The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea(27)

The fox’s glittering gaze is riveted on me. She’s so lovely—her eyes amber flecked with pure gold. Her fur is mostly white, with silver around her pointed ears and the tufts of her split tail.

Suddenly the fox lunges forward, her sharp teeth bared.

“No!” the younger priestess screams. At first I think she’s warning of the demon, but then I realize she’s reaching out toward Shin. He’s drawn his sword, the sharp blade angled against the fox’s neck.

The fox’s eyes slide toward him, fiercely intelligent, then it ducks beneath the blade, dodging between us to bite down on the Red String of Fate. The fox gnashes down, wringing and shaking it to the point that if it were a regular ribbon, it would have shredded to pieces. Abruptly the fox pulls back, sitting on its haunches and licking its paw. The Red String of Fate shimmers brightly, undamaged.

“How dare you raise steel against our goddess!” the young priestess hisses.

Before Shin can respond, a voice answers, deep and sonorous. “And why shouldn’t he, to protect what matters most?”

The powerful voice comes from the elder priestess, though her demeanor has changed. When before her eyes were cloudy and dazed, now they shine with an uncanny light—amber with specks of gold.

“You see it, then,” Shin says, his eyes not on the priestess, but on the white fox. “The Red String of Fate.”

“It shines bright.” It’s the priestess again who answers. The fox is speaking through her.

“What do you mean by the Red String of Fate?” Kirin studies the air between Shin and me, which to him must appear empty. “It can’t be…”

The fox moves forward to brush the top of her head beneath the ribbon, a low rumble humming at the back of her throat. “I’ve seen a fate like this before. Many years ago. It is a very dangerous type of fate, one which cannot be severed by any blade.”

“There must be another way it can be broken,” Kirin says.

“The only way to end a fate such as this is if one bearer should die.”

There’s a short pause, then Namgi asks, “So, if Mina dies, then the Red String of Fate will disappear?”

The fox shakes her head, an eerily human movement. “There is a chance that should one die, so will the other.”

Namgi frowns. “But you just said that if one of them should die, the fated connection would be severed.”

“If they both die, then there is no fate.”

“Agh!” Namgi tugs at his hair. “This is why one should never consult a demon, or a goddess for that matter. They never give a straight answer.”

“It’s the same as with the Sea God,” Kirin says, ignoring Namgi. “Instead, it is Shin’s life that is in danger.”

“Yes, but for an important difference.”

When the goddess doesn’t immediately continue, Kirin prompts, “And what difference is that?”

“As you can see, or not see, the fate is invisible, as it isn’t with the Sea God. Although every Sea God’s bride that arrives in this realm has a Red String of Fate, the Sea God is not fated to all of them. After all, that is not the true purpose of the Red String of Fate.”

I have a suspicion that the goddess takes pleasure in withholding information until the right question is asked.

“Then what is the purpose of the Red String of Fate?” Namgi says through gritted teeth.

The fox tilts her head to the side, amber eyes glinting. “It ties soul mates to each other.”

“Soul … mates,” Kirin says slowly.

“Yes. It ties one soul to another, two halves of a whole.”

For some reason I’m surprised to hear this explanation from the goddess, though this is how humans tell the myth, when the destinies of two people collide in life-altering ways. It explains the undeniable connection between lovers—like Cheong and Joon, who loved each other from the beginning.

“It’s not possible,” Shin says, and his words jog a memory. He said something similar when the Red String of Fate first formed between us.

My grandmother always said only the words I believe in are the ones that can hurt me. And yet, Kirin stares at me in disbelief, and even Namgi looks skeptical. As for Shin, he rubs his fingers against his wrist, as if the ribbon pains him.

I won’t say the qualities he lacks that would make it impossible for me to love him, either: a caring heart, looking at me not as a burden or a weakness, but as a strength.

“I didn’t ask to be fated to you,” I say. “I don’t want your life to be in danger because of me. I didn’t know what would happen when I released my soul from the cage—I just wanted it back.”

“Mina, you don’t understand.”

“Then tell me. What is it I don’t understand?”

“We can’t be soul mates…,” Shin says. His dark eyes lift, holding mine. “Because I don’t have a soul.”





12


How can Shin not have a soul?

The question plagues me all the way to Lotus House. Upon our arrival, I’m whisked away by a group of maidservants to a large bathing chamber where I’m unceremoniously stripped down, doused with hot water, and scrubbed until my skin is raw and red. Too exhausted to protest, I relax as the women trim and buff my nails and smooth rich oils along my arms and legs. The only time I speak is when I catch sight of one of the maidservants leaving the chamber with my battered dress. “My knife!” I exclaim. The maidservant returns and places it on a low shelf within reach.