested and executed without trial. Iseul will not live to even worry about her sister’s fate. So let us focus our minds on what is important: victory.”
A sea of dread pooled around Daehyun once he was alone. He felt struck down. Folding his head into the palms of his hands, he stared into the darkness, unable to understand how he could fail to protect yet another friend. Hyukjin was dead. Wonsik was dead. And now Iseul…
Crowds flowed in and out of the House as time passed, and he could not will himself to move. When a scratch came at the door, he could hardly turn to look.
“Daegam,” came a female whisper.
His heart sank. It was one of his gisaeng informants, and he knew why she had come.
“They are arrived,” she said. “Yul and another female companion—”
“Leave,” his voice rasped.
“Then… then shall we proceed without you? It will take time to apply the cosmetics.”
He did not answer. He wanted nothing to do with Iseul’s plan.
“I have procured a courtesan’s dress, as Yul requested—”
“Leave,” he ordered again, his voice sharper.
The gisaeng retreated, and he remained still as he examined every other alternative. The most feasible option would be to send Palace Servant Jiyu to keep an eye on Iseul’s sister, but she would have to do so at a distance, never close enough to truly keep Suyeon safe. Neither could he entrust the task to another courtesan, for he had no informants among them, absolutely no one he could trust.
He whispered a curse.
Iseul was right. Only she could protect her sister.
When he dragged himself to his feet, he felt a sharp ache splinter through his chest as he made his way down the corridor, to the chamber at the far end. He paused before the latticed double doors. Female voices drifted out, the paper screens too thin.
“Our kingdom has three criteria for feminine beauty,” came the gisaeng’s voice from within. “And to avoid suspicion from palace attendants, one must look the part. Seulgi-yah.”
“Her name is Iseul,” Yul’s voice boomed. “Iseul.”
“The first criteria is sam-baek,” the gisaeng continued, “which highlights the whiteness of the skin, teeth, and the white of the eye. You possess beauty in the latter two, but your skin… you are slightly too tanned compared to other palace ladies. Come closer this way, and keep your face still.”
A sunlit silhouette stepped before the screened door, and he knew who it was. He had observed Iseul too often not to recognize the shape of her—her ever-tilted chin, her long throat, her hands primly gathered together.
“The second is sam-heuk, which emphasizes the need for charcoal-black pupils, eyebrows, and hair…” A shadow of a hand reached out, a brush to Iseul’s brows. “And the third is sam-hong, which stresses the redness of the cheeks and lips as well as peachy fingernails.” The hand dabbed into a pot, then paused. “Damnation. I am out of rouge.”
The doors suddenly slid open, and Yul stepped out while whispering over her shoulder, “I will return with another pot—” She then halted before him. Eyes narrowed, she scratched the side of her nose. “Why do you stand here, daegam? Go in.”
Brushing past her, Daehyun stepped into a chamber burnished gold in the sunlight. “You ought to lower your voice when speaking,” he muttered, striding over to the shade. “Every word can be overheard…”
A chill seeped into his heart as Iseul turned to him, her face molded into a narrow vision of beauty. Her form was no longer dressed in white cotton but lavished in a palace lady’s gown—a sheer white jacket that bared her throat and shoulders, and a silk skirt that was the color of bright pink peonies.
“Did you convince the deputy?” Iseul asked.
Daehyun turned away, more shaken than he thought was possible. As he stared out the window, he could see nothing, though an entire garden sprawled before his eyes.
“I thought so,” Iseul said as she joined him. “Do not worry yourself. No one will recognize me. Neither the king nor the chehongsa officers, even if they might have seen a sketch of me. Even I cannot recognize myself.”
He refused to look at her. Refused to acknowledge that he would partake in her reckless decision. But as he stared ahead, he could sense her feelings, as palpable to him as the heat of the sun, as the cold of the moon. She was nervous. The guard he had raised fell, and he turned to her at last.
Iseul was unrecognizable—her full lips thinned into a small pout, her soft brows replaced by dark lines that arced in the shape of willow leaves—yet only one woman had ever gazed upon him in such a way. In a stare that was unafraid, a free fall into the depths of his being. She would always be Iseul, no matter how she appeared, no matter how much she changed.
“Iseul-ah…” He faltered, grappling for the words to express himself. “Should anything occur—”
The doors shot open. And as he stared at Yul, stumbling in with panic-widened eyes, he felt dread tighten in his stomach. He had rarely seen the innkeeper in a state of such terror.
“I overheard a conversation, daegam,” Yul said, her voice shaking. “Nameless Flower has struck again.” She placed a hand over her throat, as if to calm herself. “Iseul’s uncle is dead.”