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As confused as I was, I felt happy. I’d been tricked, but also given tenderness. Mostly, I was frustrated with myself. I had so many chances after the kiss to say how I felt, and I backed out every time.
But, he’d also said he wanted to kiss me. What did that mean? Of course, my imagination spun it to mean Lord Kwan was also in love with me. But, wouldn’t he have said as much? Or was it because any time I asked for a gift, it was always the same thing, and this was more to humor me?
Even after several days, I still couldn’t understand it. Lord Kwan said nothing about it in all that time, asking after my injuries and mentioning nothing more about the night of my return. But why was he so tender? I liked it, but I needed to understand what drove his gentle actions.
He’d said the new clothes were a preemptive payment, and I devoted hours into my practice to repay the token. It felt strange. I remembered then that I’d put so much practice into new skills, I neglected maintaining older ones. I’d be back to weaving sandals and blankets when I returned to the village, and hated to think I grew sloppy or slow after being spoiled in the luxury of the villa.
I’d written down every new recipe, with my penmanship much improved (though still not as prettily made as Lord Kwan’s). My skills in art and sewing also got better; not masterful, but enough to suffice or look a little appealing. I still sometimes imagined that I was not a servant, but a student at a school, and thought about how proud I would make my family when showing off my new talents.
I did worry about Koji. Whether I’d have to leave him, or if he’d come with me. I didn’t want him and Chocho to fight at first meeting, and I didn’t know if I’d be strong enough to keep him beside me. So, I decided that the next few days would be dedicated to refreshing my straw weaving skills and putting more discipline into Koji. He’d be such a well-behaved dog by the time I returned that I was sure he’d impress the village.
Autumn was passing quietly, though Lord Kwan kept busy with some great agenda. Often, I would check on him in the evening, and find him at the brink of nodding off.
I decided on this day to surprise him with a treat. Something to keep his energy up. With the cooks’ permission, I set to work on making adangi cakes. Feeling confident, I tried to make designs on them to look especially pretty. Nothing complicated, just a simple leaf pattern, but they still got messed up in the process of cooking. I’d spent most of the afternoon on it, realizing afterwards that I hadn’t taken poor Koji out at all that day.
Even though the ground was cold with an early frost, it didn’t feel right to leave him in there all day. I decided then that I’d take him to my room first, so I could make a pretty display of the cakes and leave them in Lord Kwan’s room. Then I could take Koji on a long walk under the light of the full moon. And if we wandered a little far, I could stop to stargaze a while.
There wasn’t much I had to make a presentation with. I thought about the wrapping paper I’d saved, though I worried the cakes would leave unsavory marks and ruin the aesthetic. Maybe a pretty piece of the dress he’d given me those years back. My tumble from Syaoran’s horse, and the events that followed, had ruined it; so, I took it apart, determined to make something new of it. Though maybe this worked better. I still had a ribbon of fabric left from my old riding clothes. It’d make for a nice display if I was careful, and I could attach a note.
Regardless, I wanted to keep my planning private, and closed my eyes to count as frequently as I dared.
In trying to put it together, I should’ve paid more heed to Koji. There came a point where he was too quiet. Looking over, I saw why: he was chewing on my rabbit. I scolded him, leaping to my feet. In my rush to snatch it back, I’d accidentally knocked over my stationery.
He went for the cakes next, barking when I swooped to take them out of his reach. He’d hidden his head under the table, complaining, and I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong. Completing my delicate packaging, and in the midst of cleaning up the stationery, I panicked. The puzzle box was missing.
My gut shrank at the sound of a crunch coming from beneath my table. Again, I scolded Koji, but he stayed half hidden and wagged his tail. Diving under, I wrestled it from him, causing a mess in the process. It’d been opened, and the glowing bead out. Quickly, I stole it away before anything could happen, and replaced it in the box, shutting it.
Lord Kwan entered then. My shoulders tense, readying to explain that I didn’t intend to keep Koji in here, and it was only for a short task before taking him out. But the words never left me. His expression was one of pale horror.
“Where did you get that?”
I followed his gaze, looking at the puzzle box in my hands. Through instinct, I understood a few things all at once. The puzzle box was his. He’d hidden it. It was something dangerous. The last part conflicted with what I’d known it for: comfort.
“I—” Koji leapt on me then, bouncing his front paws off my hip and begging me to play.
“Do you know what you could have done‽”
I felt the box ripped from my hands, and new instinct brough them retreating to hide me from the roaring anger in his voice. My legs also acted on their own, backing me away blindly. I’d never seen nor heard him so angry. Not on the morning I arrived, or on the times he returned and was not himself. This was a different anger, one that terrified me.
