Chapter Text
This last week had been the stuff of nightmares. Terror, shock, pain, tears, exhaustion, and now she was empty and numb. She sat in her car at the edge of an urban forest park because she couldn't bear to go back home. It hadn't felt like home for days and likely never would again. The hands she'd buried her face in still smelled like hospital soap, that fake cherry scent over heavy disinfectant. She desperately wanted comfort, that one pair of arms she could sink into and let go of everything that had happened. It didn't matter that he wasn't due back yet. She would wait until he showed up.
Wearily, she hit send on a series of text messages, heaved a ragged sigh, then slowly crawled out of her car, the rustle of fabric all around her. The path was familiar so it didn't take much thought to navigate it as the light faded around her. Up this hill. Around that bend. There was the phone booth. Turn here then step off the path. The trees gave way to bamboo and she knew she was close.
Sometimes he came early--just to hear her voice, he said. She hoped this was one of those times. It would shorten the time she waited and lessen her chances of being noticed and taken home.
As she drew closer to the right spot, she could feel the faint tingle of energy in the air and heard a soft whicker and the jingle of metal. Was he already here? And why wait? But there he was, dressed in one of his better suits like he'd just come from a meeting, holding the reins of his horse.
Ah, that was why he hadn't come to her. A horse could be both very conspicuous and very difficult to explain so they didn't usually travel by horseback anymore.
"Seventeen minutes and twenty-eight seconds. It must have taken you extra time to get out of the car."
The look on his face was soft and solemn. It was the same look she'd seen on every face around her for the last three days. She hated that look. Hated that he somehow wore it, too.
"I was sent to deliver you."
She nodded. He wasn't the right one, then. This one already knew. He'd get her to the right one, though. The right place, the right time. There were no coincidences in fate.
He helped her into the saddle then swung up behind her. Through the door, across the sand of an endless shoreline, pillars of fire in the distance all around them. When they reached the one they needed, he helped her back down but didn't take her through. Instead, he stepped forward to pull her hair loose from its ponytail then back and up, securing it in a soft bun. She felt a quick twist, then he slid something through the knot, pinning it into place. It felt nice to have all that stifling heat and weight off her neck, to pretend she had a reason to wear something else.
He took her hands, placing something small and flat in one, then lifted her chin so she'd look him in the eye.
"Stand in the middle of the trail. Someone will come get you. Hand this"--he squeezed the thing in her hand--"to whoever shows up. You'll see me soon."
She nodded again and turned to walk into the light.
- - -
"Patrol 7, intruder at checkpoint 6. Intercept."
They were in motion before the sound in their earpieces died. Flashlights on, guns drawn, they hurried to the designated area, eyes wary for movement in case the intruder tried to slip past them. They pulled up short when they got there. Kneeling on the ground, staring at the security camera mounted in the trees some 10 meters away, was a woman in a black hanbok. As they emerged from the shadows she turned her tired gaze to the one who had taken the lead position. Now he could see the tiny white bow perched at her temple and something glittered behind her ear. Wordlessly, she lifted the thing in her lap, her one bit of color, and held it out to him. The team shifted from an offensive posture to a defensive one as he cautiously took it from her then stepped back.
It was a polished wooden tablet, about the size of a smartphone, with a fat sapphire blue tassel dangling from one end. Bordered in an intricate carving of flowering tree branches was a neat hanja inscription that simply read "Center Palace" with the Royal Court's plum blossom etched and gilded below. It reminded him of some of the dramas his sister would watch on TV. Stupidly, he turned it over, as if that would tell him more. To his surprise, inked in, in flowing handwritten hangul this time, was a note. "Please escort to palace after contacting your division chief." He eyed her again before holstering his gun and pulling out his phone.
A few touches and it was ringing before a curt "Yes?" sounded.
"Captain Jo, this is Park Su-ro with Patrol 7. We found a woman at checkpoint 6. She had a... note that said to contact you."
A pause, then "Put me on video and hand the phone to her."
She took the phone and held it up so she could see the screen.
"Lieutenant Jeong Tae-eul?" The phone's speaker sounded muffled and slightly tinny amongst the trees and fallen leaves.
"Yeong-ah," her voice cracked and she paused to take a deep breath. "My father died."
Another pause and, in the softest voice any of them had ever heard come from Captain Jo's mouth, the entire team heard "I'll let him know" and the line disconnected.
