Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Value of a Life

I flew back to the palace, the fading light of the setting sun casting long shadows on my path.

My excursion went surprisingly well. Although I couldn’t say with certainty whether Tlazohtzin would adhere to my instructions or reconsider his decision, I remained confident. The revelation of his brother being chosen as the heir on the morrow would cement his determination. Desperation had a way of erasing caution from men’s minds.

By adopting Inkarri’s identity, I also guaranteed that suspicions would fall upon the Sapa should Tlazohtzin be caught. I felt a pang of guilt for manipulating him this way. Unlike those I’d tricked in the past, the man was innocent of any crime besides being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He deserved his father’s inheritance more than his brother.

Alas, necessity knew no law. The Nightlords’ ritual threatened more than Yohuachanca. Loathe as I was to follow my mother’s advice, I resolved to do my best with the means at hand.

The most daunting task still lies ahead: cursing Smoke Mountain itself. Mother promised me her assistance, and for all of my grievances against her parenting I would have to trust her on this one. Four nights remain.

I soared over the palace walls without encountering any resistance. It felt a bit too convenient for my taste. My prison was supposed to keep me in and outsiders out. So why could my spirit travel about so easily?

Activating the Gaze spell in my current form proved mentally demanding, but not impossible. The palace quickly revealed its secrets to me. My fiery eyes revealed intricate lines of light tracing a colossal glyph in the ground; a primitive yet immense representation of a humanoid figure. The palace’s architecture covered its chest and head, while the gardens and walls formed the rest of its anatomy. The Reliquary stood enveloped in Underworld mist on the glyph’s head. The lingering grudges of my predecessors permeated every inch of this monumental barrier.

Of course the palace possessed magical protections against intruders. The desecrated remains of former emperors powered its magic from what I could tell; perhaps that was why the Nightlords began gathering them in the first place. Each new skull added to the pile fortified their successors’ prison.

My predecessors had previously shown the ability to protect my divine Teyolia from detection. If their spirits fueled the palace’s barrier, then they could probably influence it enough to grant me passage.

How ironic. The very spell designed to fend off intruders had inadvertently allowed me to roam about undetected.

I turned my Gaze to the Blood Pyramid and felt a chill run down my spine when I took a closer look. A sinister spiritual miasma born of innumerable sacrifices poisoned the very air around the vile edifice—a monument to malevolence and brutality. Worse, a crimson mystical barrier stronger and more formidable than the one surrounding the palace enclosed the Blood Pyramid. It took on the form of a monstrous beast with expansive crimson wings, menacing horns, and outstretched claws.

A bat.

It’s even better protected than the palace. I doubted I would enjoy the same exemption if I tried to cross that barrier in spirit. I will need to find a way past those defenses.

I remembered my predecessors’ ominous warning. A secret maze sprawled under the Blood Pyramid, a womb of darkness and death. The empire’s cruelest secrets awaited discovery in its depths. It was there that I would uncover the truth behind the fate of the past emperors’ sons.

I was beginning to wonder if the Nightlords raised the imperial palace as a decoy. The secrecy and magical protections surrounding the Blood Pyramid appeared much more extensive than those defending the empire’s seat of government. I didn’t think it was the case—the Sulfur Sun’s creation involved both sites at once—but it implied that the Blood Pyramid’s secret could shake Yohuachanca’s foundations.

But that revelation would have to wait until after the New Fire Ceremony.

I phased back through the palace’s walls and entered its secret passages. I flew past Nightkin lying in concealed corridors without arousing suspicion. Good. Now that I’d confirmed I could travel around the palace relatively undetected, I could think of expanding my operations. I imagined spying on Tezozomoc, my generals, and even my consorts under the cover of an afternoon nap. Wandering the palace in spirit-form would open new opportunities to build my spy network or secretly curse key targets.

I would nonetheless need to stay clear of the Nightlords on these future expeditions. Yoloxochitl had detected my presence in her vicinity the first time I experimented with Spiritual Manifestation. I couldn’t take that risk again.