“This is not a toy!”
“It was just abandoned in the kennels,” I said in a hurry, my voice high pitched and panicked. “I didn’t think—” His hand flew at me. I squeaked as I flinched, my body going rigid at the loud thud emanating from the wall.
“You could have put the entire mountain in danger! You could’ve put everyone in danger! If this fell into the wrong hands—”
I couldn’t take it. I needed to defend myself in some way, even if just through words. “I didn’t know!”
I could hear his panting, and the growls tangled with them. I didn’t dare to open my eyes, hoping beyond hope that he’d calm enough to listen to me, and know it was an honest mistake.
“Why did you take this?”
A reasonable question. His tone reined in, I prayed for courage enough to look him in the eye and explain myself. I’d said so often before how I wouldn’t touch what wasn’t mine. Perhaps he thought me brazen for contradicting myself this one time.
“I like looking at the bead inside. That’s all—”
“You opened it?” the growl in his tone returned. “Stupid girl! You don’t realize how—”
The roar in his voice returned, his face fast forming a snarl, and tiger stripes began to appear. Instinct took over me. I ran. Out my door and in any direction, I ran.
My feet carried me without sandals across the cold ground, to the hidden door. I didn’t close it behind me. My mind solely focused on getting away, with my heart outpacing my legs. Out the second secret door, I headed into the dark of the forest. The trees blocking out much of the light from the moon and stars. Too cold for snakes. The river was near. And it wasn’t too deep. I could cross it. Cross it and run home.
The moment my foot plunged into the freezing water, I regained myself, coming to a complete stop before the water reached half way up my shins. My first immediate decision as myself was to get out of the river.
I stood on the bank, staring at the rushing, black water and beyond. I was too afraid to go back. But I couldn’t go home either. I was stuck. And, not knowing what to do, I curled up into a ball, until I could calm and think up something.
He’d still be angry and in an uproar if I went back, especially because I’d been rude, and that I’d run. I’d forgotten my place. Spoiled by his gentleness, I’d forgotten I was his servant. I was stupid. A stupid girl, playing with things she shouldn’t have touched at all, and believing myself in love with a high lord—a Juneun high lord. And stupid for ever imagining he would fall in love with me. He’d said it himself once, that it was precisely because I didn’t know my place. I was a novelty. Nothing more.
Cold, but I couldn’t bear to go back and face him. Not yet.
So, I sought shelter with one of the tiger statues that marked my way, and tucked myself against it. I’d leave once I felt I could face him and accept my punishment.
****
Barking. Koji found me right as dawn broke. To my surprise, Syaoran was with him, following.
I was to be brought before Lord Kwan. An apprehensive expression marred Syaoran’s face as he relayed to me his recollection of last seeing Lord Kwan, and not knowing what was going on presently.
“Syaoran,” I whispered. “You said you would stand up for me, even to Juro... Would you still do that, even if it was Lord Kwan?”
He blinked, brow crooked. “What do you mean? You’re Kwan’s favorite member of the household.”
“But, if there was ever a time, would you?” I knew it was petty of me, asking Syaoran to pick me and my cowardice over someone who’d protected him and acted as his friend.
In quiet confusion, we walked back to the house, hand in hand. I squeezed, asking for comfort. In response, his warm hand held firm, thumb gliding in uneven circles over my knuckles.
I tried to keep on my feet in front of Lord Kwan’s door. Every confidence I had of his leniency fled from me, recalling his fury. I shut my eyes to count, wanting this to stay as much a private matter as possible.
Alone and in his room, doors closed, I prayed for strength. A wave of something went past me, quieting the surroundings. A spell, I supposed. Then I turned to face him. Whatever bit of courage was granted to me left when I saw the puzzle box newly set on the table.
“Sit here,” commanded Lord Kwan, gesturing to the corner nearest himself.
I obeyed, taking small steps, and sitting properly, despite my state.
For minutes, he said nothing. Nor did he look at me. My eyes went back and forth, staring at the box and then to him in search of some clue to tell me what to do.
“Where did you find it?” asked Lord Kwan, low.
I pinched at the long jacket of my hanbok clothing. “In the kennels,” I whispered.
“Where?”
It took me a moment to understand he wanted more detail. “The one I was kept in, my lord. I wove a mat from the straw, and saw a slight glow from beneath a stone that was previously hidden under the stack.”
He took a deep inhale, saying nothing more.
I waited, trying to bear the pressure of the silence.
“You opened it?”
