The Harvest Moon—marked by the last crescent moon of the harvest season, the moon shaped like a harvester’s scythe—meant that weeks of laboring in the fields had come to a close, and it was time to settle in for the winter.

When Jimin’s parents were growing up, the Harvest Moon was celebrated with three days and three nights of festivals and dances and parties that lasted till dawn, huge feasts in the village square, neighbors eating and laughing and singing with each other, their faces painted gold. Jimin’s mother had always braided golden ribbons into her hair, and her father had sung harvest songs and moon songs and love songs, and the fire had been so warm, and they’d all been smiling.

Jimin’s bedchamber was cold and a bit uncomfortable. She didn’t usually feel the aloneness quite this much. But it was harder, this time of year, to ignore the graveyard in her chest. Harder still when it had just grown by two bodies.

The sunlight slid down the walls and turned from pale yellow to old gold to orange with sunset. In another life, Jimin would be dancing right now. In another life, she’d be dressed in rich colors and her face would be painted and her hair sleek with oil, and she’d be dancing in the village square, and her feet would hurt and it would feel so nice, and there wouldn’t be any weight on her shoulders. No fear.

In this life, she closed her eyes.

And opened them barely a minute later when someone poked her hard in the forehead.

“Aeri,” she snapped, shoving her hand away and ignoring her grinning face. “What do you want?”

“You think I’d let you sleep through the feast?” she said, plopping down on her bed. “No way. Look at you, all your bones showing. You need this just as much as the rest of us.”

That meant the day of work was over. The palace servants and village workers would forgo their dinners to set up for the secret celebrations, deep in the woods or somewhere far from the immediate grounds. The council meeting was a perfect cover, sending the Queen away for the full day.

But Jimin couldn’t stomach even the idea of a celebration. “I’m not going.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. It’ll get your mind off—you know.” She pushed gently at her shoulder. “There will be wine. Remember last year?”

“Yes. You drank too much and got sick in the ocean.”

“Don’t you wanna be there to watch me embarrass myself?”

“No, Aeri,” she said, staring at a tiny piece of cotton poking out from the mattress, willing her eyes away from hers. “I’m not going, not this year. You have fun.”

She scowled. “How am I supposed to do that without you?”

“Aeri—”

“Jimin,” she said, not annoyed anymore, just soft and pleading. “Please. I feel like I barely see you these days. When I do see you, it’s because something terrible has happened. I miss you. You’re my best friend and I—miss you.” she grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Please.”

“All right,” she said finally. “I’ll go.” If only to stop her pleading. If only to keep moving, to stop thinking, to stop questioning.

She whooped, pulling her outside, into the welcoming dark toward the celebration—and she let her.

There were no golden ribbons in her hair, but there were caskets of pale, sour wine, and that was just as good. Or better, maybe.

They made their way to one of the big caves at the foot of the cliffs where the festivities were being held this year, a grotto with a wet, sandy floor. Inside the cave there was a fire pit, lanterns strung over the curving stone walls, two boys playing homemade drums—the beats echoed through the cave, sound doubling back on sound, so deep and incessant that it made Jimin feel strange and almost sick inside. Overwhelmed. There was space for dancing both inside the cave and on the black sand beach outside, the tide crashing and dissolving against the rocks that lined the shore like tall, straight-backed guards.

The air was filled with flecks of white foam, the smell of smoke and wine and sea spray, the sounds of drums and dancing and old harvest songs sung in a hundred voices. Everyone was wearing a mask. Some were painted with gold or vermilion, but most were just made from scraps of straw and clothing. These people were servants. Any luxuries had to be hidden and hidden well.

The moment she and Aeri entered the cave, a girl younger than Aeri’s age bounded up to them. She was only wearing a half mask, a silvery-purple thing around his eyes. “Aeri unnie!” she said happily, pulling Aeri into a hug.

Jimin hung back, wary. She had not seen this girl before, but Aeri was hugging her back, looking equally happy to see her.

Aeri ruffled the girl’s hair and stepped back, gesturing between her and Jimin. “Chaeryeong, this is my master, Lady Jimin. Jimin, this is Chaeryeong.” 

She remembered the stories. She and Aeri had grown up together at the temple as kids, long before Jimin knew Aeri. Chaeryeong had been the first to run away. Aeri was bought by her father to become her right hand. Years later, her father helped them find each other again. They’d kept in touch ever since.

Aeri was grinning wide, like a happy fool. “She traveled here from an estate to the east and I haven’t seen her in nearly two years, the audacity.”

Chaeryeong laughed. “It’s hardly as if you’ve come to visit me!”

“Well, at least I always respond to your letters!”

“Oh sure,” said Chaeryeong, rolling his eyes. “And it only takes you three months per letter.”

They shoved at each other, bickering with an easy familiarity. Jimin hung back, silent, feeling a little lost. 

“Wait here, I’ll get you both a mask,” Chaeryeong said, and disappeared back into the crowd.

Aeri turned to Jimin, still grinning. “She hasn’t changed a bit. Everybody’s best friend, everywhere she goes. I bet you a statescoin there’ll be some girl mooning after her when she’s gone, even though she’s only here for a night.” Her grin faded when Jimin didn’t reply. “You all right?”

