The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea(71)

“Mina.” The Sea God sits up. “What happened? What did you do?”

“I am not your bride,” I say gently. “Not truly. You don’t love me, nor I you. We are fated, but not in this way.”

I wonder if the Sea God will protest. His brows knit together and a look of genuine concern falls across his delicate features. “But you’ll die, Mina. You’ll become a spirit.”

“Not if I can help it.” I smile to reassure him. “You have to be strong, for just a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

“I— Yes. I think I can.”

I turn from him and race out the door behind the throne, down the stone steps, and through the garden. The pain is gone, yet I know soon I’ll become a spirit. And although I am afraid, hope rises within me.

I want to tell Shin everything—that I’m sorry for leaving him, that I felt at the time it was the only choice I could make. But I was wrong. There is always a choice.

I want to tell Shin that I choose him, always him.

I sprint through the garden, leaping over the stream and through the trees winking with the orange glow of sunset. I sweep past the meadow, across the bridge, coming out on the hill overlooking the pavilion where Shin stands.

Don’t chase fate, Mina. Let fate chase you.





33


Shin is waiting inside the pavilion beside the Pond of Paper Boats. He turns at my approach up the steps, his eyes finding mine.

“Did you speak with the Sea God?” he asks softly, looking at me in that way that always makes it hard for me to breathe.

“Yes,” I answer. “And I know what I must do.”

Shin’s gaze lingers on my hand, then shifts away toward the pond, but not before I see the look of acute pain that crosses his features. Tonight, the paper boats crowd the shore like a flock of ducks. It’s as if at any moment they’ll spread their wings and take flight.

“I won’t ask anything of you,” Shin says. “Whatever decision you make, I will abide by. If you marry the Sea God, I will protect and watch over you both. For all my life.”

My heart fills with love for him. How good he is, how giving and kind.

“But I didn’t want to hold back when it mattered … because I know you would never hold back, with your words or your actions.” He smiles, and my heart flips over. “I may be soulless and haven’t a Red String of Fate, but I don’t need either to tell me that I love you.”

“Shin,” I say, breathless, “the Red String of Fate is gone.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“The one between the Sea God and myself,” I explain. “I pressed my hand to his, which, if you remember, I did with you when our fate first formed, though you insisted it wouldn’t work.

“Well, it did,” I say haughtily. “As I knew it would, because I don’t love him. I love you, and I choose my own fate.”

I lean forward, holding his shoulders for balance, and press a kiss to his lips.

Afterward, I take a step back, blushing, though determined to meet his gaze. He said, after all, that I don’t hold back. Shin recovers quickly. Reaching out, he takes my hand, pulling me forward until I’m in his arms, and then he’s kissing me. His heart beats fast against my own. I throw my arms around his neck, returning each of his kisses with equal fervor.

When finally we break apart, the love I see in his eyes steals my breath away.

“Lord Crane was mistaken,” he says. “He said once the Red String of Fate was formed, you would know how to break the curse.”

As I gaze at Shin, a knowing blooms within me.

“I don’t think he was mistaken.”

Shin frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

“There’s something I must do, somewhere I must go. Will you wait here? Do you trust me?”

He doesn’t answer me at first, watching me with his sea-dark eyes. Then he smiles, a small quirk of the lips. “With my soul.”

I run back through the garden, the hall, and the courtyards—the Sea God nowhere in sight—and down the great steps. My heart beats wildly in my chest. I feel as if all the answers to my questions are within reach.

I turn into the alley where I last saw the Goddess of Moon and Memory, her shrine tucked into the alcove. The bowl in front of the tablet is empty of offerings, so I place my great-great-grandmother’s knife at the center. I then pick up the flint and strike it against the firestone, creating a spark that I catch with a piece of paper, bringing it up to light the incense sticks.

I step back and whisper a prayer. When I open my eyes, the Goddess of Moon and Memory is beside me.

She watches me through her candlelit eyes, though tonight, they appear dimmed. “Are you not afraid of me?” she asks, sounding more curious than angry.

“I am not,” I say, and it’s the truth.

“Are you afraid of nothing, then?”

“I’m afraid of forests.”

She arches a brow, clearly thinking me facetious.

“When I was a child, I got lost in a forest,” I explain. “I had been following my older brother when I caught sight of a fox and, chasing after it, lost my way. For the longest time, I couldn’t remember how I got out of that forest. All I could remember was how fearful I was, the trees unfamiliar in the darkness.”