Silvern (The Gilded Series) (9 page)

“Seek also your
komo
,” Palk’s voice calls from the distance. “She holds a key that must not die with her.”

His words hit hard. Does he believe she’s dying? What does she hold? Why must everything be so cryptic with him?

Before I can fully wrap my head around everything Palk said, I’m tumbling into the soft grass of the archery center.
Fantastic.
I’m back in Seoul and feeling more clueless than when I left. People are glancing over at me, muttering to each other, but I don’t care what they think. I find my bow, and I wrap my fingers around its smooth wooden surface, and I draw it close. A tingle skitters through my body, making me smile. It’s as if my bow understands what I’m going through.

Even if I can’t.

It’s a quick taxi ride from the archery center to Marc’s house in Sungbuk-Dong. This neighborhood of Seoul sits on the hill right behind the Blue House where the president lives. Most of the houses are similar in style to Marc’s family’s home, two stories high and cream colored.

I ring the doorbell, my bow strapped to my back and a bag of Marc’s favorite food—Indian—tucked against my chest. His house is an eclectic mix of modern and traditional, with slick contemporary rooflines yet windows with Korean-style geometric wooden panes. A low stone wall surrounds the house, and an iron gate opens out to a courtyard.

As I wait, I study the view from the stoop. Pruned bushes border the walls, and a pebbled pathway leads to a stone fountain. Two cherry trees are planted on either side of the house like sentinels. Beyond the courtyard, the view of downtown Seoul sweeps before me. The high-rises glisten in the setting sun, reflecting pumpkin- and scarlet-colored streaks of light.

I blow the loose strands from my face and rap on the door.

Then it swings open. “Well, well,” Marc says. “What do we have here?”

I take in the sight of him: wild brown hair, that right dimple that shows up every time he smiles. The casual look he tries to wear with his faded jeans and gray archeaology shirt is such a sharp contrast to the intensity in his green eyes.

But it’s more than all of that. It’s his presence that fills the space between us. It’s the way his eyes drink in the sight of me as if he doesn’t ever want to forget who I am.

He blocks the entrance with his arms extended as if holding up the doorframe. The muscles on his arms are stretched taut, and I wonder if he’s been working out.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?” he asks, eyebrows rising and face deadpan.

I huff and roll my eyes, but a smile still creeps across my face. “Just let me in, you silly boy. I’m starving.” I hold up the bag. “I brought chicken marsala and naan. Your favorite.”

“Tempting.” He snatches the bag from me and peers inside.

I move to duck under his arm, but he slides his body to block me.

“Not so fast, Fighter Girl. As enticing as this food is, it gains you no entrance here.” He cups my chin with his hand. “It’ll have to be something more lasting than that.”

Then his lips are on mine, and the bag of food slips to the floor, forgotten. I drink in his kiss, long and soft. He pulls me closer and kisses my forehead, as if he doesn’t want to ever let me go.

“I missed you,” he whispers into my ear.

When we finally part, every muscle in me aches to cling to him. His skin feels warm against mine, chilled from the evening air. He trails his finger from my ear to my chin, and his breath tickles my forehead. I can barely think straight when he looks at me like I’m the moon and stars all wrapped into one.

I drag my palms over his chest and shoulders. His muscles are harder and more sculpted than I remember.

“You’ve been working out?” I ask.

He grins and taps his finger against my lips. “Nothing gets past my Fighter Girl. Jung has been giving me sword-fighting lessons every Saturday. A requirement for all Guardians.”

“I didn’t realize it was every weekend.” I straighten the collar of his shirt.

He kisses me again, harder this time. Almost as if he’s worried it will be his last.

“I wouldn’t complain if we did this all night,” Marc says huskily, finally breaking away.

“I take it your parents aren’t home.” I finger the edge of his shirt, not quite wanting to let him go.

“They’re at a Yonsei event. You’ll have to enter at your own risk. There’s no one here to keep me in check.”

I lightly smack him on his chest as he lets me inside.

I’m always shocked when I enter Marc’s house. It’s such an odd contrast to my dad’s and mine, which is stark, clean, and modern. After I kick off my shoes, I trail after Marc, ascending up the stairs.

