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Kwan didn’t know whether to feel annoyed or happy when Syaoran returned with a letter from Hisa. He’d instructed that the delivery go unseen, as it had before. Undoubtedly, his servant’s affection for Hisa stimulated a curiosity. Still, seeing she sent a reply filled him with pleasant, and dreaded, anticipation.
Summer... She’d made a definitive plan of return, adding relief that her family approved of him thus far. He’d fretted they’d hold anger—justifiably so. Engrossed in careful reexamination of the letter, making sure he understood it properly, Kwan missed Syaoran’s asking of something, dismissing him to do as he liked.
It’d be half a year, and other things still needed his attention. In his wandering, he noted the neglect of some roads going into the more removed villages under his care. Sanitation in the southmost city also brought concerns, draining into the lower districts. He weighed whether he ought to intervene, or let the politics of the humans handle their own.
There was also the promise he’d made to Syaoran.
No news of Gumiho or Urekkato, though that didn’t mean either were gone. If she was still out there, puppeteering the Cat prince, he’d need allies to protect his home.
Kwan frowned in remembering Zhen’s implications. Though, he was running out of gambits, already regretting that one, but having nothing else to entice a proud Samjo. Given time, he could think of alternatives. For now, better to forge alliances until he was certain of things to come.
Promise me that you won’t be so stupid and reckless.
He’d given his word on that. With or without a binding spell, she expected that much of him. And he wasn’t sure he could keep it. If they were in danger, what constituted reckless? Would she think that in bargains struck from means of caution?
Any speaking of engagements wouldn’t dissuade lower lords, insisting their daughter ought to become mistress if not a wife. Kwan supposed he could delay that sort of agreement—that if they’d not found a better prospect within a century... He wouldn’t need to love or lay with any. And could call on their support meanwhile.
All I’ve heard is a transaction.
He inhaled deep, breathing out long and heavy. Again, Zhen’s chide echoed in his thoughts. He was playing the same games as the other high lords, lost in his own self-righteousness. He wanted to protect his wife, his future with her, and began to understand how poorly equipped he was to do that.
In the week since receiving Hisa’s letter, he’d drawn up several contracts in his lordly scheming. Staring at them now, he couldn’t go through with any of them. Taking them in hand, Kwan let them burn into nothing within seconds.
He shifted his gaze outward, to the snowflakes performing a soundless dance as sunlight glinted off of them in their descent. The snow fell more frequently this year, deepening winter. Another thing to take into account for those under his domain.
He walked the veranda, mulling over decisions to come. At the shrine, he prayed; what that offered, remained to be seen. So often, it seemed like an empty gesture done out of habit rather than steadfast belief. The gods had been silent for centuries.
The afternoon dwindled. As Kwan wandered, lost in his thoughts, he realized it’d been too quiet of a day. Even with Hisa’s absence, Syaoran would come up with some inquiry or report on some trivial matter.
Late into the morning, a curiosity crossed Kwan’s mind. Finding Lin in the midst of preparation for spring duties, he noted the continued absence of the fox spirit.
“When did you last see Syaoran?”
“Syaoran?” echoed Lin, looking up from a spread of papers. “Not since... Yesterday morning? He was talking to Gi, I think.”
Kwan blinked, slow and considering. “Gi took leave two days after the solstice for a private matter. He won’t be back until the equinox.”
In return, Lin gave a quizzical expression. Uno, beside her, looked between Kwan and Lin, sharing a similar puzzlement.
“Didn’t Master Syaoran say he would be taking something to Lady Hisa again?”
“Not that I’m aware,” said Lin. “He took down some measurements about a week ago because Hisa asked for them, but I think that was the last time.”
Saying nothing more, Kwan walked on, thinking over the oddity with every controlled step. If Syaoran harbored a growing anxiety, Kwan couldn’t fault him. For a time, Gumiho’s supposed death lent a melancholy, only for a wrathful return to press harder and an unknown outcome still present. He wondered if he really could accomplish every pledge without playing the high lords’ games.
The days following saw him revising propositions, only to discard them again. If he’d had more certainty on his adversary, the choices would become obvious. Likewise, he didn’t want to risk a marriage of discontent in making rash decisions.
Uno announced herself, bringing tea that was not sent for. Meaning, some personal matter prompted the action.
“What is it you want?” asked Kwan, direct as she served the drink.
Uno flinched. “It’s... Master Syaoran hasn’t been himself these past two years, my lord. More so that Lady Hisa isn’t here.”
Kwan concealed an intrigue, though he hadn’t noticed too much out of the ordinary with his friend. “Meaning?”
She shrank into herself, standing ready for a command. “I know I’ve only been here a short while, and it’s not my place to question my superiors, my lord. I do understand my place. But when I first arrived, Master Syaoran seemed more relaxed and warm, kindly. It struck me as strange to see him become increasingly distant and nervous, my lord. I did bring up an instance to Lady Hisa, though she thought nothing of it, so I tried to ignore it as well.”
Kwan watched her, measuring the weight of her words. Looking to the thread on his finger, he pondered. He’d known the closeness between Syaoran and Hisa, though not romantically; a change and distancing from his own love and intimacy with Hisa didn’t appear likely. Perhaps it seemed like he’d forgotten his promise to the fox spirit. Or, that a guilt ran through Syaoran after agreeing to Urekkato’s sight spell. Kwan hadn’t pressed the matter on Syaoran—Hisa’s own confession displayed a flood of regret.
