The Scent of Myrrh and Sage

9. Blade of Ice

Seonghwa's legs were heavy on his way up the mountain, much heavier than they had been while he dragged them through the knee-deep snow. His head was heavy from the thoughts plaguing him and the tiredness that wore on his heavy lids.

But his heart was heaviest. It rested inside his chest like a rock, misshapen and cold. No more charm winged it with delight. The warmth of the past days evaporated like hot steam and all that was left was the ugly bitterness of betrayal.

Seonghwa locked away all the lingering affection he might have stored for Hongjoong. Protected his vulnerable heart from any more attacks.

A squirrel dashed over the path before him and scaled a tree. Its quick feet were so witty and sharp to its surroundings. Innocent life so near the beast's lair. Had everyone else noticed something was off and left in time? Was Seonghwa the only fool?

Feeling weighed by invisible iron chains around his ankles, Seonghwa squeezed through the cave entrance. Though the hideout in the mountain locked out the wind during winter, the spring breeze also couldn't permeate the frosty walls. Cast in an eternal frigid purple hue, the cave welcomed him. This place of such joy had become so sinister to Seonghwa. Bleak eyes looked out over the hall once he entered it. Found Hongjoong at his table with his bone staff in his hand, looking like a heathenish statue again.

Perhaps Seonghwa hadn't been so wrong from the beginning. But he fought his gut feeling to befriend the being that meant the downfall of his home.

"You're back," Hongjoong greeted him without looking up. He had his book before him and his cauldrons boiled away with ominous gargles, which somehow always distinctively sounded like a drowning person.

How was Seonghwa so blind? To the shadows, to the odd items across the table and Hongjoong's getup? Everything around him screamed the truth and Seonghwa was disappointed in himself for wilfully ignoring it.

Seonghwa's hands trembled. The spirits danced around him to greet him. Some had become friendly, fond of him since he helped their master. Some were still full of mischief, tugging on Seonghwa's hair when he wasn't looking. He was no longer afraid of them, but looking at them became so haunting now. He had always known what they were. Hongjoong was candid about them even when he might have given himself away. Of course, the dead crowded around him. He was the one who kept them alive.

"How are you doing today?" Seonghwa asked, absent-mindedly. He put his bundle on the ground, only having brought it so he could bring back some items from this place to pay Jongho for his help. Perhaps a book or two. Seonghwa might keep one to practice his reading. Even when the scent of the old parchment would always inevitably bring his mind back to Hongjoong.

"I already started with the potion. You could have stayed home to rest for another day. How are you feeling?"

The soft care in Hongjoong's voice stung. He worried about the sting in Seonghwa's hips but didn't know of his change of heart. When he turned his head to study Seonghwa's pale features, he pursed his lips.

A pale hand stretched in his direction. Seonghwa wanted to flinch back from it. Couldn't regard it as anything else but a tool for murder.

But he submitted to his ploy and leaned into Hongjoong's touch to his cheek. A deep exhale.

"You look pale. Go lie down. I can do this alone," Hongjoong whispered. No emotion ever touched upon his voice. He made it smoother and sharper, louder and quieter, but there was never such a thing as joy or anger. Even when he realised the mice had nibbled on their freshly bundled plants, he merely commented to do it again.

He was so cold. Inside and out. Everything he had done was a lie. He didn't love Seonghwa. In whatever capacity he confessed a liking to him, it was impossible for a ruthless person like him.