Page 45 of Reign of the Talon
“—is travelling by land. I suspect he is being kept as an assurance that the army will regain Song Iseul, and as entertainment. We will prepare a troop to focus on his attainment. The Prophecy is a day’s ride away from Sanyeongto. When she reaches the city, retrieving Chan will be one of the top priorities.” Kang sees that as furious as Rui is at Kim Chan, the Dokkaebi has been one of his closest friends since they were nothing more but grubby-handed children with a tendency to steal sweets from underneath Asha’s nose. And with Hana gone, the fact remains that Rui cannot lose another member of his inner circle.
“Who told you this?” Kang asks slowly. “Whogave you this intelligence?” Does he have a spy, after all? How has Kang not known?
Ah.
The way Rui stares at him, it is as if he is begging him to understand…something. Kang stares at him, at the hope shining so brightly across Rui’s face, the waters of his mind beginning to move, to ripple.
There would be only one reason for that hope. Could it be? The spindly writing of scrolls long forgotten swim before his eyes. Where does a host go, when a Prophecy overtakes them? He cannot remember, not at first, not until he closes his eyes and concentrates.
They are rumored to disappear…into the…the…deeprecessesof the mind.
Is this something more than a rumor? Has Rui somehow…contacted Lina? Does the true Shin Lina still exist within her own head?
He grips his staff tightly, his head aching. “Rui,” Kang says quietly, a terrible weariness settling over him, along with the knowledge that despite all of this, he must finish the Calm Death brew. “I understand your hope, but this does not change as much as you think. There are so many variables that still—”
Rui’s eyes narrow. “You flirt with insolence.”
“Emperor!” a voice shouts, and Kang, stiffening, turns to the still-open doorway where Ryu Seojin (dragging along a scowling Gumiho) stands, panting.
“What is it?” Rui snaps, and Seojin meets their eyes.
“You have visitors.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Rui
The Dokkaebi emperor has not seen Dalnim, his ancestor, nor her brother Haemosu for such a very, very long time. Their last visit, before their retreat to Okhwang, fell upon his sixth birthday—the coldest Winter Solstice the continent had ever seen. Rui still remembers how Dalnim gave him a sweet rice cake in the shape of a crescent moon and studded with sesame seeds. With a mischievous smile, she had convinced him it truly was a sliver of her moon, and Rui had laughed in incredulous delight while his parents exchanged fond looks.
A remnant of that same delight curls inside of him at the knowledge of his ancestors’ visit, but it is overshadowed by dark worry. Although the deities may possibly be the only powers in existence able to interfere with a Prophecy, they will kill Lina to do it.
Rui is no fool. He understands how to do so would be seen as—as the greater good. Yet it would destroy him, to see Lina murdered so brutally by the same gods she loves, her reputation forever stained as a monster. Churning emotions war inside of him. He knows that a swift end to this war would be preferable, yet…
And yet something tells him that this is not what fate intended.
That their deaths now would somehow be too…soon.
That there is more to their story than this abrupt end.
It is illogical yes, and perhaps driven by his own selfish desire to die a death of honor with Lina by his side. But he cannot shake the feeling that this is not right.
And, really, he thinks sardonically, he should have a say in his own death. It’s only fair.
The moon goddess stands in his throne room next to her brother, and her silver eyes—the very same as Rui’s own, yet larger, and heavily lashed—widen slightly as he enters. Haemosu’s golden gaze narrows, and Rui tries not to feel so exceptionally small before these deities, and the power that streams from them…the cold bite of stars and moons, the blazing heat of the sun. Proof of their powers surround them. Dalnim is surrounded by an aura of glittering white, Haemosu by an aura of deep gold. Instead, he bows respectfully as Kang closes the doors behind him. The advisor will not enter. This is a private audience, for better or for worse.
“Rui,” Dalnim says, gliding closer to him. Her silver, delicate hanbok ripples as she moves, her long black hair in which hundreds of tiny stars are woven flowing behind her. When she peers at him, he sees that her face is as young as ever. If he did not know better, he would estimate her to be in her mid-twenties. She cups his face in her hands, turning it this way and that, examining it with affection and awe. Her hands are as freezing as the stars themselves. “My, my, have you grown.”
Her brother scoffs, shaking his head of gold-streaked black hair underneath his crow-feather crown. “It’s been centuries,” Haemosu says, deep voice annoyed and amused at once. “Of course he’s grown.” He flicks an invisible speck of dust off his gold-plated lamellar armor and gives Rui a curt nod. “Hello, Rui.”
Dalnim steps away from Rui and smiles a little wryly. The gesture is so human that it takes Rui aback for a moment—but the twins used to be mortals, he reminds himself. In the grand scheme of the pantheon, their godhood is a recent thing. They were forged into deities after climbing high into the sky to escape a hungry tiger. That is always how these forgings go: mortals, subjected to terror and death, which transform them as rough sand does to shining pearls. This is what it takes to become a god.
“Dalnim,” he says, spreading his hands in welcome. “Haemosu. Your presence in my realm is an honor.”
“The moons in your sky are beautiful,” the goddess tells him, eyes twinkling. “You have done a wonderful job.”
Rui allows himself a crooked smile. “You humble me, Ancestor.”
Dalnim laughs. “Oh, you are anything but humble, Rui. Even at six, your ego was so lofty that it stretched into the sky and scraped against the stars.”