Uno kept her feet still, fox ears flattening and eyes looking from him. The silence lasting longer than intended
Before he could give an answer, Syaoran announced himself. A wordlessness fell, allowing Uno to collect herself and Kwan to clear his thoughts before calling him in. Grim in his expression, the fox spirit held out a letter from Tetsuden. A letter with a black stamp.
****
“What was he doing that far south?” asked Kwan, a desperate demand in his tone.
The serf shook his head. “The summer before this past, he’d called up his arms. He didn’t give a reason as to why then, my lord. All he’d said, on assembly, is that he was taking up the hunt for Gumiho.”
“She took down his militant alone?” Kwan’s realization brought a shock to his own understanding.
“Not alone, my lord,” said the serf. “There was an account from a survivor that she still had a legion intact.”
To that, Kwan frowned. Of course she’d hidden away part of her force. Gave life to illusions, allowing them to think their previous assault was enough. Heven’s sake! He’d thought as much when positioning Urekkato to claim the credit. As he chastised himself, the memory of Gumiho pulling out Urekkato’s soul, and the end of a conversation, returned to him.
He moved his gaze, dismissing the serf as the details anchored themselves in his mind, churning up questions. Walking, he thought on it. Why would he go after Gumiho? What prompted the chase? In pacing Genji’s private apartment—half the size of the entirety of Kwan’s own house—he searched for clues, something that beckoned further investigation.
All of it disrupted when Kwang burst into the room, panting. A letter with a black stamp in his hand. The brothers locked eyes, exchanging a silent understanding. He righted himself, wordlessly pleading to his elder brother.
Kwan kept perfectly still.
“Genji,” stumbled Kwang. “Is he...?”
“He’s alive,” said Kwan. “His condition is delicate. A catatonic state. Young Lord Mireu has him in a slumber to help his recovery. The rest is in heaven’s hands.”
“There’s nothing you can—”
Kwan shook his head in slow, precise movements. A part of him fearing his former master’s soul might’ve fallen into Gumiho’s claws. A debate went through his mind. Would it be dangerous to keep that possibility secret? In relaying what he knew, he chanced trusting his little brother with that knowledge. When questions followed, Kwan revealed his witnessing Urekkato, admitting his selfishness in withholding that until some certainty of Gumiho was known. Though, he said nothing of Hisa’s confession, hoping to protect her involvement with the Cat prince.
“I still don’t understand what spurred him to go after her,” said Kwang, looking often to the doors that divided Genji’s personal chamber from the rest of the apartment.
“I’d like to know that myself,” said Kwan. Bothered, now to the point of needing answers, he dismissed the staff entirely from the floor, and searched with abandon.
“What are you doing?” asked Kwang, perplexed by the anxious change in his brother’s action.
Kwan said nothing. In his silence, his brother followed suit, though at a more cautious pace.
He’d almost missed it, needing a second glance to recognize Hisa’s handwriting. Kwan’s heart sank. Unfolding the letter, a needle of pain went through him. A desperate plea from her, asking Genji to save him—begging secrecy. She was fond of Genji, and unwittingly sent him to his doom.
He read through it a second time, and a third, feeling the echo of her fear in each word. No. No more. He’d end it now. Letting the letter burn to nothing in his hand, he marched out.
“Where are you going?” asked Kwang, brow screwed as he tried to decipher his brother’s severe expression.
“I’m hunting Gumiho. And putting an end to this.”
“Alone?” protested Kwang.
Kwan stopped. He glanced to the scar on his hand, and the red thread tied on his finger. “No.”
Kwang fell into wordlessness. Surprised by the answer.
“Send for Juro. Send for anyone who will willing take up arms.”
“Didn’t you say that’s what she wanted—”
“At the peak of her power. I suspect she thinks I will rampage alone, bound to my oath.”
“Then let me go with you!”
“No!” Kwan flashed a furious look. “Word will spread. Undoubtedly our brothers will want to take the hunt. Do not rob our mother and father of all their sons.”
“Genji is my master now,” argued Kwang. “I can’t sit by and do nothing.”
Kwan studied his brother. “This won’t be like Borsi.”
“Kwan,” begged Kwang. “Let me avenge my friend. My masters. Not for glory, but for my own sake.”
Kwan inhaled deep, choosing his next set of words. “You’re not ready.”
“To hell I’m not!” barked Kwang. “I won’t send for anyone. Do it yourself.” Wind churned with his every step, magic making to storm with him.
Kwan caught him by the shoulder. “It will take more than us to get to her. Urekkato is still her puppet.” A stare down ensued. Relenting, he heaved a sigh. “We will both send for our vassals. And any friends we have. Give them direction and urgency. You and I will go ahead, to lay in wait, and see if it’s enough to distract Gumiho.”
Kwang blinked, taken aback by his brother’s steadfast tone.
“Beom and Seong want to lead an assault. Let them. Genji’s force might’ve taken her by surprise—enough to think this is a similar case. With luck, we can launch a successful ambush. Together.”
Kwang nodded, newly certain of himself.