“It’s possible you are,” Kirin continues, and I startle in surprise. Of all people, I would think him the most doubtful. “Before you, no bride has ever spoken to the Sea God. And though this storm is terrible, it’s a change in a routine that has remained unchanged for a hundred years.”
“The bride who just arrived,” Namgi adds, “Shim Cheong. She didn’t have a Red String of Fate.”
Now the whispers begin, but not like I expected. Spirits turn to one another in excitement, awed by the possibility that the myth of the Sea God’s bride might be fulfilled at last.
“It doesn’t matter,” Shin says, his first words since entering the pavilion, “because you don’t love him.”
The throbbing at the back of my skull intensifies.
“And you’d be a fool to think he could ever love you.”
The room goes silent. I know he’s speaking out of his own hurt, but a painful warmth gathers behind my eyes. And maybe it’s childish of me to flee, but I can’t help it. I rush from the room, spirits moving out of the way to let me pass. I sprint down the flight of stairs to the first floor. The rain lashes my face as I step from the shelter of the pavilion. The water from the lake has climbed halfway up the rise of the hill. I don’t cross the bridge but slip down the grassy bank until my feet touch the water.
I think I understand finally what it means to be the Sea God’s bride. It’s not a burden or an honor. To be the Sea God’s bride is not to be the most beautiful girl in the village, nor is it to be the one to break the curse. To be the Sea God’s bride, she must do one thing: She must love him.
I am not the Sea God’s bride.
I’ve failed my people. I’ve failed my family. My grandmother. My brothers. My sister-in-law. Cheong. I’ve failed them all.
And there is no hope, because love can’t be bought or earned or even prayed for. It must be freely given. And I have given my heart to someone, but he is not the Sea God.
The rain continues to lash the earth. The water from the lake rises, soaking my slippers. I step back just as a whoosh of sound sweeps by me. The bolt of a crossbow lodges at my feet. A branch snaps beneath the bridge. My hand instinctively reaches for my knife.
From out of the darkness steps a familiar figure. The weasel-like assassin. I pull out my knife, but it’s too late. He loads another bolt, aims, and releases.
I twist to the side, but I’m not fast enough. The bolt pierces my shoulder. I scream in pain.
I hear a shout from the pavilion. Nari. The assassin must hear it, too, because he flees, scuttling back into the dark.
I collapse onto the ground, my cheek pressed against the damp earth. My limp arm stretches out beside me. Blood pools beneath me, spreading like a warm blanket. The ribbon shimmers, then slowly begins to fade.
“No,” I whisper. The Red String of Fate ties my soul to Shin’s. If I should die, so will he …
The rain blends with the tears on my face. My breaths turn ragged, and I can feel my vision blackening at the edges.
My last thoughts are a jumble of images—my brother, moving away from me across the bridge; the Sea God weeping on a cliff by the sea; and Shin, as he was only this morning, sunlight like water streaming over his face.
26
All my life, I’ve believed in the myth of the Sea God’s bride, passed down from grandmother to grandmother since the storms first appeared, when the kingdom was destroyed by conquerors from the West and the emperor thrown from the cliffs into the sea. The Sea God, who loved the emperor like a brother, sent the storms to punish the usurpers—the lashing rains were said to be his tears, the thunder his cries. The droughts were those years he’d felt the emptiness in his heart.
But how much of myth is truth? And what do you do when your belief in it is breaking?
“There’s nothing more I can do for her.” Kirin’s voice is muffled, seeming to come from far away. “I’ve closed her wound, but she’s lost much blood and her pulse is weak.”
“What of the assassin?” Namgi asks. His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been shouting.
“He fled when she screamed. Lord Yu must have sent him as a last attempt in killing Shin.”
I’m in Shin’s room, looking down at my body from above. I wonder if this is how the magpie views the world. I wonder if I am the magpie, fluttering about. I don’t think so, though. No one seems to notice me hovering above their heads.
Namgi and Kirin stand beside me where I lie on a pallet of silk blankets. But Shin isn’t with them. Is he all right? Namgi and Kirin would be more upset if he were hurt, wouldn’t they?