I slipped back into my room under the cover of invisibility. A good two hours had passed since my departure. Lady Sigrun and Ingrid shared my bed, each positioned on opposite sides of my inert body. The former rested peacefully, exuding the confidence of a queen who had reclaimed her lost throne; the latter, however…

I loomed over Ingrid and studied her face. My consort lay naked by my side, her hands clenched tightly around the bed sheet, her eyes wide and fixated on the nearest wall. Her expression was somber, a stark contrast to the polite smile she usually displayed in public.

Ingrid had allowed herself to lower her guard since she believed me asleep, and I hated what she hid behind her composed facade.

Ingrid’s vacant stare reminded me of that dreadful time I’d caught Eztli gazing at the sun through an obsidian glass window right after we consummated our relationship. That awful look of utter desperation would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Ingrid’s eyes lacked the same depth of despair as Eztli’s, but the similarity hit unsettlingly close to home.

What’s going on with her? I pondered. I had noted a change in Ingrid’s demeanor following her mother’s and my… intimacy, but I had anticipated discomfort at most—not this profound unhappiness. Her pain ran much deeper. She must carry a greater burden than I thought.

Ingrid had claimed that she accepted her fate the last time we discussed their impending sacrifice. That she had made peace with her inevitable death. The notion of resisting her unjust destiny did not seem to enter her mind. Or at least, that was how it looked to me back then. Perhaps she simply hid her anguish better than most.

I could not let her suffer in silence like Eztli.

I reintegrated into my body with no one the wiser. My limbs and fingers felt numb as my spirit slowly regained dominion over them. My weightless wings became heavy arms and my ephemeral talons reverted back to legs bound by gravity’s laws. It took a few seconds for my immaterial soul to grow used to physical sensations again.

It almost felt wrong to become flesh once more.

“Ingrid?” I softly whispered into my consort’s ear.

Ingrid peeked over her shoulder and greeted me with a fake smile. “You are awake, my lord?”

Had I not caught a glimpse of Ingrid’s true self, I would have mistaken her for the very incarnation of contentment. She possessed a real talent for acting. Her reaction reminded me so much of Eztli.

“I am.” I held my tongue and briefly considered how to approach the matter, before opting for bluntness. “What bothers you, Ingrid?”

She feigned confusion. “Nothing, my lord.”

I held her gaze, then put an arm over her waist to pull her closer. She did not resist me. Her back pressed against me, her chest softly rising with each breath. After a moment’s hesitation, Ingrid’s fingers clenched mine. I did not say a word. I simply held her close while she turned to stare at the wall, her fake smile fading away.

Some gestures spoke louder than any word.

I lost track of time as we stayed there, silently intertwined. I knew it wouldn’t last forever. The Nightlords would summon me for their nightly ritual soon. I was content to simply be there for Ingrid until that moment came, offering her my shoulder to cry on. So many emotions danced across her face—fear, anxiety, doubt… Her innate caution clashed with her desire to speak her mind.

“She is already replacing me,” Ingrid murmured, her words so hushed I struggled to hear them.

She? I squinted as I struggled to make sense out of Ingrid’s words. Was she referring to Lady Sigrun? It seemed plausible that Ingrid might harbor resentment over sharing her husband with her own mother. I tried to imagine sharing a woman with my father and…

Ugh. My mind wandered to a dark place I would rather avoid.

Yes, I could imagine why the current situation might bother Ingrid. Still, hadn’t she worked to set up this very situation from the start? I sensed her grievances ran deeper than jealousy or disgust.

Then it struck me.

Ingrid was born to be my consort. She had spent her life confined within these prison’s walls and trained to become my advisor, all in the service of her family’s ambitions.

But Lady Sigrun had swiftly taken her place. By using her own daughter as a stepping stone, she had schemed her way into my council, my bed, and my life. Her subtle magic and her vast network of spies had made her irreplaceable. Ingrid probably felt like a placeholder whose time in the sun had come to an end.

