Moon's Whisper, Heart's Echo

17.The Blur

Consciousness returned slowly, like dawn creeping over mountain peaks. The first thing Nandi registered was the gentle rustle of paper - someone turning pages nearby. Then the weight of several blankets, though she didn't remember...

She opened her eyes to find Tae-young sitting cross-legged near her bedding, a book balanced on one knee. Min-joon was curled against his side like a contented cat, sound asleep with his practice sword still clutched in one small hand. One of Tae-young's hands cradled the boy's head while the other held open a book of folk tales. The morning gaze caught his profile, softening his usually sharp features.

"Ah," he murmured, noticing her stirring. "The lady matchmaker returns to us." His voice was pitched low, careful not to disturb Min-joon.

"How long..." Her voice came out raspy.

"Most of the night." Tae-young shifted Min-joon slightly, the movement as natural as if he'd been caring for children all his life.

"Min-joon..."

A loose floorboard creaked under Tae-young's weight as he shifted, careful not to wake Min-joon who had finally succumbed to sleep against his side. His fingertips absently traced the worn edge of Min-joon's practice sword where the boy still clutched it, even in dreams.

"He was quite determined to entertain me while we waited," Tae-young murmured, voice pitched low in the quiet room. "I've now seen every sword form known to Joseon, including—" his lips quirked "—three that he claims to have invented himself."

Through her fever-haze, Nandi watched how naturally Min-joon curled against him, small fingers tangled in the expensive silk of Tae-young's sleeve. The sight made her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with illness.

"He declared himself my teacher," Tae-young continued, automatically smoothing a wrinkle from Min-joon's collar. "Very exacting in his standards. 'No, Uncle Park,'" he mimicked Min-joon's serious tone, "'the wrist must be exactly like this or the tiger won't know you respect him.'"

The late afternoon sun caught his profile as he glanced down at Min-joon, softening his usually sharp features. Something about the tenderness in his expression made Nandi's breath catch.

"The tiger?" she managed, her voice still rough from fever.

"Ah yes, apparently there's a whole saga involving a scholarly tiger who judges sword forms." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "He shared the entire epic with me while helping change your fever cloths. The right way. Though I'm afraid he dozed off before I learned if the tiger eventually approved of the young warrior's technique."

Memory suddenly rushed back like cold water. "The meeting—" She tried to push herself up, but the room spun wildly. "Ji-ah's family was expecting you, I've ruined—"

"Stay still," he interrupted, one hand moving instinctively toward her before stopping just short of contact. "Unless you're particularly eager to collapse again?"

"But your reputation—"

"Will survive." That familiar half-smile played across his features. "Though my mother's already suggesting we consider it a fortunate interruption. She's grown quite invested in your matchmaking decisions." He paused, studying her face. "Says ending this engagement would be your finest work yet."

"Master Park..." Nandi pressed her fingers to her temples. "About your mother—"

"Another time." He reached for the teapot with his free hand, movements careful not to disturb Min-joon. "When you're stronger and I'm less likely to be scolded by a seven-year-old master of tiger-style swordsmanship for letting you overexert yourself."