“Maybe if our hands touch, the Red String of Fate will come full circle and disappear. Our souls will return to us.”
He frowns. “That sounds … unlikely.”
I tap my foot. “We should try everything we can. When I reached out to the Sea God, for a moment it did disappear. That is, unless you’re afraid?”
As I intended, his expression changes, and I smile, feeling a bit smug. But then, as he moves to take my hand, I have a sudden thought—like I was with the Sea God, could I be drawn into his memories? Could he be drawn into mine?
A paper boat ripped in half. My sister-in-law in tears. My grandmother screaming my name as I ran and ran and ran …
He takes my hand in his strong grip. His skin is dry and warm.
Nothing happens. I see now the foolishness of my plan. Blushing, I move to extricate myself, but he doesn’t let go. I frown. “What are you—”
He yanks me forward, and I nearly fall to the floor. He moves quickly, shifting over me to catch my head with his other hand. For a moment I blink up at the ceiling, stunned. Then slowly he interlocks our fingers, increasing the pressure of his palm against my own. The Red String of Fate flares, as if we hold a burning star between us. I look up to see the light of the string, and my own startled face, reflected in his dark eyes.
“Well,” he drawls deliberately, “has your soul returned to you?”
And though I know he’s mocking me, my heart still stutters in my chest. He releases my hand just as Namgi dashes into the room, sword drawn.
“Shin!” he shouts. “I heard a commotion…” He trails off, his eyes alighting on Shin and me on the floor. He lowers his sword. “This is unexpected.”
Shin ignores him, rising to his feet. The Red String of Fate lengthens as he moves across the room, crouching to inspect one of the fallen thieves. “Their uniforms don’t bear insignia.”
“Who would dare attack Lotus House?” Namgi says loudly. “Tell me, and I will go and hunt them down, tear them limb from limb. Destroy their homes, their sons, their goats, if they have them—”
I interrupt his tirade. “Where were you a few minutes ago? Not drinking to excess, I hope.”
“Ah.” Namgi points at me. “You’ve got your voice back.”
Suddenly, Shin looks up from where he’s been crouching. “Namgi, do you not see it?”
Namgi cocks his head to the side. “See what?”
The ribbon floats in the air—red and glittering. Unmistakable.
I turn to Shin. “What does it mean that he cannot see it?”
Shin grimaces. “Nothing good.”
Behind us there’s a crackle and a pop of sound. The bodies of the thieves begin to fade, smoke swirling off them. After a few minutes, all that’s left are piles of empty clothing and discarded weapons. Even the blood on the paper screen has vanished.
“Where did they go?” I ask.
“They’ve returned to the River of Souls,” Shin says. “Their second life has ended.”
“Their last life,” Namgi adds. “No more coming back for them.”
I shudder. I’m not unfamiliar with death, but seeing it never gets easier.
Shin wrenches his sword from the floor and sheathes it. “We’d better hurry to the main pavilion. It’s almost midnight.”
He looks toward the broken window, where the night seems to pulse. I notice a new scent in the air, like sulfur.
“What about her?” Namgi says, throwing a glance in my direction.
“She comes with us.”
This earns an eyebrow raise from Namgi, but he doesn’t question Shin.
We leave the pavilion. Outside, the once balmy summer night is now hot and dry.
Trailing Shin, Namgi sweeps back his wide sleeves to reveal wiry arms tattooed with intricate markings. “What are you going to do about the soul?” he asks, glancing at me. “Everyone will expect some evidence that you’ve taken it.”
“I’ll think of something,” Shin says, then proceeds to lengthen his stride.
Instead of the forest, we follow the path Kirin traveled earlier over a green field. I look up, expecting to see stars, but the sky is filled with dark, ominous clouds. A fire must be burning somewhere, because I can smell the smoke.
Namgi slows to a walk beside me. His hand is on the hilt of his sword, his eyes on the sky. He wears a grim, worried expression.
“What you said earlier,” I say. “What did you mean by my soul being used as evidence?”
“Ah, it’s part of the yearly ritual. Why all these opportunistic spirits are in our house, drinking all our good liquor. They’ve come to bear witness that the Red String of Fate has been cut, ensuring some semblance of peace, at least until next year. The evidence is the soul of the bride—your soul. Though now that it’s gone, I don’t know what we’ll do.” Namgi scratches his chin with his knife, appearing unconcerned.