If Lady Sigrun was to assume her roles both in my bed and as my advisor, where would that leave Ingrid? The cruel and rigid imperial system denied her any other purpose.

“No one is replacing you,” I whispered before planting a kiss on her neck. “You’re my favorite.”

It was only half a lie. While I remained closer to Eztli and fond of Nenetl, I would honor my pact with Sigrun. I would lavish Ingrid with praise and attention. This ought to reassure her.

When Ingrid looked at me with the same strained smile as before, I knew I’d missed the mark. Either she did not believe my words, or they failed to reach her at all.

My bedchambers’ doors opened before I had the chance to correct my mistake. Tezozomoc entered with a polite bow, a cadre of silent guards shadowing his steps. “It is time, Your Majesty.”

Lady Sigrun stirred beside me as she roused from her slumber. Ingrid tensed beside me, her body language reminiscent of a child bracing for reprimand. “You should go, my lord,” she urged me. “The goddesses await.”

“Yes, they do,” I replied, doing my best to hide my frustration.

I had to leave just when Ingrid needed me the most.

The sulfur flame burned atop a candle of ashes.

This marked my second night feeding the blasphemous blaze, but it was also the first where I noticed the architectural details. The towering mountain of ashes built from my predecessors’ incinerated remains was bathed in a dark shade of gray akin to tarnished wax. It stood alone surrounded by a moat of boiling black tar reeking of death and decay. The sulfur flame burned with a bright blue light, yet the shadows did not recoil from it. Instead, they seemed to embrace it. Even the pale moonlight appeared to be swallowed by all-encroaching darkness. I did not miss the obvious symbolism.

This accursed candle would not keep the night at bay.

An evil miasma choked the air. An acrid stench of rotten eggs filled my nostrils. The taste of wriggling maggots lingered on my tongue. A suffocating heat pervaded the great hall to the point I started sweating under my cotton robes.

The evil grows stronger with each passing night. The sulfur flame’s size remained unchanged since my last visit, but its intensity grew nonetheless. It appeared stronger, hungrier. A pitch black sphere grew at its core, like the ominous pupil of a baleful eye staring back at me. And something is.

“Come, child,” Yoloxochitl’s voice beckoned, both sweet and revolting all at once. “We are waiting for you.”

We. Once more I would spend the night in the four sisters’ ‘tender’ company. If only I could go back to Lady Sigrun and Ingrid.

I stepped alone on the stone bridge crossing the moat and briefly stole a glimpse at the boiling tar below. Its temperature had increased since my last visit, enough for clouds of noxious smoke to arise from its bubbling surface.

Now that I thought of it, where did the vile substance come from? Was the palace built atop a bottomless pit of it? What purpose did it serve? So many questions filled my mind, and I had few ways to find the right answers.

I brushed these thoughts aside once I caught sight of Yoloxochitl. The Nightlord greeted me at the base of the ashen mountain, cradling a semi-comatose Eztli in a wicked parody of a mother’s embrace. The dark stain on my consort’s lips and the dazed stupor in which her mind seemed lost confirmed my worst fears. Yoloxochitl had once again force-fed Eztli her blood.

By now, hiding my fury beneath a mask of composure had almost become second nature. “Greetings, Mother Yoloxochitl.”

Yoloxochitl’s smile was usually sincere in its madness. So when she welcomed me with strained lips, I immediately knew something was wrong. “Welcome, child.”

She is displeased with me, I realized to my utter terror. Yoloxochitl’s anger always spelled violence and murder. Why? She was singing my praise after I set her cursed flame alight! Did she sense my spirit escaping the palace?

“Have I fallen from your grace?” I asked, feigning the anguish of a lonely child fearful of disappointing their loving parent. “If I have done something wrong, I never–”

“You are faultless, Iztac,” Yoloxochitl reassured me with a tone that implied otherwise. “You are still young, and that witch has ensnared many men before you.”

