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Five days since his return. He’d pushed himself too far when fighting with the fox demons, and lost control again. But he needed to call on that power, lest they harm more people. In the aftermath, he’d regained some of himself—enough to sprint back here and be put under chains until he was too worn to be dangerous.
On the fifth day, he felt he finally had the strength to get out of bed. The incents in every corner and on every surface of his room left a feint haze. He opened his window, wincing at the sunlight and cacophony of birds. His lungs took in the fresh air, helping to ease him from the sudden shock of the environment. He breathed in more deeply, staring out the window and looking over the gardens.
A young woman in his staff fed the koi in the pond, graceful in her movements—contrasted by the thrashing of the frenzied fish. A male servant worked a net, cleaning any leaves or other debris from the water. Other young men worked to keep the area neat, perfect looking.
The butterfly from before returned. It’s long and pointed black wings fluttering to keep it airborne until it decided to land. Again, it was alone.
He took his meals, replaying as much of the battle as he could remember in his mind. It’d been a trap. Somehow, word slipped about his spent energy for the doe’s spirit. Gumiho was there, somewhere in the shadows. He’d felt it. Still, he couldn’t pin-point it, no matter how slow or how often he recounted the events. The moment he assumed his more powerful form, darkness clouded his memory. Streaks of red. Dead Kurai. But not their queen.
He stayed shut in. He wasn’t ready yet to be himself. To plan, to issue orders, to do anything. His relief was in knowing he didn’t hurt a member of his household when he returned. In his haze, he retained enough control of himself to do that much.
With or without a soul to help control that power, the gods didn’t forgive senseless killing, especially in one’s own house.
They’d come close, closer than he’d anticipated. There wasn’t any question about it now. The Kurai were becoming bolder. A thought Kwan mulled over for a long time.
Every drop of the bamboo fountain, and its strangely therapeutic clank, measured the quarter hour. More than ten had passed before Syaoran came, inquiring about the duties he was to perform as acting master. The conversation was kept brief, with Kwan too exhausted to indulge in banter or anything more. It was mid-afternoon before his next visitor came.
Yua announced herself, asking for entry. He said nothing. Rather than leave, she waited. And when she grew tired of waiting for her master’s response, she announced that she was coming in anyway. From the small antechamber to his apartment in the house, she stepped delicately and with dignity. She was his servant, but a lady in her own respect.
It was the way of things. The least prominent daughters of noteworthy families served the greater lords, elevating their family’s status in that way. Often, the hope was that the daughter would be favored enough to become a consort, or a second wife after the first died (if she was lucky).
Not that there was a passion between them. She’d been in love with the lesser son of a different Juneun, and waited for him still. Kwan, knowing how volatile he might become, didn’t want to involve another who might get used to hurt him. Rather, they were a practical pair, treating each other as equals and more familiar than they ought to be, respectably. She had a way of tempering his choices, the hard choices. And he ensured there was no unwanted attention to her or her ladies.
Were it anyone else, he’d see the intrusion as a slight on him.
“My lord,” greeted Yua, direct and with only a slight bow of her head, “About the prisoner in the kennel.”
“Prisoner?” He looked from the window to her, cold. “Yes. What about the prisoner?”
“What do you plan to do with her?”
“Her?”
“The young girl who took her brother’s place, my lord.”
He narrowed his eyes, reading her expression. She returned his stony gaze, unrelenting in her stillness. When he gleamed her meaning, he looked back out the window, embracing the sun on his face.
“What does it matter?”
“It matters because she’s a fifteen-year-old girl in the kennels,” said Yua, taking a sharpness to her tone. “She didn’t even have a cloth for her blood, and she’s outgrown what she arrived in. If you plan to carry out an execution, it is cruel to make her wait and give false hope. If you plan to keep her, some arrangements must be made.”
Kwan sat there, chin in his palm, thinking it over.
“She fully expected to die the morning following her arrival. From what I gathered, she accepted the fate. Then you took off so suddenly.”
“I had no choice.”
“It has been near a week since your return, my lord. The child needs an answer.”
He stayed silent, stoic, thinking. “What was the crime?”
Yua, caught off guard, hurried to answer. “The doe. Her brother was hunting on your lands and shot it down. He mistook it for an ordinary beast.”
“That’s right,” said Kwan, cool in his tone. “I remember now.”
“Syaoran knew she was not a boy, but elected to withhold that information from us.”
“From you,” said Kwan, now more absent in his voice.
The butterfly took flight, gliding away to the shade of trees further into the garden.
“If I recall, he wanted to speak on the matter that same day. Until we were interrupted with urgent news.”
Yua scoffed, irritated by the revelation. “What is to be done with her?”
He thought on it longer, more to make Yua wait than anything else. He was her lord, and spoke on his terms, not hers. “I suppose it’s late for an execution. Therefore, the punishment is for poaching.”
“And that is?”
He made her wait. “Five years.”
“She’s to sit there like a dog in all that time?”
“Since we don’t have anywhere else to keep her.”
“And what about when her blood is in? Or baths? And winter is—”
“The villagers have endured worse, thanks to brazen enough Kurai.”
Yua sneered, her temper fast getting out her control. “I never knew you could be so callus. Did you lock away your heart as well as your soul? Or did Gumiho take that?”
Kwan whipped his head back to face her and stood. Bearing a sever scowl, he took deliberate steps towards her.
Yua clasped her hands over her mouth. She’d been too liberal and spoken out of turn to her master. As he came near, she stepped back, past the antechamber and onto the veranda, eyes wide the entire time.
He stopped at the edge of the antechamber, a hand to each of the paper doors. In a swift movement, he shut them together with a slam. He repeated the motion with the inner doors as well, sucking in a deep breath through his nose to hold for a second longer than usual. After a slow release, her heated words resounded in his mind.
Had he become so cold?
He was no longer able to laugh, and scarce could muster a smile. He rested his forehead on the wood frame of the paper-paned doors. It seemed like all happiness and warmth was fleeing his heart. A soulless heart. Was it really so?
He had to find Gumiho, and end things once and for all. Only then would it be safe.