“Useless, worthless rabble!” Chief State Councilor Choi raged. Outside, dawn was only just greying, he had been dragged from his bed and was in a foul temper. “Mangy dogs, fit for nothing!”

  Mu-in and the two surviving captains of the mercenaries froze in deep bows, listening to the scolding. One of the bandits was wounded. Red drops slid down his wrist and gathered in a small puddle on the polished floor. To disappoint the councilor with news of their failure they rode to the capital through the rest of the night.

  “How could you lose one man?” the councilor exclaimed. “Which of you clumsy dogs will take responsibility?!”

  “I missed,” Mu-in said, staring downward. The dark floorboards were covered in tiny scratches, left either by frequent polishing or the legs of portable tables. From afar they were invisible, but with his nose nearly against the floor, he could make out every line.

  It had been madness, of course.

  A moment’s blindness that had seized him in the forest at night.

  Setting the ambush, he had known perfectly well he was hunting the heir to the throne. Others might not have guessed, but he had known.

  They had cut down the soldiers, the servants, and the other insignificant attendants. Precisely as he had foreseen, the prince started retreating toward the forest. Distrusting the mercenaries, Mu-in had taken the most advantageous position himself and hidden near the clearing with the horses. It was obvious where the pursued prince would run, and he had done exactly that.

  The moon shone brightly, favouring the archer concealed in the branches; he should have dealt with his task easily.

  A pair of mercenaries had lured the prince’s last companions into the open and struck one down, Mu-in shot the other. The prince, left alone, turned and lifted his face, searching for the source of the arrow. For an instant their eyes met.

  The bright moon — and perhaps the shadows of the branches — had played a cruel trick on him.

  The prince was young, no older than his younger brother, and very like him. Something in the shape of his brows, the expression of his eyes, the line of his cheekbones… And the ruthless assassin, the councilor’s dog, could not do it. His hand faltered.

  The arrow went astray, striking the prince not in the throat above the collarbone but in the shoulder. The prince dropped the reins and plunged into the thicket, clutching the wound. Mu-in remained on his branch, pressing his back against the trunk and feeling the blood hammer in his temples.

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  What had he just done?

  What had he done to his own brother?

  “I missed,” Mu-in repeated, fixing his gaze on the scratches on the floor. “It was too dark. Forgive me.”

  “He wounded the prince, daegam,” a mercenary chimed in, unaware of the undercurrents at play. Of course he had seen the clothing of their quarry, but he was being paid enough to stifle any dangerous curiosity. “He’s probably already rotting in the mountains.”

  “Then find me his body!” the councilor barked. “Or catch him and finish the job.”

  “Yes, daegam,” the guilty assassins answered in unison and left the room.

  In the corridor leading to the gallery, they came upon a displeased maid.

  “Stop dripping on the floor,” she scolded the wounded mercenary. “What a night — first they come in muddy boots, now they pour blood everywhere. As if I didn’t have enough work. Go on, out with you!”

  The mercenaries snapped back and hurried toward the exit. Mu-in, on the contrary, lingered, adjusting the strap on his wrist-guard.

  “There’s no end to them,” the elderly maid complained to him. “Why the master ever got involved with those brigands, I’ll never know. They have no respect for people at all.”

  “Forgive us, Auntie Pestle,” Mu-in said contritely. Slaves were often given ridiculous names to distinguish them from free people, and this maid was no exception. “I’ll tell him to tighten the bandage.”

  “You needn’t apologise for them, son,” the maid yawned loudly. “What about yourself? Are you whole? Oh, these night-time errands of yours…”

  She had known him since childhood, when he had arrived at this house frightened and lost, so her familiarity was forgivable.

  “Tell me, did anyone else come today besides us?” Mu-in asked. He was regarded as the councilor’s bodyguard and usually privy to all his affairs.

  “Yes, some new cutthroat turned up in the middle of the night,” the maid clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “A scraggly beard, a face slashed all over, walked right into the house in his filthy boots. A bandit, clear as day. I don’t know how the master dares receive such monsters without you around, ugh.”

  “I must go. Good day to you, Auntie Pestle,” Mu-in said and hurried to catch up with the mercenaries. They needed to plan the search routes and assign the squads.

  And he needed to consider what the councilor was plotting. After this failure, he might easily strip Mu-in of his trust. Except that the bearded brute had appeared before the councilor learned their ambush had failed.

  All day they searched the forests around Incheon. Matters were complicated by the soldiers who had come from the capital for the same task, so the mercenaries of Councilor Choi had to act carefully and avoid being seen. Mu-in took some comfort in the fact that if the guards were still combing the mountains, then they had not yet found the prince.

  On the second day after the failed ambush, the weather turned.

  Mu-in and three of his men were examining the road leading toward the capital when a thunderstorm drove them into a roadside tavern. The company there was rather dull, and the mercenaries exchanged idle jokes, until the gisaeng descended from the upper floor. The jokes grew coarser.

  And then a soaked, shivering slave appeared on the threshold, cleverly persuading the hostess to give him food and shelter.

  Mu-in could not believe his eyes: it was his younger brother — and he had no business being alone on the road from Incheon to Hanyang. Or had the fool tried to run away from his owners? They had to talk.

  Mu-in watched him carry trays of food and drink, clenched his fists, and racked his brain for a way to slip away from his companions before they noticed his interest.