That witch? Did she mean Lady Sigrun? Did her influence perturb Yoloxochitl somehow?

“Forgive my sister’s sour mood, oh beloved emperor,” a sweet, singing voice said from behind my back. “Losing our wager disappointed her greatly.”

A shiver of unease crawled down my spine as I sensed a loathsome presence looming over me. The shadows lengthened and split to let their masters slither around us. A pack of graceful predators surrounded me, ready to tear me apart at the slightest provocation.

The Nightlords welcomed me without their masked robes on.

I’d regrettably grown familiar with Yoloxochitl and had already seen the Jaguar Woman’s true face the night of the tablet incident, but it was my first time seeing the others in their full splendor.

The red-eyed priests described Iztacoatl as a goddess of beauty. Her divinity might be an illusion, but she was undeniably a breathtaking vision to behold, with her smooth pale skin, her hair as black and lustrous as the night sky cascading over her shoulders, and her exquisite face sculpted to perfection. Her capricious eyes flickered between a vibrant red and a mesmerizing shade of gold, captivating my attention more profoundly than her crown adorned with golden plumes.

All Nightlords enjoyed an inhuman allure, but Iztacoatl eclipsed all her sisters. Perhaps it was the absence of Yoloxochitl’s palpable madness or the Jaguar Woman’s frigid indifference that set her apart, or the way her charming smile somehow concealed the lethal fangs lurking underneath.

Whereas Iztacoatl possessed the same mysterious aura as Lady Sigrun, Sugey reminded me of Chikal. Despite sharing the same hair and eyes with her sisters, her face bore the ruggedness of cured leather and a pronounced jawline. She boasted a musculature rivaling that of my elite warriors and the jaguar-like grace of a trained amazon.

How can such fair faces hide such wicked minds? I had learned the answer to that question when Yoloxochitl unveiled her true, monstrous form to me. These four were no more than hideous nightmares hiding behind a dream’s mask.

“Personally, I am elated with my victory,” Iztacoatl declared as she invaded my personal space, her cold fingers gripping my shoulders with the deceptive gentleness of a jaguar toying with its prey. “You have chosen well.”

“Forgive my ignorance, oh great goddess,” I said while feigning submission. “I do not understand what you refer to.”

“We wagered on which concubine you would choose to bed first. Consorts did not count, mind you. Since Sigrun comes from my personal stock, I have emerged victorious for the fifth consecutive year.” Iztacoatl’s lips moved closer to my ears, though no breath escaped them. “I might reward you for your exquisite taste.”

Like I need a skin rash. In spite of all my efforts, I could not suppress a chill traveling on my skin; a reaction that Iztacoatl maliciously celebrated with a sly chuckle.

Sugey snorted derisively. “Do not get too cocky, sister. That cherished slave of yours is getting on in her years.”

“Sigrun has proven to be my most prolific breeding stock in centuries,” Iztacoatl replied with nonchalance. “She is refined, intelligent, and possesses an exotic allure. Time has only served to enhance her flavor.”

I hid a shudder of revulsion. The Nightlords spoke of Lady Sigrun and myself not as sentient beings, but as livestock. They viewed our lives as nothing more than a source of entertainment and food.

Still, I covered my seething hatred with a facade of pleasantness. “I am sorry, Mother Yoloxochitl. Had I been privy to your wager, I would have chosen differently.”

“No, no, no.” Iztacoatl shook her head. “No cheating.”

“All is forgiven, Iztac,” Yoloxochitl replied with unexpected grace. Much to my frustration, she started playfully stroking the dazed Eztli’s hair like a doll. “I am pleased that you have finally taken steps to pass on your bloodline.”

“Indeed,” the Jaguar Woman said, her cold voice sharper than her sisters. She alone did not acknowledge me, her gaze fixed solely on the sulfurous flame and the mountain of ashes beneath it. “This fire’s glow is proof enough of the high esteem our Dark Father holds for you.”