The photographs and medals awarded to his family members climb up the wall like perfect soldiers all the way to the top of the staircase. I wonder if his dad is proud of him now that he’s made Guardian status, and if that alone would be enough to contribute to their family legacy.

“Too bad the Guardians are so secretive,” I say. “Otherwise your parents could place a plaque here in your honor.”

Marc pauses midstride and glances at the wall. A pained look slips over his face, but it’s gone so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.

At the top of the stairs, we enter the living room. There are wooden crates everywhere, some opened. Scattered around the crates are pots that reach my hips, wooden statues, painted urns, silk paintings. The place smells like a library, a mix of old books and wood.

“What is all this?” I ask.

“Junk my parents picked up on their last trip to Norway.”

“I didn’t think they had room for anything new.”

“Not new.” Marc chuckles, squeezing past a large wooden crate. “Old. Very old.”

I follow him to the kitchen, weaving past a miniature Viking ship, several wooden warriors, and a giant bronze shield. I cross my fingers with every step, terrified I’m going to break something, since I’m so good at that sort of thing.

“The Norwegians actually let your parents leave the country with this stuff?”

My leg knocks against a stack of books. I dive, grasping for the tower to keep the teetering stack from falling. As I straighten them, dust cakes my palms. These look so old I bet if they’d fallen, they would’ve turned to dust.

“Unfortunately.” Marc sets the bag on the counter and starts pulling out plates. “They’re actually replicas for my parents to study. Dad wanted to put the warriors on top of the bookshelf, but they’re too tall. So now they get to guard the door until he can find a different place for them. I have to admit, I’m jealous. They should’ve taken me.”

“You guys need another house to put all this stuff in,” I say as I rip off a piece of naan and pop it into my mouth. It’s still warm and soft.

“No way. And whatever you do, don’t give them that idea. It’ll mean more space for them to gather more junk.”

We load our plates with rice, chicken, and naan. I sit on a bench at what looks like a replica of a Nordic farmhouse table. Marc slides aside the pile of books and unrolled maps and sits across from me. They’re maps of North Korea.

“You’ve been busy!” I say.

He nods and points out where our entry point will be and where we’ll be delivering the supplies.

“Other than that,” he says, “I’m not sure where we should look for the orb. According to this legend, there is reference to a magical artifact near Kunsong in 1231, after the Mongol invasion. A stone helped repel the Mongols and gave the Koreans a victory. But those are just stories. Who knows what parts are real or not.”

“You’ve already found all of this?” I say. “That’s really good research.”

“What can I say? Research is my thing.” He shakes his head as he scoops a chunk of chicken up with his naan. “It’s no wonder Korea gets its butt kicked over and over. The orbs, which are supposed to be its protection, have been lost.”

I swirl my naan through the sauce, wondering how I’m going to bring up the cave. He’ll want to know how I found out about it.

Should I tell him the truth? That I went to the Spirit World?

“What is it? You’re not telling me something.”

“Have you ever heard of the Cave of the Nine Dragons?”

“Of course. I’ve read the myths.” Marc drops his bread and gives me a wary look. “Why?”

“I was thinking that might be a good place to start. It’s a sacred area, isn’t it?”

He frowns. “Who have you been talking to?”

Now it’s my turn to frown. I set my fork down and lean back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been to the Spirit World, haven’t you?”

I sit taller, hating his tone, as if he’s accusing me. “Yes, I have. You make it sound like I’ve done something wrong.”

“That’s not it.” Marc sighs. “I swear, I wish you would stay away from that place. One of these days you’re going to go there and never come back.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“There’s something else. I’ve been doing some research.”

“Enough with the research. We can’t even have a meal together without
the research
.”

I rest my head in my hands. Tears threaten to burst out. I hate crying. It’s a sign of weakness, and after everything Haemosu did to my family, I promised myself I’d be strong. I’d be the one who would fight to the end. I would be standing tall, no groveling.

