Chapter 8 #2
“Still. Stay awake.”
“I liked you better when you pretended to be quiet.”
Jiho had laughed hard enough to regret it immediately, pain flashing across his side.
Now, as dawn finally bled pale gold across the mountains, the smaller escort descended the eastern path away from the main caravan.
The road narrowed quickly through the highlands.
Wet cliffs.
Pine forests.
Steep rocky turns overlooking valleys drowned beneath morning mist.
Most of the escort remained mounted, keeping the carriage as light as possible for the dangerous descent.
Inside, Jiho rested against folded blankets near the rear wall while Claire sat opposite him, checking the bandages hidden beneath his robes.
“You are staring out the window again,” he murmured.
“I am guarding the priestess.”
“You are supposed to be resting.”
“I can do both.”
“You nearly died.”
“I only got stabbed a little.”
Claire narrowed her eyes.
“That sentence alone explains why soldiers have such short lives.”
One corner of Jiho’s mouth lifted.
“There she is again.”
“Who?”
“The real you.”
Claire looked down quickly to hide her smile.
The carriage rocked steadily over uneven ground.
Outside, horses struck wet stone while the distant sound of river water echoed through the valleys.
Occasionally the curtains lifted with the wind, revealing flashes of green mountains and cloud-covered cliffs before falling closed once more.
For long stretches they travelled in comfortable silence.
Not awkward silence.
The easy silence shared by people who had survived fear together.
Jiho watched her often when he thought she was not looking.
Unfortunately for him, Claire noticed almost every time.
At one point she caught him staring openly.
“What?”
“You fight strangely… for a priestess.”
“That again.”
“You throw things.”
“You stabbed people.”
“Apparently throwing lanterns is priestess work.”
Jiho laughed softly before wincing as the movement pulled at his wound.
Claire leaned forward automatically.
“See what happens when you annoy the person who stitched you back together?”
“You stitched me together surprisingly well.”
There it was again.
That curious expression.
As though he were trying to solve a puzzle.
Eventually his questions became more direct.
“Where did you learn to move like that?”
Claire rested her head lightly against the carriage wall while considering the safest answer.
“My home.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is enough of one.”
Jiho folded his arms carefully.
“Most noble daughters learn poetry, music and marriage etiquette.”
Claire snorted before she could stop herself.
“Then I suppose I disappointed everyone terribly.”
“You do not behave like someone raised only for marriage.”
“Good.”
The answer escaped too quickly.
Jiho’s eyes warmed with amusement.
Claire sighed dramatically.
“Where I grew up, daughters were expected to know many things.”
“Such as?”
“How to survive.”
She answered vaguely.
“Trade routes. Languages. History. Healing. Defence.”
Jiho studied her.
“That is uncommon.”
“So am I.”
That made him smile again.
The carriage jolted over another ridge of stone.
Claire steadied herself with one hand against the wall.
Outside, Taejin’s voice drifted back from horseback.
“If either of you begins flirting loudly enough for the entire mountain to hear, I am throwing myself off this cliff.”
Claire nearly choked.
Jiho looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“We are discussing education,” he called calmly.
“That somehow sounds worse.”
As the morning stretched onward, Claire found herself speaking more openly than she intended.
Never directly.
Never enough to reveal the truth.
She spoke instead of Cradle Lake.
Of mountain temples.
Morning fog settling across cedar forests.
Festival lanterns reflected upon still water.
Dance.
Meditation.
Knowledge passed quietly from one generation to the next.
Not lies.
Simply incomplete truths.
Jiho listened carefully to every word.
“You miss it.”
Claire looked toward the mountains beyond the carriage curtains.
“Yes.”
More than she could ever explain.
She missed electricity.
Modern music.
Coffee shops open after midnight.
Her family.
Her own clothes.
The freedom to choose.
And suddenly, painfully…
She missed Mirae.
The carriage grew quiet.
Jiho noticed immediately.
“You are thinking about her.”
Claire nodded faintly.
“If they discover she is not the priestess…”
Neither of them finished the sentence.
Rainwater slid softly across the roof above them.
For a long while only the sound of wheels and horses filled the silence.
Finally Jiho spoke.
“We will find her.”
Claire looked at him.
He had not spoken dramatically.
Not offered empty comfort.
Simply made a promise.
The kind soldiers made.
Built from duty rather than hope.
And somehow that made her believe him.
Later, as the road widened near a descending ridge, Jiho shifted carefully against the blankets.
“May I ask something dangerous?”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“That depends entirely upon the question.”
“Are priestesses truly magical?”
She burst into laughter before she could stop herself.
The sound startled even the horses outside.
Jiho stared openly now.
Fascinated again by how unlike every other woman travelling with the caravan she seemed.
Claire wiped at her eyes.
“No.”
The certainty in her answer surprised him.
“We are not spirits floating through clouds breathing fire.”
“You dove into a river fully clothed beneath the moon.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was being dramatic.”
Jiho laughed despite himself.
Claire settled back quietly.
“We are not magical,” she said softly.
“Not the way stories tell it.”
“Stories speak of the sweetness of dragons.”
“What is a priestess supposed to be?”
“Something like that.”
He watched her.
“Then what are you?”
The question lingered between them.
Claire looked toward the mountains disappearing behind the carriage.
“We know things we are not supposed to know.”
“Dreams?”
“Sometimes.”
“Visions?”
“Sometimes.”
“Patterns.”
“Glimpses.”
Jiho’s expression softened.
“And people fear that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
Claire considered the question honestly.
The dreamscape.
The impossible crossing between centuries.
The strange certainty that invisible threads had bound her life to this place long before she understood why.
“Sometimes.”
Outside, the escort continued descending toward the southern estates of House Yeon, one of the noble families trusted to shelter royal secrets beyond the capital walls.
Ahead waited Silla.
Politics.
Palace courts.
Interrogations.
Danger hidden beneath silk and ceremony.
But for now, inside the gently rocking carriage with rain fading behind them and mountain roads stretching endlessly ahead, Claire found herself laughing softly at something Jiho had said.
For a little while longer…
Neither of them felt entirely trapped by destiny.
Or entirely alone.