I doubted the entity I had glimpsed within the sulfurous flame was capable of such sentiments. A mere glance at the cursed fire reminded me of its endless hatred, its insatiable hunger, and its unrelenting loathing for all existence.

Traitors, the entity’s words echoed in my skull. Traitors, traitors, traitors.

“The next year’s rituals will be of paramount importance, as will our impending conquest of the Sapa Empire.” The fact that the Jaguar Woman said conquest rather than war spoke volumes about her supreme confidence. “Opportunities to pass on your precious lineage will be few and far between, Iztac Ce Ehecatl, but you must take them all the same. For your progeny will one day come to rule this earth."

As your slaves? My daughters would become concubines, and my sons would suffer a fate so terrible my predecessors would rather not speak of it. The Nightlord’s promises were as hollow as her future.

“I will do my best,” I lied through my teeth.

“Your current best is not enough.” The Jaguar Woman finally deigned to face me, her icy, calculating stare infinitely more threatening than Yoloxochitl’s madness or her other sisters’ cruelty. “Nochtli the Fourteenth bedded all his consorts in his first week and fathered over forty children over his reign. You clearly do not share his appetite for female companionship.”

“Nochtli the Fourteenth was never threatened with an assassination attempt, my sister. Nor did he ignite our sulfur sun,” Yoloxochitl defended me. “Our dear Iztac does not have time for small pleasures yet.”

“His pleasures are also his sacred duty,” the Jaguar Woman replied, her voice echoing with unwavering conviction. “He is a Nahualli and our era’s prophet. The blood must flow.”

Why were they so obsessed with the emperor’s children? The Nightlords’ single-minded focus on perpetuating imperial bloodlines disturbed me to my core. What would make my sons and daughters so precious to the vampires?

Perhaps I was thinking along the wrong lines. Queen Mictecacihuatl taught me that actions visited on a god’s symbols and representations could affect the deity itself. Imperial princes and princesses might not matter for their individual identities, but what they embodied.

The Nightlords claimed to descend from the First Emperor, or so the tales said. Although said stories were fraught with lies, that part seemed true so far. This meant an emperor’s sons and daughters were symbolically associated with this loathsome quartet of false deities. Maybe the Nightlords derived greater power from their sacrifices than other men and women?

Would I find an imperial grave beneath the Blood Pyramid? Or something even more sinister?

The Jaguar Woman turned to Iztacoatl, her voice sharp as she asked, “How many concubines do we shelter?”

“Nearly three thousand,” Iztacoal replied. "All wet and willing."

The Jaguar Woman responded with a scoff of disdain. “Three thousand is too much. Even should our current emperor lay with a different one each night, he would scarcely grace a tenth of our existing stock.”

“I agree,” Sugey said. “We should cut down on quantity and focus on quality.”

My eyes widened ever so slightly. I understood all too well what the Nightlord meant by ‘cutting down’ numbers.

“The New Fire Ceremony will call for a banquet of blood,” Iztacoatl suggested with eerie enthusiasm. “We could thin their numbers in time for the celebration.”

“No need to wait that long,” the Jaguar Woman replied. “Our sulfur sun thirsts for blood here and now.”

I had to act before these monsters unanimously agreed on feeding thousands to their cursed flame. I cleared my throat just loud enough to command attention, yet soft enough to maintain politeness. Four pairs of eyes instantly fixated on me, the tension in the air as palpable as the edge of a blade.

“If I may plead with you, oh goddesses?” I said, my heart pounding vehemently in my chest as I carefully chose my next words. “It is true that I didn’t have the time yet to see all the beauties the imperial harem has to offer, but I hoped to take my pick after the New Fire Ceremony. I would be loath to see these wonderful women consigned to the flames before I could examine them myself.”

Sugey snorted contemptuously. “Greedy, aren’t we?”

