I lick my lips, tasting salt. “Are you a friend or are you a foe?”
“If I’m a friend…？”
“Then I’m a bride.”
“If I’m a foe…？”
“Are you?”
“Perhaps I’m a foe who’d like to be a friend.” He tilts his head, and a dark curl falls across his eyes. “And perhaps you’re a bird who’d like to be a bride.”
It’s close enough to the truth that I wince. The elders of my village have a saying: A magpie may dream it’s a crane, but never will it be one.
“I see,” the figure on the left murmurs, black-clad like the first, with hair that reaches past his shoulders. His eyes—an odd, light brown—move from my half-unraveled braid to my rough cotton dress. “You were never meant to be the Sea God’s bride.”
Unlike the curly-haired youth, this young man holds no weapons, only—curiously—a wooden birdcage, slung over his shoulder by a rope. “The elders of your village select the bride a year before the ritual. She is always extraordinary, in either skill or beauty.”
“Preferably both,” the boy with the dagger interjects.
“It is not an honor bestowed upon the common, the weak, or the rash. So tell me, No One’s Bride, who chose you?”
If the curly-haired youth wields a blade for a weapon, the cold-eyed stranger brandishes words. For all my many blessings—a loving family, courage, and health—I have neither beauty nor talent.
I can imagine how upon Joon and Cheong’s return, the elders must have raged in disbelief and cursed my willfulness. But they weren’t there, on the boat. They didn’t feel the sharp spray of water, the heart-stopping fear when a loved one is in danger. I may be rash. Common, perhaps. But I am not weak.
“I chose myself.”
The third figure at the back shifts his feet. Wary of him, I notice the subtle movement. Strangely, so do my two interrogators, though they face me with their backs to him. They tilt their heads inward, waiting … for a signal? He doesn’t speak, and they ease back into position.
The first boy crosses his arms, tucking the dagger against the side of his chest. “Don’t you think it romantic, Kirin? A young, ordinary magpie hopes to save her kind from a terrible dragon, and so she agrees to marry him. In time, she discovers that he’s caught in a powerful enchantment, the root of his destructive nature. The brave, clever magpie finds a way to break the curse, and in turn, falls in love with the dragon, and he with her. Peace is restored to the sky, land, and sea. A grand tale if ever I’ve heard one. I’ll call it ‘The Dragon and the Magpie.’”
“No, Namgi,” the cool-eyed stranger—Kirin—drawls, “I don’t think it’s romantic.”
Namgi responds to Kirin with an insult, and Kirin follows with his own rude rejoinder. This must be a routine of theirs, because their exchange grows quite colorful.
I ignore them, concentrating instead on the story the first boy just told. My grandmother always says to pay attention to stories, for there are often truths hidden within.
“Is it a curse, then?” Namgi and Kirin cease their quarrel, returning their attention to me. “The Sea God hasn’t abandoned his people. He’s under a curse.”
I have no control over how others might measure my worth, but stories and myths I’m familiar with. Stories and myths are my blood and breath.
And for this one I can already see a pattern forming, like a melody woven through myth. The dragon appears to deliver the Sea God’s brides safely to this realm. The world is covered in mist, but the Red String of Fate guides them to the palace.
Yet, why have none of the brides succeeded in their task? It’s almost as if the melody was cut short, as if, when they finally arrived to finish the story, an enemy arose to stop them.
The Sea God cries out. I gasp as an unfamiliar feeling grips my heart, like a knot cinching tight. The Red String of Fate heats in my hand. Behind me, a floorboard creaks. I twist around.
Namgi and Kirin have moved. They still hold the same positions, Namgi with his arms crossed over his chest, Kirin motionless with the birdcage, but they’re closer by three steps.
I’ve been so concerned about defending who I am, a stranger in a strange world, but who are they? What sorts of men wear masks? Those who wish to remain unremembered. Thieves.
Assassins.
“It’s time,” Kirin says to Namgi.
Uncrossing his arms, Namgi brings the dagger to his side. “Sorry, Magpie. You shouldn’t put so much faith in stories.”