Chapter 19
How long had it been? A day? Two days… or maybe three, four.
With her eyes covered she couldn’t tell whether the heat that warmed her body was moonlight or sunlight. When the damp breeze touched the scorched skin it stung.
“Is there—anyone…?”
She had screamed so much her voice had long since worn out. Worse than the fear was the gnawing hunger and thirst. Her throat cracked and her stomach had shriveled. She no longer had the strength to cry or to bellow out in rage.
Fear. The primitive instinct that cried out to live rather than be forgotten and left to die — that was the thing Yeoro had to fight in the dark.
The stench of rotten wood and filthy water filled her lungs. The cramped cell heated up quickly and her chest heaved. Insects crawling and biting bare skin was ordinary. Damp, cramped, filthy.
Is Mother all right…? That question pressed hardest on Yeoro’s chest. Piety tightened her throat. Her broken breaths pooled under her tongue, unable to travel far.
Just as she was about to faint from exhaustion—
Squeak. The heavy, threadbare door of the cell opened. Yeoro lifted her head drowsily. Footsteps were quiet at first, but many steps followed behind.
The Emperor. She knew by instinct.
“The blood will out, they say.”
The voice that addressed her had the sour tone of contempt one would not expect from a father speaking to his child. It chilled the already fevered air of the cell.
“You and your father — your ways are so alike.”
At that, Yeoro blinked the eyelashes hidden beneath the black cloth. What did he mean? Her dry mouth tightened.
“Well, your mother went mad; who would have told you the truth?”
The Emperor’s voice was laced with loathsome mercy.
“Did you really still believe you were my daughter, a descendant of the imperial house?”
“W-what do you mean…?”
Yeoro barely moved her cracked lips to ask. The Emperor sneered coldly. He grimaced at the dirty water dripping from the ceiling and flicked the shoulder of his golden dragon robe clean.
“Don’t be mistaken. I did not take you in because I had feelings left for your mother. I did it because you are the blood of my younger brother.”
“Your Majesty…?”
“Yes — call me that. No matter how kind one tries to be, you never had a proper father from childhood. Your stubbornness, your cruelty, even that inappropriate greed — you’ve inherited it all from your father.”
Yeoro could not move her lips; she swallowed to shape her words. Her thoughts tangled and her heart raced as if struck. Cold sweat soaked her from crown to toe, and the Emperor stepped closer to her.
“Let me say it again. You are not my daughter; you are my younger brother’s child. Had that woman chosen my brother instead of me, your fate might have been different. You should blame your mother, not me.”
“T-then where is my father…?”
“Do you wish him to be alive?”
The Emperor gave a hollow laugh that grew into a full-bodied roar that made his fat frame tremble.
“I cannot spare the man who took from me. Not power, not the military, not even the heart of a lowly woman.”
Yeoro’s eyes moved aimlessly beneath the black cloth.
“I showed mercy in taking you and your mother in. And yet you repay me with no shame, no gratitude.”
So… the Emperor imprisoned Mother to keep her close; he removed Father… Mother knew everything and chose to stay by the Emperor’s side to save me… because of me.
Yeoro twisted her head frantically. She had nothing to vomit on an empty stomach, but she retched until white foam came to her lips. The Emperor watched, narrowing his brows at the disgusting sight, then turned his head in distaste at the dirty water dripping from the roof.
Her blood cooled; her hands and feet grew numb. Her insides knotted. The rising thing in her throat was not the contents of her empty stomach but tears.
“Now do you understand? If you disobey my orders and run, or choose to end your life, do you know what will happen?”
He spoke without feeling and stared at Yeoro writhing pathetically at his feet like a worm.
To think Mother was confined and tormented because of that base lust… The glances he’d once shot at Mother, the ‘gentle’ touches he’d shown — all of it turned her stomach so much she could hardly stop vomiting.
“You still hesitate? Fine. From today, I will cut off all food, medicine, and even clean drinking water to the cold palace.”
“Y-Your M-Majesty! Mother—!”
“If you think you can have your way while your mother starves and falls ill, try it.”
That was the final word. The Emperor, clearly not wishing to stay, turned away as if disgusted. As he reached the threshold and the mud outside, an eunuch prostrated himself on the filthy floor as if awaiting orders. The Emperor’s foot pressed down on the man’s back; he puffed himself up and waddled out of the cell.
When the huge shadow of the Emperor slid off the wall and out of sight, Yeoro slowly collapsed. The black cloth over her eyes was soaked with tears and clung to her lids.
She could hear the Emperor’s footsteps receding from the cold floor that touched her cheek.
Love, he called it — but it was lust. Thank goodness Mother did not love him. Fortunately, the man who drove Mother to despair was not the one she loved. Mother was not someone whose memories she wanted to hold forever as an illusion of him; thank heavens for that. She drew a deep breath of relief that was deeper than despair.
“Ha—!”
Rotting and festering was not the straw on the cell floor but her own heart. An ugly impulse to seize anything or anyone and butcher it flashed up from her chest.
My world was the cold palace. What did I live to protect, for whom did I live…? The memories with my mother, the pride preserved even in exile — who were those trampled under?
In the stifling heat Yeoro shivered until her teeth chattered. Her skin cooled not from the air but from her soul. She was so starved that her gaunt body creaked.
“…I should never have been born.”
In the quiet dark of the cell the child murmured, sharp and clear.
Yeoro — a beautiful path.
Father, Mother, what did you hope for when you named me? Was the reason you had to go mad, the reason you had to live even so, only for this…?
As tears filled her eyes again, the words on her tongue came into focus.
No — this memory, this heart, all of it is mine. Power and greed cannot soil everything.
“Yeoro…”
She repeated her name.
Born from someone’s love, raised by hatred, now used as a sacrifice — that was her name.
She swallowed a deep, quiet resolution. The breath swallowed scraped her parched throat.
I will survive.
I will absolutely, certainly survive.
I will take Mother and leave this wretched palace and go to the grasslands. There I will find traces of Father and reunite with him. I’ll make Mother’s illusion into reality, not a dream but the present truth.
She whispered that vow alone and quietly. The words, ground out through teeth clenched with hatred, were closer to a curse than a prayer.
The air in the prison remained damp, and a child’s fierce will could not change anything.
