Page 120 of Reign of the Talon
A small village comes into view, gleaming underneath the periwinkle stars. It is the same village I saw in my dream, and I know the Talons must be here, in one of these simple white hanoks. The wood from which they are carved is smooth, white, and—
“They’re made from bone,” says Rui in equal parts distaste and delight. “How macabre.”
“This way!” Eunbi cries, running across the mist-swirled cobblestones. Hastily, I quicken my pace even further. Eunbi is terrifically fast as she leads us to the village outskirts, where a field of dark-purple flowers blooms.
“The palace is at the midpoint of the realm,” Eunbi says as we cut through the field. “Any soul from any village can reach it. There are lots of villages here, with people who died around the same time. That’s how it works.”
My eyes widen as the rich soil beneath us begins to slope downward, forming stairs leading toward shadow. Eunbi casts a look over her shoulder. “Don’t be scared,” she assures me, already taking the steps downward. “It’s just a portal. Kind of like the ones Rui has.”
“I’m right behind you,” Rui murmurs as Eunbi disappears into darkness. Heart ramming in my chest, I take the steps, breathing in the smell of loam and rainwater. As my foot descends toward what must be the final step, an invisible force yanks me away into a swirling maelstrom of glittering darkness—and spits me out onto a bone-white floor.
Small slippers appear before me, and Eunbi helps me up just as Rui appears, tumbling out of the portal and somehow landing on his feet, as graceful as a cat. Swallowing hard, I look around, squeezing Eunbi’s hand in awe.
The walls are cavernous, looming far above, the same white as the floor yet somehow beautiful, bone resembling marble. Balconies rise all the way to the very top, their arches engraved with twisting patterns: hands, reaching upward, fingers stretched toward some unattainable longing. A carpet of what seems to be rich, black moss creeps steadily onward a few inches from where we stand, sprouting with those same purple flowers as the field from which we came. It cuts through bone-carved benches, leading to the throne at the forefront of it all: a skeleton throne on a matching dais, bleached and looming—upon which sits a familiar crown…carved from a dark purple wood with rising thorns that resemble hands, the same hands carved onto the balconies overhead. It is the same crown I saw on The Empress, atop her—my—head.
My mouth goes dry.
“Go,” Eunbi urges, looking up at me. “Go, Lili.”
I must, Imust—and yet my feet do not move across the carpet. Although I know this is my destiny, something in me still recoils at the sight of such…power.
Is this truly what’s destined for me? To take the mantle of Jeoseung for myself? I am no leader, no ruler, despite what Yoonho and Sang may have seen, despite what I may have been told in the hall of mirrors.
Recognition flickers down the red thread, and Rui gently places his hand in mine. “We’ll go with you,” he says softly, eyes trailing the path toward the throne. “You’re not alone. Let’s end this war, together.”
“Together,” a new voice echoes, this one raspy from years of smoking, joined by three other voices—two soft and chiming, one stern and deep.
Lips parting, I turn…
To see the Talons, standing before me, small smiles on their faces.
Chara and Chryse leap forward to embrace me, wrapping their arms around me with soft cries of both joy and grief, blond hair tickling my face. Sang and Yoonho join them, and for a moment, everything is as it should have been—us, together.
A family.
“Lina,” Yoonho whispers as the twins reluctantly pull away, “it’s time.”
I slip my hand back into Rui’s, who is staring at the Talons with glassy eyes. He dips a head in thanks and acknowledgment to Sang, and Sang nods back, lips curving happily upward. Eunbi takes my other hand eagerly, and with the Talons at my back—a force of warmth and love—I begin the path toward the throne.
INTERLUDE
Kang
In the world above, the Yong embrace a sweet triumph, inhuman bellows shaking the sky, golden scales illuminated by the piercing lightning as their twisting bodies soar toward the Bonseyo palace where Kang stares down at Rui’s still face and Iseul shakily closes Lina’s eyes.
Out of the corner of his vision, Kang watches as Chan looks up at the sky and staggers back, face ashen. When the Supreme Commander’s gaze falls upon the dead Dokkaebi emperor, he once more falls to his knees.
“This vengeance,” rasps Chan. “It does not…it is not what I thought it would be.”
Kang closes his eyes. Grief comes then, splintering his skin. Haneul Rui is dead. Truly dead.
“We lost,” the Gumiho breathes, looking up at Kang. “Welost—”
Another earth-rattling roar. This one so close above that the ground undulates, and Iseul falls onto her rear.
Kang swallows hard, forcing himself to think. “We cannot leave the bodies,” he rasps. The ravaged bodies. He had steadfastly not considered what Rui would look like, so still and cold and bloody when he’d planned his assassination—knowing that if he did, he never would have carried out the act. The king has always been one so full of life, of glittering eyes and mischievous smiles, radiating with a razor-sharp energy.
The advisor cannot blame Chan for what he did, yet this…