“To offer one’s blood to the Sulfur Sun is the pinnacle of honor,” the Jaguar Woman said. “A tribute will feed our Dark Father in the sky and uphold cosmic harmony.”

I could hardly fathom the nerve of this monster, who so easily pretended to protect the very balance she sought to destroy in her mad grasp for power.

“It is true that while we must ensure the prosperity of our current generation, we must also not neglect those yet unborn,” I argued. “The conquest of the Sapa will come at a great cost of lives. We will need more children to maintain our current population… and the flow of sacrifices."

The Nightlords only craved one commodity. The same thirst for blood motivated them. Moral arguments would fall on deaf ears, but appeals to their long-term self-interest might buy the poor women consigned to the harem at least a temporary reprieve.

"I shall play my part and so will my successor," I promised. "Once I have conquered the Sapa Empire and returned peace to our territories, what other task will the next emperor have other than to sire children? Let him find glory in his progeny, for I will have deprived him of other conquests.”

Iztacoatl erupted into laughter at my boast, and my words brought smiles on Yoloxochitl and Sugey’s lips. Not the kind that inspired dread, thankfully. I took it as a good sign. I believed I had a chance of swaying them, until I checked the Jaguar Woman’s reaction.

She did not smile.

The Jaguar Woman observed me with the chilling calculation I had come to fear most of all. Her unblinking eyes studied my face like a ferocious beast searching for a weakness. My heart pounded faster and faster in my chest. At least the heat would cover the source of my sweat.

“I can hear the frantic rhythm of your heart,” Iztacoatl whispered teasingly into my ear, her voice laced with mockery. “Calm down, puppet emperor. Do you think we will devour you if you displease us?”

“He is wise to fear us,” Sugey noted with a touch of snide arrogance. “Has he finally learned his lesson?”

Yoloxochitl immediately attempted to reassure me. “Your words carry weight, Iztac. We shall take your proposal into earnest consideration.” Her gaze then shifted towards the Jaguar Woman. “What is your stance on this matter, dear sister?”

A tense pressure settled in the hall as her question went unanswered. The Jaguar Woman’s silence was ten times more threatening than all the others’ cruelties combined. I wisely held my tongue. I could tell the wrong remark would trigger a terrible reaction.

“Sister?” Yoloxochitl asked with a hint of concern.

The Jaguar Woman remained focused on me alone as she asked me a question. “What do you think is the value of a human life, Iztac Ce Ehecatl?”

I lowered my gaze, furiously trying to think of an appropriate res–

“I am not interested in what you think I want to hear,” the Jaguar Woman said. Could she read minds? “I want your heart’s answer.”

Curses

. I couldn’t lie my way out of this one. She would see through it in an instant.

“A human life is precious and must be spent sparingly,” I finally answered, “if at all.”

Iztacoatl’s hands slid from my shoulder to cover her mouth as she struggled to stifle a burst of laughter. Her sister Sugey didn’t bother to show the same restraint and swiftly let out a hearty chuckle. Even Yoloxochitl gave me a smile akin to a parent humored by a child’s innocently absurd proclamation.

The Jaguar Woman did not laugh. Not even the faintest hint of a smirk marred her sinister scowl.

I’d made a mistake. I could feel it in my bones. Somehow I’d offended the monstrous tyrant, said the wrong thing, and now she–

“Very well,” the Jaguar Woman said.

My back tensed up. Did my ears deceive me?

“There is no need for us to act with haste on the matter, and you have demonstrated your favor with the divine,” the Jaguar Woman said with a regal, magnanimous tone. “You have swallowed your insolence and learned to put duty ahead of your desires. Obedience carries its rewards. The culling shall wait until another night.”

A fool would have sighed in relief, but not I. The Jaguar Woman had nearly strangled me to death within minutes of my coronation and brutally scared Nenetl to enslave her very soul. She knew nothing of mercy.

Her gracious favor could only hide a gruesome punishment.

