No! I want to tell him that the goddess must have been mistaken, but the dark fog comes for me again, a place of unconsciousness so deep it feels like the end of despair. A part of me knows this isn’t a place I should be—that if I drift too deep within it, I will be lost forever. But I don’t know how to find my way back. There is no Red String of Fate to guide me.
I drift deeper into the nothingness, my legs drawn to my chest and my head bowed over my knees. I’ve never felt so alone. Is this how the Sea God has felt for a hundred years?
Out of the darkness, I hear a voice. Strange, but it sounds like my voice, singing.
Beneath the sea, the dragon sleeps
What is he dreaming of?
Beneath the sea, the dragon sleeps
When will he wake?
On a dragon’s pearl,
your wish will leap.
On a dragon’s pearl,
your wish will leap.
Only my grandmother knew that song. Her grandmother taught it to her when she was a girl, a long time ago.
My grandmother.
A soft hand takes my own, squeezing. “Mina. You need to wake up. How can you save the Sea God, yet not save yourself?” Her voice is clear. It’s as if she’s right beside me, whispering into my ear.
It’s different, I want to say. I was badly wounded. I lost a lot of blood.
She clicks her tongue. “No excuses, Mina. Wake up. Wake up, now!”
I open my eyes.
“Mina!” A half dozen voices cry out my name. I look up to see that I’m surrounded. On one side of my pallet are Mask, Dai, and Miki. On the other side are Namgi, Nari, and Kirin.
Dai moves first, toppling over to grab me around the waist. “You scared us!” he says.
“Be careful,” Kirin scolds, pulling Dai up by the sleeve. “I closed the wound, but it’ll take time to fully heal.”
“Are you hungry?” Nari asks. “Do you want me to get you anything to eat?”
“What about a drink?” Namgi suggests. “Liquor helps with the pain.” Now it’s Namgi’s turn to get pulled away from the bed as Nari grabs him by the ear.
“I’m glad you’ve returned to us,” Mask says from where she sits beside me, Miki in her lap. Reaching out a hand, she gently brushes a few strands from my face.
I look around the room, then find my voice. “Where is Shin?”
The room goes silent as each person looks at the other.
“He was here up until a few minutes ago,” Namgi says finally. “He’s hardly left your side.”
I don’t understand. Then where is he now?
“Don’t concern yourself with him,” Mask says. “He’ll be back soon. Meanwhile, get some rest.” She turns and begins to give orders for food to be brought up and a bath prepared. Everyone scrambles to obey, each careful not to meet my eyes.
I curl my hands in my lap. Where once the Red String of Fate sparkled, my palm is now bare, as if the tie between Shin and myself never existed at all.
27
On Kirin’s orders, I’m confined to the room for the rest of the day, though I’m allowed visitors. Mask and Dai visit with Miki in the morning, and in the afternoon, Namgi and Nari, separately. But not Shin. The possibilities as to why are endless, plaguing me all day and distracting me from my well-wishers. Does he feel guilt for his harsh words the night of the storm? Is he angry with me for fleeing when I knew the assassin was still out there? I not only put myself in danger, but him as well …
There’s a light tap on the door. I sit up as it slides open, and Cheong steps into the room. I blink in surprise.
She’s changed out of her ceremonial wedding gown from last I saw her, now wearing a simple dress of blue and white. Her black hair is braided and coiled behind her head, like that of a married woman.
“Mina!” She glides across the room, settling gracefully beside my pallet. “I wanted to come sooner, but I wasn’t allowed inside. How are you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say, suddenly overcome with shyness. Even though we grew up in the same village, I never truly spoke to Cheong. She was older and intimidating in her beauty. Really, no one spoke to her except for Joon.
People told stories about her and praised her devotion to her father, whom the villagers called Shim the Blind. Some even envied her; I know I’ve been guilty of that. But not one of us paused to ask her how she felt. Until now, it never occurred to me how lonely her life must have been.
Cheong puts to the side a cloth-wrapped package she’s brought with her, gazing around the room at the paintings on the walls, the stitched notebooks and the scrolls stacked in neat piles on the desk. She moves her hands to her lap, smoothing down each pleat of her dress, a gesture my sister-in-law, Soojin, often made when she was nervous. Through the window, the sky outside is bright and clear.