35. Iseul
I could not find mysister.
I had searched the sea of faces since entering the Royal Academy, and by dawn, I could no longer tell the faces apart, my mind wandering in and out with exhaustion. When attendants scurried over to assist the intoxicated king off his throne, we were led out onto the dark and empty street, the curfew hours still in effect. I continued my search, dragging my stare to the row of women next to me, behind and before me—still, no Suyeon.
Do not panic.
I focused on my feet instead, silk sandals staggering through the gate and into Wongaksa Temple. I had to remind myself of my footing—left foot, right foot. Each time I glanced up, fear warped my surroundings; the courtyard swam under my steps, the large buildings blazed in the torchlights, swaying then straightening.
“You,” came a tiny voice.
I strained my eyes, a face shifting into focus. A girl with freckles stared at me. We stood in a vast chamber with a high ceiling, with tall, latticed screens and floor lanterns glowing over hundreds of women, collapsed onto their bed mats, exhausted and massaging their aching legs.
“You know me?” I whispered.
“My name is Cheonbi,” she replied, holding out a hand. “I’m the girl you saved a few weeks ago.”
My mind, frozen with anxiety, couldn’t comprehend her words. Then I remembered Scabbed Cheek and the girl he had attempted to arrest. “So you were captured in the end,” I murmured, taking her small hand in mine. “I am in need of your assistance this time… Do you know a girl named Jonggeum?”
“Usually, I would not know—there are over a thousand women here. I tried to learn everyone’s name when I first came but soon found it impossible.” She paused. “But Jonggeum, I know.”
My heart quickened. “Lead me to her. Please.”
She led me out of the main temple, ushering me through a few small gates, and across multiple courtyards, chattering all the while.
“I suppose you are new here?”
“Yes. I am.” I could barely speak, my throat constricted by dread.
“Well, hopefully all you will ever know is palace duties. For those like me, who are not sent to the king, we spend most of our days in the palace doing menial chores. I’m part of the sewing department, but I wish I could assist in the Sangeuiwon, where the royal silks are dyed, or the royal kitchen. I despise sewing—but there I am sent, daily.”
Finally, we stopped before an establishment bustling with nurses, in their aproned uniform and flowing silk garima crowned atop their heads. I gathered my hands tight, digging my nails into my knuckles.
“Why have you brought me here?” I asked.
“Jonggeum is in the infirmary.”
My voice wavered. “What happened to her?”
“She hasn’t been herself since she was last summoned by the king. I’m not sure what occurred, and I would not ask if I were you. That is the rule the women here abide by. Never probe into the nightmares of others.”
My nails dug deeper, ripping past skin, but the sting failed to deflect the devastation stabbing at my chest. I bolted up the flight of steps, Cheonbi hurrying after me, and upon entering the establishment, I was struck by the smell of women wasting away.
“Where is she?” I stared at the mats laid out across the floor, at the women curled upon them. “Where is my sister?”
“Y-your sister?” Cheonbi blinked, then pointed. “There she is.”
At the far end of the chamber, a woman sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring down. Suyeon, I thought as I quickened my steps. A small part of me had believed I would find her with a book opened at her feet, for she had never been without one growing up. A part of me also expected a scolding the moment she noticed me. You foolish girl! she would lash out, concern knitting her brows. Why have you thrown yourself into such danger?
But the woman I arrived before was staring blankly at where the wall and floor met.
“Hwang Suyeon,” I whispered.
She looked up at me. Her eyes were empty, hollowed out. I tried to look for the spark of her, searching as one might search the pitch dark for a missing loved one—with hands stretched out, desperate to collide into warmth, and finding only more darkness. I scratched at my torn knuckles until my nails slipped against blood. I had found my sister—but she was gone.
“It is me.” I shakily knelt down before her, tugging at her sleeve. “Older Sister, it is me, Iseul.”
I waited, watching her vacant face. I had never before felt so desperate for a scolding. I yearned for the sister who had fiercely followed the rules all her life, infuriated whenever I had broken them. I missed that outrage. Desperate to spark light into her eyes, I took her limp hand and wrote a word onto her palm.
??
I studied her again. Nothing. I traced out the word again—the word that had once infused hope through my blood.
Banjeong.
There came the barest movement; lashes fluttered. The slightest glow lit up her eyes at the word; a righteous rebellion that would right the wrongs. My sister had escaped somewhere far away, leaving her shell behind, and now she had returned. For me.
“Hwang Boyeon,” she murmured, her focus hazy—but it was still there, fixed on me. “I hope that this is a terrible dream and that you are not sitting before me.”
“It is indeed a terrible dream,” I whispered. “One from which you will awake tomorrow night. It will all be over soon. And you may scold me all you wish, for the rest of our lives.”
A long silence drew out as my sister stared down at her palm, at the invisible word I had written. Her eyelids shuddered; her head swayed. “I have not slept in days. Each time I close my eyes, I see them.”
I did not ask whom she spoke of. Instead, I shuffled closer, leaning her head against my shoulder. “Then rest, Older Sister,” I whispered, the painful knot in my stomach unraveling as I watched the light withdraw from her eyes again. This is my sister, I thought, gratitude straining against my being, and at least she is alive, she is alive.