Seconds later, their earpieces crackled to life again as the captain's usual short tones issued a stream of commands.
"Patrol 7 and 10, escort incoming VIP to Plum Gate, primary protection protocol. Team 1, formal uniforms, Plum Gate, 20 minutes. Team 5, primary VIP position, immediately. Team 3, pull weapons for Team 1--make sure you've got my sword. Entry 9, sweep the eastern gates for bugs, drones or paparazzi. If found, destroy, shoot down or remove, respectively. Cyber, start watching for leaks. Everyone else, support positions for your sister teams. Keep comms clean."
While his team was taking this in, the woman handed the phone back to him and he helped her stand up, brushing the leaves and dirt from her skirts, then led her toward the cars that would soon arrive. As he stepped into escort position he noticed that the glitter behind her ear was an ornate gold hairpin. Once again he thought of his sister's shows.
"Heol."
- - -
The staff dining hall was filled with the hum of quiet chatter. Friends from different parts of the palace sat together and caught up, laughing at jokes and funny stories, the occasional "aish" or "aigoo" punctuating their conversation. The food was always top quality and there was plenty to go around so everyone enjoyed their meal breaks. There was the clink of glasses, the clatter of chopsticks, the scrape of chairs on tile. Warm overhead lights wrapped everyone in a honeyed glow.
One table had just started singing a new pop song that had recently started making news when every Guard in the room suddenly tensed then scattered, leaving a few tipped over chairs and the odd plate rolling across the floor in the shocked silence. Slowly, table by table, noise picked back up as friends righted furniture, and cleaned up spills. Then, one by one, the most senior court ladies started getting phone calls that all ended in "Ye, mamanim" and everyone else was set to tasks.
In the quiet of the abandoned room, the kitchen staff started putting away food.
- - -
The hallways of the King's residence seemed to have erupted in carefully controlled chaos. Every member of staff on site had been drafted into service. One room was full of maids pulling antique vases from cabinets and smooth marble pebbles from drawers while young men dressed in gardening aprons carried in jugs of fresh water and armfuls of flowers that had just been cut. A kitchen was hurriedly prepped then scrubbed down and evacuated with a single Guard posted at the door. Valets and dressers were setting out an entire wardrobe of women's clothing, that only three people had even known existed, in the cabinets and cupboards in the king's dressing room. At the other end of the room, another set of valets readied His Majesty's dragon robes. A veritable army dusted, swept, shined, polished, fluffed, staightened, and aired out already spotless halls and rooms. Not far from the throne room, in the barracks where unmarried Guards could take rooms to save money, there was a mad scramble for clothing as voices called out for belts or hats or boots. A rack of swords under the roof of the walkway outside swiftly emptied as men and women dashed in and out of the doors. At the edge of Gwangyeongjeon, a woman from Public Affairs with a camera bag slung over her shoulder was doing up the last of the ties on Captain Jo's uniform while he called orders to those around him.
"Escort, ETA?"
"Five minutes, Captain."
Guardsman Park looked in the rear view mirror yet again. The woman's pale face shone in the light of the occasional lamp. There were faint shadows under her eyes and her cheeks seemed hollowed, like she'd lost weight recently. As soon as she'd gotten in the car she'd turned her head toward the window and closed her eyes. Whatever had happened to her, whoever she wore funeral clothes for, it had taken a heavy toll on her.
They were checked and waved through at the outer gate then drove along the shore toward the gates on the eastern wall used by those who lived or worked here at the palace. The Plum Gate, last to be reached, was for the exclusive use of the royal family. It opened into the water garden at Gwangyeongjeon and was heavily guarded at all times. It didn't have the metal detectors or badge scanners the other gates did and didn't really need them. They identified themselves at the opening to the outer courtyard then waited for the heavy wooden gates to creak open. The center car slipped through then smoothly slid to a stop a handful of meters from a line of Royal Guards in old-fashioned uniforms, tassels and feathers hanging at precise angles from flat hats, knives and pistols tucked into their belts and swords held close. Captain Jo stood at the center, blocking the open gateway, with an embossed and filigreed black scabbard in his left hand. The escort Guards got out of the car and opened the door for their passenger.
As soon as she stepped out, the line of Guards snapped to attention. Captain Jo stepped forward and drew his sword, flourishing it in a salute that ended with the sword point-down on the flagstones and him on one knee.
"Welcome home, Jungjeon Mama."