Gilded by Christina Farley Read Free Book Online Page A

all the while tortured with curiosity over what lies at the other end of this corridor.
    Or I could explore.
    I glance over my shoulder, licking the salt from my lips. I’ll just go to the end of the hallway, I promise myself. Grandfather will never know.
    Musty air saturates the corridor as I follow the torch-lit path,trailing my hand over the smooth walls that must have been carved out by ancient waves. A sharp breeze howls through the tunnel and slams the door shut behind me. I jump and nearly trip over myself.
    Now free of the wind, the passageway is damp and cold. The torchlight flickers ghostly shadows over the walls, and the air is silent. I shudder and eye the door, debating whether to go back or explore. Ultimately the lure of the unknown draws me deeper.
    At the end of the corridor I discover a space about fifteen feet in diameter. I stare. It’s like some ancient tomb we’d study in school. But it isn’t a tomb. It’s something else entirely.
    Sconces hang from each of the walls and, wanting to see the room clearer, I light them. Two of the walls show a mural of a princess riding in a chariot drawn by five golden dragons. Though the colors have faded to pale yellows and light blues, I know she must be Princess Yuhwa. I move closer, studying her. She looks just like me.
Creepy
.
    I back away to check out the rest of the room. Along the far wall is a wooden shelf packed with scrolls and leather-bound books. Hundreds maybe.
    I rub my sweaty hands down my jeans. Okay, so I’m definitely not supposed to be here. I should go. Dad’s probably wondering about me, too.
    But my attention is pulled, almost by force, to the fourth wall, which is covered with bows, quivers, and arrows hanging on pegs. I eye the smooth wood of one horn bow, so old it should be in a museum. The image of the Blue Dragon, one of the four immortal guardians of Korea, is painted on it. The horn bow isunique to Korea, known for its ability to shoot arrows farther than any other bow. My fingers itch to take it off the wall, string it, and draw back on it to feel its pull.
    Without thinking, I grasp it. An electric shock runs through me, and I nearly drop the bow. The bamboo is as smooth as pearl against my hands. My fingers set into the notches on the bow, and a buzz of nerves courses through me because the bow fits my hand perfectly. I drag my fingers along the string, wondering if that hum I’m hearing is my imagination.
    I replace the bow and move to the low teak table in the center of the room. On top lies an aged scroll, unrolled and revealing ancient Chinese symbols. I clamp my sweaty hands in my lap and lean forward. Seeing an ancient scroll that isn’t behind glass is beyond cool. The rice paper appears faded, but the swirled texture is still intact.
    I slide my finger gingerly over the scroll’s rough surface. I expect grime to gather along my fingertips, but instead my fingers are caked with gold. The particles rise from my hand in a glittery spiral above the scroll and stream toward the mural.
    The gold dust fuses into the outline of Princess Yuhwa riding in the dragon-led chariot. Beams of light shoot from the walls. The princess turns to me and stretches out her hand, saying, “Help me!” in Korean.
    My head pounds, almost as if the drums from the museum ceremony are beating again.
    This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
    My hand shakes, and before I realize what I’m doing, I reach out and grab hold of her hand.

 

    Gravity chains my feet to the floor, resisting the princess’s pull. My bones can’t take much more pressure. But then I fall head-first through the mural into blinding light. I clamp my eyes shut and fight against the instinct to curl into a ball. I hit a hard, cold surface, and my body smashes against a wall.
    When I open my eyes, I expect to see a chariot or perhaps the princess. They’re nowhere in sight. Instead, a heavy mist drifts over toothed rocks at my feet. I manage to lean against the