Page 87 of Reign of the Talon
What in the gods’ names?
I kneel down and hesitantly dig my fingers into the wood. The board is loose, no doubt from whatever is thumping on it beneath. Before I can lose my nerve, I shove the floorboard aside…
And lurch backward as my eyes meet a beating, bloody heart.
…
A box of voices. A pouch of barley. A red, glistening heart.
I stare down at all three of the truths, arranged on the table before the fireplace, as Yoonho and Sang patiently wait for my answer.
What makes a good leader?Thinking hard, I lift the edges of the box up, listening to the murmurs within. I close my eyes, listening to unintelligible conversations, the rising and falling of tenors.A box of voices.A voice box.Avoice box.
My face twists into a frown, and my eyes snap open to glare at Yoonho. An ugly emotion twists in my chest. Is this his not-so-subtle way of telling me to use my voice? The thought still frightens me, and I—I do not yet feel capable of it. Anger boils in me, anger that he would expect so much of me, so soon. Yet Yoonho stares back at me steadily, calmly, before gesturing to my hands. As if to say that there is not only one way to speak. Of course. He was, after all, the one who taught me the Quiet Language.
Ah. So the voices are…metaphorical, somehow? I stare at the box for a moment longer before the answer comes to me.
A leader must speak up for their people, I sign slowly.Advocate for them.
There’s a hint of a smile on Yoonho’s face as I move to the barley pouch, dipping my finger in the grain, remembering the barley farm on which I was raised. The way I would help my eomma and appa crop the grain come Harvest Day, careful not to cut myself as I used a scythe, just like them. This truth is clear.A leader must remember where they come from.
“Good,” Yoonho praises. “And the final truth?”
I stare at the pulsating heart, feeling slightly nauseated. It was slick and warm in my hands when I carried it back here from Sang’s bedroom. It is pulsing frantically, as if experiencing some high emotion. As if it is frightened or angry.
Passionate.
A leader must care for their people. Deeply.
There is a moment of silence before Yoonho’s eyes crinkle at the corners, in the way they so often did when he was proud of me. He stands from his armchair and crosses toward me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Well done,” he says, and it is only because of how well I know him that I can see the glimmer of intense emotion behind his eyes and the lined planes of his face.
Sang stands, too, and smiles at me. “Remember these,” he whispers as the wall with the fireplace shifts, disappearing before being replaced by another flight of stairs. “Don’t forget them.” The three truths, on the table, begin to shift. To melt and mold, until they are miniature versions of themselves, cast in solid gold. Little charms, connected to a gilded key. It joins the others on the chain around my neck, glittering.
I won’t. I won’t forget.
Yoonho nods at me, just once—but that nod contains more words than a speech ever could. When he speaks again, his voice is thick. “With these three truths, you have all you need and more. There’s so much awaiting you.”
I swallow hard. Still, this makes little sense to me. I’ve no desire to rule—it’s what sets me apart from the Prophecy.
“Take the stairs,” Yoonho says, stepping aside. “You’re not so far away now.”
“Go,” Sang urges gently. “Go, and show the world what you can be.”
I’ve no idea what he means, what they see in my future, but I let them guide me to the stairs, let them smile as I take the first step.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The Prophecy
We set out for Bonseyo at the break of dawn.
My blood thrums in excitement. Fulfillment, only a hairsbreadth away. It only raises my mood that the gods, those foul things, are nowhere in sight as we venture toward Habaek’s Bridge, and the orchards beyond, where we will enter the hidden, underground Bonseyo Shadowshafts toward the capital city of Gohtan.
Haneul, to my ire, escaped his bonds last night. There is no point denying that they were only decorum, altogether unnecessary. The fact he had tolerated them pleased me: it was little more than my own glorious show of power against him. Yet his smug smile as he strolled into the Sanyeongto palace just before dawn infuriated me so much that I was half-tempted to wound him grievously, despite the injury I, too, would feel. I barely managed to contain myself.
It is Kim Chan that I now use to keep Haneul in check. Misbehave, and the Supreme Commander shall suffer. He is gagged once more and bound atop Uloe. Sometime in the night, it seems that Haneul ungagged the Dokkaebi warrior, as proven by the expletives shouted from the stall and awaking my Imugi. No matter. It has been taken care of, and Haneul well knows the possible consequences of his actions.
So Haneul has no choice but to remain blindfolded as we traverse through our route. The roaring rapids of Habaek’s River become increasingly audible with every mile crossed through the sparse remnants of Wyusan’s heavy forestry, which becomes thinner and thinner as we near the river-border between Wyusan and Bonseyo.
