Gilded by Christina Farley Read Free Book Online

When did that happen?
    “What Haemosu underestimated was Princess Yuhwa. She secretly withdrew a golden pin from her hair, cut her way through the bottom of the chariot, and fell back to her people.”
    I’d always thought princesses were more of the fainting type. Good for Yuhwa. “I guess Haemosu wasn’t too thrilled about that,” I say.
    “He was furious,” Grandfather says, fingering the ring on his finger. “The legend says he searched everywhere for her, but she remained hidden in her father’s palace. Secretly, she bore Haemosu’s son, Chumong, who later became the founder of the Koguryo kingdom in ancient Korea.”
    Is this some warped idea of happily ever after? “So it all worked out. Good for her.”
    Grandfather rises, smoothing out the wrinkles in his tunic. “But it didn’t.”
    I’m not sure if it’s from the tone of his voice or the oddness of the story, but a heaviness presses on me like a storm cloud.
    “What the legend does not mention is that the princess fled to China, where Haemosu had no power.” Grandfather focuses on me. “Even today Haemosu still seeks her.”
    Chills slither up my spine as I think about this twisted fairy tale. I nearly jump when one of the servants rushes up to us. “Sir,” he says in Korean. “Your brother’s family has arrived.”
    “Well then.” Grandfather stands and pats me on the shoulder. “I must greet them. I had hoped for us to have more time together. Perhaps tomorrow?” When I don’t answer, he says, “Do you wish to join me? You have yet to meet the rest of the family.”
    “Maybe later,” I say with a shrug. Meeting another set of strangers sounds even more painful than listening to Grandfather’s psycho stories.
    “As you wish.” He starts off, but stops and glances over his shoulder. “Do not go to the outer island without me. It would not be wise.”
    He turns and heads back to the house, his stride sure and quick, even with the wintry breeze whipping at his tunic.
    I stare out at the island, wondering what Grandfather meant. A sound of rushing water catches my attention, and I notice how the water level is rapidly decreasing. A makeshift bridge of stepping stones from Grandfather’s beach to the tiny island not forty feet away appears. The stones must have been hidden under the water, and now that the tide has pulled back, their surfaces poke out of the mud, slick and shiny in the winter sun.
    I slide off the rock and rub my hands together. Curiosity tugs at me like the tide, and I can’t stop myself. I cross the stepping-stone bridge, careful not to slip on its mud-slathered surface.
    Once on the island, I follow an overgrown trail across ameadow, which leaves me at a series of volcanic-like boulders that spike up, jagged and taller than a two-story house. Looking around, I can’t figure out what’s so dangerous about this place that Grandfather had to warn me explicitly about it.
    I start climbing the rocks for fun, trying to remember the moves I learned at summer camp two years ago in Montana. I’m halfway up a rock side when I spot a narrow passageway between two boulders that twists its way from the beach to the rocks. I drop to the ground.
    The passageway is so narrow I have to shimmy sideways. Above, the sky looks like a zigzag streak of paint between the uneven rock walls. At the end rests a wooden door, typhoon weathered.
Why in the world is there a door here?
I wonder. I turn the handle, and, with a click, it opens.
    Is this place Haraboji’s? Sure, he’s my grandfather, but what do I really know about him? I peek inside. It’s dark as pitch. On a stone ledge just inside the door sits a metal box from which I extract a lighter. I ignite the torch lying against the wall, and instantly the long, rock-walled corridor is illuminated.
    This is absolutely the most fascinating place I’ve ever seen. I know I shouldn’t be here. I could head back to Haraboji’s house to meet the distant relatives and attempt smiles,