“I expect you to dedicate yourself to Yohuachanca’s glory.” The Jaguar Woman looked up at their sulfur flame. “Now, fulfill your duty. Feed the flame with your prayers and offerings.”

“Go,” Yoloxochitl whispered to Eztli upon freeing her from her wicked embrace. My consort nearly stumbled and massaged her forehead as if struggling with a headache, but quickly recovered from her previous stupor.

I knew better than to linger among monsters. I gently took hold of Eztli’s arm and guided her to and then up the hill of ashes. The Nightlords watched our ascent without following us. The cinders burned under my feet.

“Are you holding up, Eztli?” I asked my friend as we climbed the ashen slope.

I expected Eztli to answer with a lie, but her silence caught me off-guard. She looked at the sulfur flame ahead of us without a word. Her tepid fingers would not clutch mine when I squeezed her hand.

“Eztli?” I repeated, more and more worried. “Please, talk to me.”

“I am well,” she lied, hastily wiping Yoloxochitl’s remaining black blood off her lips.

A wave of nausea washed over me. “You do not look that way to me.”

“I am well enough.” Eztli shook her head, her red eyes blazing with anger and resentment. “I do not want to talk about it.”

Every fiber of my being hated seeing her suffer in silence, yet Eztli’s glare stopped me in my tracks the moment I attempted to comfort her again. Why could I curse my foes and travel to secret worlds forbidden to the living, but not help a friend in need?

Reaching the apex of the hill, I positioned myself in front of the Nightlords’ Sulfur Sun. Its warmth offered no solace. I stared at its unnatural blue glow, then briefly dared to look over my shoulder. I saw the Jaguar Woman whispering with her sisters. Whatever they discussed, it seemed to amuse Yoloxochitl and irritate Iztacoatl.

I had the terrible feeling that I would soon discover the source of their argument, much to my sorrow.

I spent this night like the previous one: I whispered empty, meaningless prayers to the sulfur flame. Eztli traveled up and down the hill with the night’s offerings. Instead of blood, she gave me other strange goods to feed to the fire: bones old and new; straw dolls; and death masks. All of them mementos of the dead.

The Nightlords’ Sulfur Sun would feed on the living and the dead.

“Where do you think they go?” Eztli asked after many hours of mind-numbing work.

“What goes where?” I replied.

“The offerings. The flame devours everything we throw at it without spitting out smoke or cinders.” Eztli’s gaze fixated on the fire’s dark core, her expression filled with a haunting contemplation. Something in it chilled me to the bone. “Do our offerings go somewhere far away? Or do they cease to exist when the flame touches them? What do you think is true?”

I remembered the time I dared to look into the cursed fire with the Gaze and the jaws waiting inside it.

“They fall into a stomach,” I answered. “A belly that is never full.”

Eztli nodded slowly, then left to pick more offerings. I caught her muttering a single word as she climbed down, “Disappointing.”

I knelt before the flame and waited for Eztli’s return. I wondered if our task served any purpose at all beyond symbolism. I’d grown weary of it.

At least the dawn would rise soon, then I could go back to sleep and plot the ritual’s end.

The black blot in the fire’s heart pulsed in response. Darkness briefly overtook my vision and swallowed me whole. I heard a dark whisper brush against the walls of my mind and the nauseating sound of gnashing teeth.