Marc moves to my side of the table and pulls me to him. I don’t push him away, because the reality is I need him. Sure, I’d never actually admit it, but his arm reassures me he’ll always be there for me.

“You’re right, Jae,” Marc says, finally breaking the silence. “We need at least one night where we’re not in the middle of insanity. I’m paranoid I’m going to lose you. Every time we’re together, I wonder if it’ll be our last. After watching you fight Haemosu at his palace—”

He stops and drags in a deep breath. “His claws tore you to shreds, Jae.”

I look into Marc’s face. His eyes are wide with fear, and his jaw is set.

“Does this have anything to do with your training with Jung?”

“I watched you age a hundred years right before my eyes. Those memories haunt me every day. Every night. I will do everything I can to not let you get hurt like that again. That’s why I have to be prepared and train. If there is anything in my power to save you, I will do it.”

“I know. A hundred times over, I know. I totally lost it there.” I I trace his jawline and then kiss his neck, breathing in his smell. “You’re right. We need to research. We don’t have much time, and knowledge is power. Tell me what you were going to say about your research. I want to know.”

Marc picks up a book at the end of the table and cracks it open. “It’s all here.”

It’s a myth about Bari under the subheading
mythological beings
.

Princess Bari

Princess Bari crossed twelve mountains, each full of ghosts. When she came to the river only the dead could cross, she showed them magical flowers she had been given. Seeing these, the guards of the river allowed her to cross and enter the Underworld.

There she found a fortress built of iron thorns. She used the flowers to melt the fortress and free the prisoners. She became a heroine.

But time and again she was asked to return to the Underworld to save loved ones. After each time she entered, she took on a silvern sheen in the real world. Finally, when she entered the Underworld to rescue her parents, she lost all her humanity. She had only a silvery ghostlike form in the real world.

From that day forward, she never returned to her people, but remained in the Spirit World for all of eternity as the one who guides the dead into the Underworld.

“Wow.” I reread it again to make sure I didn’t misunderstand anything. “I don’t think I’ve ever read this myth. So you think she lost her humanity because she spent so much time in the Spirit World?”

The thought of being stuck in Haemosu’s land terrifies me. I don’t want to lose my life here, even if it did mean immortality.

“It might be nothing,” Marc says. “But since all these other myths have become reality in some way, I’m worried that there is some truth to it.”

I face Marc. “Do you think I have this silvern look?”

“No.” Marc rubs his eyes and then studies me again, his forehead knitting together. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m completely paranoid, but tonight you look a little different. More sparkly?”

“Sparkly?” I laugh. When he doesn’t join in, I take his hands in mine. “Listen, Marc. I love you. More than anything. But you’ve got to let me live my life. And I need to be able to tell you stuff, but if you’re going to flip out every time something happens, I can’t handle that.”

“I know. I’ll try.” His mouth curves into a smile, and he shakes his head. “We are either perfect for each other or we’ll drive each other crazy.”

I laugh again, harder this time. Marc drags out his tablet and types in “nine dragons” to search on the web. He scrolls through some articles until he clicks on one, his eyes lighting up. He mutters something under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Kuryong.” He slaps his forehead. “Why didn’t I think of it before? This makes perfect sense.” He drums his fingers on the table as he reads. “Kuryong is located in Kumgangsan, North Korea. Translated into English, it’s the Diamond Mountains. According to the myths, once upon a time nine dragons defended Kuryong from enemies.”

I nod. I vaguely remember reading about this myth in one of Mom’s books. “But what are these dragons guarding?”

“Exactly.”

Marc takes off down the hall while searching on his tablet at the same time. I scamper after him, cringing as I pass through the obstacle course.

“There really isn’t much information on it since everything in North Korea is so hush-hush. But if the Council believes the orb is in the Kumgangsan region, and this cave is there, too, it seems too coincidental to ignore.”

We enter his room. It looks about the same as the last time I was here. Piles of books stacked against the walls, and artifacts that he discovered on archaefology trips with his parents crowding his bookshelves. I pause at his bulletin board, staring at all the pictures of the two of us together. I finger the edge of a strip of photos we took in the photo booth in Sinchon.