I timidly reached out and stroked the ridge of her nose, the same way Mother would when soothing me to sleep. “Nothing and no one will harm you,” I whispered, my voice wavering. “Not while your little sister is here.”
The weight of her head grew heavier on my shoulder, and it seemed she’d dropped to sleep.
For a long while, I remained still, taking in the weight of her existence. A weight that grounded my spirit. My sister, my sister, my sister. The words that had once felt as forgettably light as air now squeezed my heart tight. We were sisters. Two girls who shared pieces of each other, tied together by an unspoken bond, a warm feeling of attachment, that no amount of bickering could easily sever. We were sisters. Comrades born from the same womb.
I glanced at Suyeon for the hundredth time, to convince myself that she was truly by my side. And when realization finally settled, memories unfurled of the long journey I had taken to reach her, of the kind strangers who had become my dearest friends along the way.
Prince Daehyun. Yul. Wonsik…
And had Wonsik lived… I could scarcely fathom the joy he would have experienced upon meeting my sister at last.
Heaving a sigh, I carefully maneuvered my hand so as not to disturb Suyeon and glanced around. Cheonbi must have left, and none of the nurses were paying us any heed. I slipped out Prince Daehyun’s note from my pouch. Wonsik’s investigation still remained unfinished and would have to be set aside until this was all over. But I wanted to see the prince’s writing. It was all I had of him at the moment.
At first, as I stared at the page, I could not focus. The sheet was crowded with so many words, and when I read it once, my mind spun—confused as to why I was reading about the Dead Garden case, the one I had heard about in passing. What did it have to do with Nameless Flower? But I reined in my attention, and by the time I read the letter thrice, I finally understood.
“The two cases are connected,” I whispered, a chill coursing down my spine.
I read over it a fourth time and narrowed Investigator Gu’s report into three points:
First, a woman had been buried in the backyard of her house. The culprit accused of this crime had been the victim’s husband, a former royal guard who had lost his position because of insubordination. They had a son who had left the county, months later, to free himself from all the gossip about his parents.
Second, the victim had lived within walking distance from the residence of Lady Shin, King Yeonsan’s maternal grandmother. She had served as Her Ladyship’s companion, and two days before the victim’s death, Her Ladyship had gifted her a hairpin. The last person to see the victim had been a visiting friend, a tavern keeper who had sworn the victim had been wearing a golden binyeo.
And third, the hairpin was identified as Deposed Queen Yun’s yongjam. Investigator Gu had interviewed Lady Shin and had learned this hairpin had not been stolen but given as an apology gift by the decrepit Lady Shin.
I flipped to the back of the letter and paused to study Daehyun’s writing. The strokes were neat yet bold.
Not mentioned in the report is the bloody-robe incident I spoke to you about. The victim had a son named Nam Seungmin, who mocked the king for weeping over Queen Yun’s robe, and he was beaten for it. Hence the extravagant apology gift from Lady Shin.
But I am uncertain as to how Wonsik drew such a firm conclusion that Nameless Flower is connected to the two incidents in Jangheung County. There are coincidences, indeed, such as the bloody writing on the robe, but even this is too weak a connection for Wonsik. It would seem to me that Wonsik knew something else. One final connector to tie the killer, possibly, to the boy who mocked the king two years ago.
Lowering the letter, I thought at once of Royal Guard Crow, the man who had hidden something away at the scene of Min Hyukjin’s death. He seemed to have many secrets. Perhaps one of them would unlock this case one day. But for now…
I glanced at my sister to assure myself that she was still there and not a dream. Then a coldness breezed through me. She was not asleep, but staring blankly ahead. A single tear trickled down her pale cheek.
“Older Sister,” I whispered, “you ought to rest—”
“I helped a courtesan give birth. She was my friend,” Sueyon said, her voice a monotone. “She was already pregnant, carrying her husband’s child, when she was kidnapped. And then…” She blinked, her eyes as blank as the wall she stared at. “The king killed her after she gave birth. The ojakin disposed of both bodies… My friend’s and her newborn child’s.”
I gripped the letter tight, horrified.
“I am leaving tomorrow,” she went on in the same eerie voice. “Tomorrow, the king sets off for Kaesong City. All the women are to go, including myself. And if the event you speak of does not occur, then I am afraid of what I will do to myself, Iseul-ah.”
Tears welled in my eyes, and I kept my lips sealed, forbidding myself from uttering the words that prickled in my mouth: How could you think to die? How could you leave me, after all I have done to reunite with you?
I could not reprimand my sister. How dare I? I hadn’t witnessed the unspeakable atrocities she had endured. I hadn’t spent weeks in the midst of the captured, anguished women and girls torn away from their lives. I hadn’t witnessed the heart-wrenching sight of an infant, carried off by the corpse-disposing ojakin. I had no right to dictate what she should feel.
All I could do was hold Suyeon’s hand. “It will happen, Older Sister,” the words burned in my throat.
It must.