Page 10 of Reign of the Talon
After the night I took Sunpo for my own, I recited my exact destiny for her, watching as her dark eyes grew with awe and glee. As her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips in hunger, and as the corner of her lips pulled up in an animalistic sort of anticipation. In that moment, with her head cocked and a cold determination frosting her visage, Song Iseul struck me as more than just a Gumiho, but a weapon—one fit for my arsenal for years to come.
“Verynice, Lina,” she’d said after a moment of awed contemplation. “I rather like the whole bit about ruling all. I expect that as your friend, there will be some added bonuses for me, no?”
There will be, indeed. Iseul is useful, and she will be even more useful if meticulously cared for. That is what one does with weapons, after all. She will be given power, what she has always longed for. A place above the mortals who killed her kind.
Now, Iseul pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “From what I know of her—some of my Doves came from her court—she likes to toy with men. You may see something…” Iseul hesitates, her usual cheer dipping. For a moment, she almost looks concerned. “Uncomfortable.”
“She is welcome to him.” I wrinkle my nose. “Pleasures of the flesh mean nothing to me.Hemeans nothing to me.”
Iseul arches a brow a little wryly, and I know she is thinking of the wedding day—how she helped this body into the traditional attire, how she cheered during the final kiss, how Haneul and his soul-stitched seemed, for a brief moment, so very much in love.
But that Lina was not me. That was the Prisoner, the girl I keep locked away.Iam the Prophecy.
But Iseul does not understand that difference, for she does not need to. It is a concept that is confusing, unknowable by those of lesser intelligence. And while my Gumiho is cunning, and crafty, I do not expect her to comprehend my complexities in their totality.
“Well,” Iseul says, “that’s true, I suppose. You’ve been trying to kill each other for a while now. But just don’t be surprised when the empress starts telling your husband howprettyhe is, howtallhe is, andmy, what big biceps you have…”
Her voice fades away as I close my eyes. In the darkness, the red thread appears before me. I follow it to a splash of color in the midst of the inky black, where Haneul is standing below a phoenix throne. The elevated, red structure is raised feet from the ground by a high dais harboring a small set of stairs leading to the seat. The actual chair pales in comparison to the glossy columns supporting the multiple eaves above, and the folding screen depicting in vibrant blues and rich golds the sun and moon and stars.
The woman sitting upon the throne, I note, cocking my head, looks quite different from what I expected. She’s younger, though, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Empress Moon Dahee of Wyusan wears not the traditional robes of an empress, but the attire of a soldier, not unlike the plate-armor Haneul and his forces wear. The Wyusan forces wear brown leather lamellar armor, the color of the trees in their stretch of wilderness. Moon’s dark hair is cut short and choppy save for two long, thin braids framing her face. And although her clothing and the length of her hair may lean toward traditionally masculine, her features are anything but. Plump lips. High cheekbones and golden-brown skin. Two dimples and a pert nose.
Yet there is something…off…with her eyes. They look like she is willing them to be warm, but a natural coldness still seeps through.Interesting.This is the woman who ended the Soo Dynasty and began her own. Grudgingly, I admit that I am notentirelydisrespectful of that fact.
“Emperor Haneul Rui,” Empress Moon says with a small, almost shy, smile. In the corners of the vision, soldiers stand guard, watching the Dokkaebi warily. I feel Haneul’s flinch as she utters his family name. It is the same as when I invoke it.
It is a reminder that he may no longer claim the family name of Shin, as he briefly did after the marriage.
“It’s nice to finally make your acquaintance after the missives and spokespeople you’ve sent,” the empress continues. “Although one does wonder why you haven’t bothered to come yourself until now.” To my surprise, her voice is quiet. She’s soft-spoken despite the ssang gum sheathed at her waist. The twin swords’ hilts match in both length and lotus flower design.
I watch as Haneul smiles, lips tight. “Apologies, Empress Moon,” he says and my own lips curl in disgust as I watch the red thread between us ripple as he inclines his head. “My army and I have been preoccupied as of late, attempting to stop the Prophecy’s army before they enter the Wyusan Wilderness. An endeavor that I seem to recall you placing particular emphasis on.”
Empress Moon titters. “Oh… A valid point, Emperor. I would, admittedly, appreciate the avoidance of a war. If you stop them before they take Wyusan, my preferred strategy will be successful.” Her lips twitch for a split-second. “So…tell me. How does that battle fare?”
Haneul’s expression has no warmth in it as he replies, “The Prophecy will enter your wilderness soon, Empress Moon. Your forces are needed.”
Satisfaction blooms in my chest as Moon blinks, her smile falling. On the phoenix throne, she stiffens and leans forward. “Do you mean to tell me,” she asks incredulously, “that the Dokkaebi—creatures of legend, descendants of thegods, if your advisor is to be believed—have failed to stop some Sunpo snake-girl from crossing the Yaepak Mountains?”
I feel Haneul’s sudden flare of anger. The intensity of it almost takes me aback. Usually, that ire is directed toward me. I narrow my eyes analytically as I watch Haneul struggle for control. “As I have told you,” he says in a low voice coated in ice, “she is a Prophecy. Stopping her is not something that is so easily done.”
“Then what,” laments Moon, “is even the point of fighting? Why engage in this…charade? It is a losing game. And, to be honest, I’m not fond of games that I cannot win. A flaw of mine.” She sighs delicately.
Something, I think, is…wrongabout her tone. It rings false in my keen ears that can pick up every undertone beneath those words.
Haneul scoffs, tilting his head in a way that is most hawk-like. “A question I never believed I would hear from the girl who grew up power-hungry. Who lied her way into this very palace and seduced the last Soo emperor and manipulated him into marriage. Who slit his throat and took his throne and army for herself, who created her own dynasty.” Haneul takes a step closer to the throne. His jaw is so tight that I hope he will crack a tooth. “Well, Moon, here it is. Will you surrender your throne? I can assure you that the Prophecy won’t let you live, even if you do. Or will you stand against her? To grapple for some semblance of a chance to save your people?”
An inspiring speech,I think derisively and tilt my head, continuing to watch the exchange with no small amount of annoyance. Moon is pulling Haneul along by the strings if her response to my missive—fuck off—is to be believed. The warrior-empress will join the battle. She will do no such thing as surrendering this lavish throne, this kingdom, her Wyusan Wilderness. That much is clear. Although Haneul may miss it, with his general lack of basic intelligence, I see the spark behind Moon’s doe eyes. She’s doing precisely what my Gumiho said she would do—toying with him. Her sweet, innocent demeanor does not match that harsh scrawl I received.
She wants something from Haneul. The only question, I suppose, is what.
Moon Dahee is silent. She lowers her eyes, and I watch with exasperation as her shoulders begin to shake. “Oh, Emperor,” she whispers helplessly. “How has it come to this?”
Haneul, to his credit—which truly, I give him very little of—stares on impassively at this little show. “I have kept you well-informed of my battalion’s losses. You know precisely how it occurred.”
The woman wipes her eyes. “You need my help.”
“Yes,” grits out the Dokkaebi emperor. “Your forces, joined with ours, would reinforce the stand against Sunpo greatly.”
“But, Rui,” breathes Empress Moon, and I watch as Haneul blinks warily at the casualty with which she suddenly addresses him, “we are only mortals. What worth are we to your army?”
