“What are the differences between an Imugi and a dragon?” I ask.
“There are only a few differences, but they are great. While Imugi are creatures of salt and fire, a dragon is a being of wind and water. While an Imugi’s magic burns bright and fast like a shooting star, a dragon’s power is like a river—slow and steady, but limitless. It’s rumored a dragon’s pearl can grant any wish. Dragons are also three times the size of an Imugi, and universally benevolent and good. Not like Imugi. Imugi are evil.”
“But, Namgi,” I say slowly, “you’re an Imugi.”
Namgi cackles. “Yes, I am!” A school of approaching carp darts away in panic.
Ahead of us, Kirin looks over his shoulder, his silvery eyes landing on Namgi, caught by his laughter.
“Perhaps the biggest difference,” Namgi says, “is that dragons are solitary creatures while Imugi only exist in groups. Like wolves, we live and die alongside our brothers, and we’re rarely alone. I’m the only rogue that I know of. Most Imugi can’t survive without a pack.”
Namgi must catch my expression, because he reaches out to pat me lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mina. I have Shin and Kirin. They’re all the brothers I need.”
I glance at Kirin to see if he’s heard these last words, but he’s turned away again.
We arrive at Crane House, a great black-and-white fortress several stories high, with a curved rooftop shaped like the wings of a crane. A servant dressed in similar colors shows us to an elegant room with beautifully sanded floors of deep oak. On either side of a long table are shelves lined with scrolls stacked in neat piles and stitched books bound with thread.
A library. There must be hundreds, thousands of stories here—histories, myths, poetry, and songs. The memories of spirits and gods might be hazy, but not the memories of books. Stories are eternal. Perhaps in one of these scrolls is the story of the Sea God, of what happened a hundred years ago to make him succumb to an endless sleep.
In the garden, the Sea God said he’ll never be forgiven. But what must he be forgiven for? If he feels guilt over abandoning his people, then why doesn’t he just return to us?
The excitement of seeing all these books diminishes at the overwhelming prospect of searching through each one for a clue to the Sea God’s past. Even if I had a year, it would be impossible.
The servant, who left to inform Lord Crane of our arrival, returns. “My lord will receive you now.”
Kirin steps forward, but Shin shakes his head.
“Stay with Mina,” he orders. “Namgi will join me in meeting with Lord Crane.”
Kirin’s lips thin slightly, but he only bows.
Shin turns to me, his eyes softening. “After Lord Crane and I finish our discussion, I’ll call for you, and we’ll speak with him. Together.”
“Thank you, my lord,” I say, then bow, as it seems appropriate.
Shin and Namgi follow the servant out of the room. I stand and make my way toward the closest shelf, trailing my fingers across the paper scrolls, alternatively smooth and rough in places.
Kirin is clearly annoyed about being left to watch over me, speaking not a word. I’m not so thrilled myself. Unlike Namgi, who’s all warmth and bluster, Kirin is as cold as the silver in his eyes.
But his blood was warm. I remember the way it oozed from his hand, pooling over my wound until the pain was gone entirely.
“I never thanked you properly for healing my hand,” I say, shifting my body so that I face him. “Thank you. It was truly appreciated.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
I sigh, glad the women in my family have a thicker skin than most. In any case, Kirin’s words are far less painful than the burn from the goddess’s fire.
“Are you a god?” I ask, thinking of the magic in his blood. “Or a beast of myth?”
“I am not a god.”
Which means he’s a beast of myth. But not a sea snake. The night I first arrived, when the goddess’s servants appeared, Namgi’s brothers had called Kirin the Silver One, saying the Imugi had butchered the last of his kind.
I have enough sense of self-preservation not to bring that up.
“It’s strange to think Namgi is of a kind with those other sea snakes, who all seemed very cruel and awful. Namgi has only ever been friendly to me.” I pause, adding with a grin, “And perhaps a bit mischievous.”
Kirin shakes his head. “Never trust an Imugi.”
I stare at him. “I trust Namgi.”