He stares at my hand, a crease forming between his brows. “Why did you put your hand in the fire? You already knew it was too late to answer the wish. It was just paper.”
“I know, but…” I hesitate, trying to explain to him something that even I don’t quite understand. “In that moment, doing nothing hurt more than putting my hand in the fire.”
There’s a sharp rap on the door.
Kirin strides in, bowing low. His keen eyes glance at Shin’s hand, still holding my own. “You called for me?”
“Mina’s been hurt.”
“Ah, I see.”
I frown at the two of them, the unspoken words thick in the air. Why had Shin asked for Kirin and not a physician?
As Shin releases my hand, Kirin reaches inside his robes and pulls out a small silver dagger. With a quick motion, he makes a deep cut across his palm. Blood the color of starlight oozes from the wound.
I only have a moment to gape before he grabs my wrist, placing his now bloodied hand over my burned one.
His silver blood seeps into my wounds, and soon the blistering pain of the burns subsides and is replaced with a cooling sensation. A minute or two passes before he lifts his hand from mine, revealing the skin underneath—unblemished and smooth. “It will be sore for several days,” Kirin says, “but then it should pass.”
I turn my hand in the candlelight. The only evidence of the wound is in the redness at the edges of the palm. “Kirin.” I look up. “Thank—”
I blink at the empty space where he was standing. He’s already through the door, sliding it closed behind him.
“You should rest,” Shin says, nodding to indicate the blankets. “You must be exhausted.”
He moves through the room to extinguish the many candles. At the far wall, he lifts the paper screen, carrying it over and placing it carefully atop the blankets.
I realize we’re meant to sleep beside one another, with the screen between us. I’m too exhausted to protest. My hand still aches, and to my great horror, hot tears begin to slip down my cheeks. I hurry to the edge of the pallet, pulling the blankets over my shoulder.
On his side of the screen, Shin blows out the candle, and the solid shadow of him disappears from view.
I roll to my back, listening to Shin’s movements—the soft rustle of clothing as he undresses, the breath of a sigh as he settles onto the blankets. Earlier, he went to Tiger House to question their lord on the attempted theft of my soul. Even resenting the Sea God, he tries his hardest to protect him. The Red String of Fate glistens in the air, leaping from my hand across the blankets and through the paper screen.
In the dark and quiet, the events of the day rush back to me. Not just the terrible encounter with the goddess, but the moment in the garden, when I witnessed the last wish of a girl at the end of her hope. All those unanswered prayers, floating stagnant and forgotten. My thoughts wander to my own prayers, the ones I made every year at the paper boat festival, but also the ones I whispered into the darkness, when I thought no one was listening.
No, that’s not true. I thought someone was listening. Because even in moments of despair, I believed the gods were watching over us. We were never alone because we were beloved by them.
Or so I thought. Or so I believed. The image of the girl, trembling on the bank of the stream, is imprinted in my mind. To think, in the moment of her greatest sorrow, she was truly alone.
I almost wish my soul were a bird again, then it could fly away from here, and no one—no gods, not even me—would be able to feel what I feel now. Stranded in another world, by my own choice, with no hope of saving the ones I love.
Hours pass before I finally fall into a restless sleep filled with dreams of the dragon and a voice calling me from a distance, begging me to save him.
16
In the morning, Shin is gone. The paper screen is folded and pushed up against the wall. I rub my eyes, sore from crying myself to sleep. I sit up gingerly, careful not to put pressure on my hand. Something in the corner catches my eye. On the low shelf below the window is a small object. I blink, leaning forward.
It’s the paper boat.
I stumble to the shelf. The boat’s edges are charred from the fire, but otherwise it’s whole.
How…？
Leaning against the side of the boat is a pink-and-white flower, plucked from the lake. A lotus in bloom, the petals open to reveal its star-colored center. Shin must have gone back to retrieve the boat in the night, after I’d fallen asleep.
I bring the boat and the flower to my chest. A strange feeling burns inside me. My eyes follow the ribbon as it winds its way out the window, pale red against the morning sunlight.