“Isn’t it dangerous to leave the estate?” Jimin said. “Did she really travel all the way here just for a party?”

“Not just for a party,” Aeri said. “She came here to see me.”

“But it’s dangerous,” Jimin insisted.

Aeri was frowning now. “So? It’s worth it, isn’t it? We’re family. It’s important to stay connected to each other. In case you forgot, Jimin, that’s what we’re fighting for.”

Stay connected. Once again, she thought of her mother and her absent father. “I don’t have a family. And I’m still fighting.”

Her expression softened. She reached out to touch her shoulder, thumb on her collarbone. “But you have the memories of them. You have ancestors, you have stories.”

“Sometimes I wish I remembered nothing,” she whispered, stepping back, burning. “Sometimes it seems like that would be so much easier.”

Aeri opened her mouth to reply, but just then Chaeryeong returned, pressing masks into their hands: a fox for Jimin and a plain straw mask for Aeri. Jimin put the mask on, immediately feeling much more comfortable with her face hidden. The dyed wool was scratchy on her cheeks.

They joined the party, Chaeryeong shouting and laughing and dragging Aeri along behind her. A girl she recognized from the stables handed Jimin a cup of the pale wine. It tasted terrible, bitter and sour all at once, but she drank anyway. The wine burned all the way down, a line of heat from throat to belly, and by her second cup Jimin was warm and pleasantly tipsy, bobbing along in her own head. The drums pulsed in her rib cage. 

“Aren’t you glad you came?” said Aeri when they returned to the casks of wine for a third cup. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

“Maybe,” she . “I don’t know. You shouldn’t ask me things like that when I’m swimming in wine.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because I’ll say yes.”

“Maybe there are some things I want you to say yes to.”

Jimin laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“Jimin,” she said, sounding very serious all of a sudden. She caught the movement of , a nervous swallow. “Jimin, I need to tell you something—”

Suddenly, her stomach hardened.

No no no—

“It’s my fault the Princess got hurt,” Jimin blurted out.

The ensuing pause was terrible. Aeri stared at her for a second, confused, and then she shook her head. “Wait,” she said, “wait, what, what are you—Jimin, I really need to tell you—I want to tell you—”

“I told her we need to prepare for the First Hunt,” Jimin barreled on, quiet enough that no one else would hear her over the drums and singing but loud enough, sharp enough, to make Aeri’s mouth snap shut. 

“I’m the one who was supposed to get hit, Aeri,” she said instead. “It’s my fault they she'll be injured in the competition. It’s my fault they thought we were rebels.” She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing desperately that she hadn’t drunk so much wine. “It’s my fault she got hurt.”

Aeri shook her head hard. “You can’t blame yourself—”

“There’s nobody else to blame! It was my fault!”

“Hush, keep your voice down,” she hissed, eyes darting around at the pulsing crowd.She reached out to put her hands on her shoulders, swaying to the music—making it look like they were simply talking and dancing like everyone else. “Jimin. You can’t take that on. You said it was an accident, right? They thought you were rebels?”

“Yes. A stupid goddamn mistake. I can’t believe I was so careless. So stupid.”

Her grip tightened on her shoulders. “You're allowed to own your mistake, Jimin.” Her words were a punch to the gut. “That doesn’t mean we give up. It means we fight harder—we fight to protect the one's we love.”

Jimin thought of her necklace. The red gemstone that lay beneath her shirt even now. Minjeong hadn’t reported her for it, but what if someone else saw?

Jimin looked around the grotto with new eyes. What had been fun and loud and beautiful just moments ago now seemed overwhelming, nauseating, the whole party spinning like a child’s toy, a blur of noise and color and grotesque masks. She needed some fresh air. She needed the ground to stop tilting beneath her feet. She looked out at the mouth of the cave, staring longingly at the cool dark night—and saw it.

A flash of brown eyes.

Someone was watching them.

The shock of it went right through her. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but on instinct, she could guess who it was.

Minjeong.

In a short time, she’d grown to know exactly what it felt like to be watched by her, the way Minjeong’s gaze trailed her when she thought Jimin was busy with a task.

Only, how had Minjeong gotten here so early? Shouldn’t she still be at the council meeting? And why had she followed them? And what would she do, now that she’d seen? And—

“Aeri,” she said, extricating herself from the circle of her arms, “will you get me another drink?”

She sighed. “All right,” she said, and took her cup of wine, heading toward the barrels.

When she returned to their spot near the fire pit, Minjeong was already gone.

***

The second her company drove through the gates and into the courtyard, Minjeong leaped from the caravan. She landed hard, the mud at her shoes and splattering her skirts, and she had never cared less.

“Lady!” one of the guards shouted after her. “Lady, where should we—?” but she never heard the end of his sentence. She was already moving away from the palace and into the thickness of the night, needing to get away, needing to lose herself.

She’d wanted to wander alone. To mentally prepare, perhaps, for the promised arrival of Queen Hyoyeon—the one spot of brightness on the horizon.

But the last thing Minjeong had expected to find at midnight on the barren, rocky beach was a celebration. She’d seen th