My head instinctively tucked into my shoulders. “Yes,” I said, hardly able to hear myself.
“Why?”
I didn’t have an answer, not a good one. His face remained stone, giving me no cues of what to do. “I wanted to see what was inside, my lord.”
He kept his gaze straight ahead, away from me.
I knew how bad it must’ve sounded, and searched for some way to explain. “The glow was a comfort in my first days here. I wanted to—”
“You should not have.”
I stopped completely, looking at him in a silent plea. He didn’t move. “I’m sorry...”
Another deep inhale, and a slow release, he shifted his watch to the puzzle box. “You’re human. I expect you don’t know what it is.”
I shook my head in slow, tight swivels.
“It’s not something that should be in human hands. Or the hands of any. And is the reason I put the warding spell on it.”
I leaned slightly, trying to make some sort of eye contact, anything to help me understand.
“Undoubtedly, in the time you’ve been here, you’ve heard at least one rumor about me.”
“My lord?”
Finally, he moved his gaze to meet me. I shied. His stare didn’t harbor the same intensity as it had before. Instead, there was a sadness and a guilt to the way he looked at me.
“You’re not an idiot. Not by nature. Naïve, at times, but not empty headed.”
I kept wordless, unsure of where this conversation led to.
“Decades ago—longer, perhaps—I fought against Gumiho. Determined to make it a last confrontation, I was reckless. In doing so, I unwittingly left myself open. She ripped out my soul, attempting to claim it, and all my power, as hers. I managed to take it back before her spell was complete. But she stole a fragment of it.”
As he explained, Urekkato’s words came back to haunt me: he doesn’t have a soul. Remembering, I shut my eyes again and counted in silence.
“To safeguard against her claiming the rest, I pulled it out myself to hide away. Any time my brothers came, hungry for war, they brought hounds with them.”
It struck me then. “Syaoran hates the smell of dogs. Because he’s a fox spirit.”
The slightest hint of softness returned to his features. Approval, I thought.
“His isn’t the strongest nose. Any time he complained about the stink of hounds, I felt secure that Gumiho wouldn’t send another fox to sift it out.”
“Because they wouldn’t linger too long in the kennels,” I concluded. “Let alone turn over every stone of the floor.”
He recited the warding spell: A heart without pride, a hand without greed. Feet not idle, tongue not hateful. With eyes that see through stone.
“Outside of myself, as the one who casted the ward, it would be a very particular person who could open it without suffering the effects of the spell. I never imagined a village girl would fit the description. I don’t receive many visitors as it is. And fewer who are human.” That hint of a smile returned to him.
With it, I felt myself relax a little. So far, I’d not been punished or sternly spoken to. It was his soul. Were our places swapped, I’d be in a rage myself—especially now knowing the context. If there was a thief working for Gumiho, and they found it in my room... I’d put Lord Kwan in danger, unwittingly or not, I made him vulnerable.
I spent so much time realizing my folly, mentally chastising myself, that I didn’t notice when he leaned in or that his hand rose to touch my cheek. I flinched in that second, eyes blinking rapidly to catch up my senses as I looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” said Lord Kwan. “You couldn’t have known.”
I shied and shook my head. “I shouldn’t have touched it to begin with. It’s not mine.”
There was silence. Then, the unexpected. He’d pulled me in slowly for an embrace. I didn’t put up a fight, wanting more than anything to heal our relationship. Against his chest, even through his layers of clothing, I could hear the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart. The sound comforted me, and I wrapped my arms around his midsection, and closed my eyes.
“Will you look after it for me?”
I moved my head to look up at him. “But Gumiho is gone.”
His soft features turned sad. “No.”
To that, I blinked.
“I haven’t said, because I don’t want to stir up war.”
“But, isn’t it dangerous to keep that a secret?”
He shifted his gaze. “Yes. But better to come up with a plan carrying minimal risks, than to charge in and cause a high casualty and death count. Like what happened when our dragon king ordered a full assault.” His eyes looked back to me, brow bending. “I’m trusting you with both this secret, and with my soul.”
“But,” my voice cut out, requiring me to gulp and try again. “What can I do to keep your soul safe from a powerful Kurai?”
“Syaoran complains that you always smell like Koji, regardless.”
I groaned, sighing.
“And because I have faith in my friend.” He placed a kiss on top of my hair, resting his forehead there afterwards.
There was a comfort in his words. But I worried now, more than ever, that Urekkato might see some part. I didn’t want to tell Lord Kwan, to break the trust he had in me, and pledged to be vigilant in keeping both of these things a secret from the Cat prince.