Y̵̠͈͖̯͉̲̐̔ő̵̢̢͍̫̞̎̔̈̉̑ͅu̷͚̻̹̗͐͐̇͝r̸̡̨̧̦̘̥̣̦͒́̆̈́̆̑̕͝ ̶̨̛͕̬̠̻̱̤̝̻̱̅̓̋͂̓̒̋̊̐͝ͅͅͅď̴̢̧̫̻͚͇̠̹̮̣͖̬̹̹̜a̸͇͉̝͋̍́̽͑́w̴̝͌̌̈́̑͊͠n̸̨͎̆̏̄̋͑̀̅̿͛̚ ̵̨̦͍͔̩̞͆̃́̉̐́̒̀́͝w̸̪͇̼̹̭͎̭͋́̍̚̕i̷̡͉̼̩̠̟̓l̷̦̖̥̳͍͚̘͕̪̅̒͑̔̑l̸̛͓̬̗̹̘̃̈́̎̆̀ ̶̰̤̣̫͐̋̑̊͂͑̽̎̀͒͘͘͜n̵̨̨̧̜͙̤̦̗͇͎͒̈́ȅ̷̢͙͎̗̼̞͎̮̫̼͈̯̿͛͑̍̋͜v̵̢̨̧̰̫̜̘̠̫̖͆̃͊́̈́̋̉́͛͑̉̅͝ę̷̮̗͓̬͈͙̈́͂̀̐̑̀́̊̊̐̚̕͝ͅr̵̢̖͇͚͍̞̽̂͜ ̴̡̧̘̩̜͓̹̻͈̫̈́̒̚͜c̴̨̱͎̥̤̘̞̺̩̝̦̼̩͈̬̈o̸̢̦͍̟̖̣͕͎͍̟̣̊̌̀̀̚ͅm̷̹̭͙̽̎ͅẻ̵̡̧̹̞̥̬̙̣̜̙͍͍͔̈́́͆͛͊̽͛̏͋͘.

I recoiled in surprise and looked away from the heart’s black core. I hadn’t dared to use the Gaze with the Nightlords in the hall, and I still heard that vile creature in the fire.

“Iztac Ce Ehecatl.” I froze in dread upon recognizing the Jaguar Woman’s voice. She had ascended the hill in a flash. “You have performed well tonight.”

How can she do that? It wasn’t the first time the Jaguar Woman had managed to sneak up on me completely undetected. Could she appear and disappear at will? Or disguise her presence better than any Veil? I needed a way to confirm it.

“I live to serve,” I lied. For death freed me.

“As a token of my gratitude, I shall bestow upon you the gift of wisdom: the value of a human life.” The Jaguar Woman loomed over me. “Turn around.”

I obediently moved away from the flame and glanced at the temple. An audience of Nightspawn had gathered to pray in the light of their Sulfur Sun below… and they had brought mortal guests. The Nightlords had gathered in a circle, with Yoloxochitl holding Eztli close and Iztacoatl laying claim to Ingrid. My two consorts appeared terrified, but not for their own sake.

Their mothers knelt at the mountain’s feet side by side, clothed in the most splendid of dresses. Necahual trembled in place, her hands shaking with abject fear; and while Lady Sigrun portrayed an expression of serene detachment, but her eyes betrayed her disquiet.

“Do you recognize these two?” the Jaguar Woman asked.

I swallowed my fear. “Yes, I do.”

“Are they not akin to night and day?” The Jaguar Woman did not wait for a reply. “Each mother to a consort and each a slave to an emperor. A foreign captive who wields great wealth and prestige; and a poor woman of our people stripped of everything. One bestowed pleasure upon you in exchange for favors; and one who visited pain on you for free. Certainly, you must see the work of fate in bringing them together under this roof.”

My blood ran cold with dread. I could see only one reason why the Nightlords would bring concubines to this wicked place. “Goddess, I do not understand–”

“Oh, I believe you do. You are wiser than most of your predecessors and show great potential.” The Jaguar Woman’s tone never wavered, whether she offered scorn or compliments. "Nonetheless, I sense a detestable frailty in your behavior. A weakness you mistake for a strength."

Her hands clamped onto my shoulders, not with Yoloxochitl’s perverse tenderness or Iztacoatl’s mischievous brutality, but with an assertion of ownership. Her nails sank into my skin, staking her claim over me as her possession. Her puppet. Her tool.

"Human lives have no intrinsic value, Iztac Ce Ehecatl,” the Nightlord said. “Hence it is the emperor's duty to give their existence meaning. One of these two women will be cursed with life. The other will be honored with an illustrious demise. Your will alone shall determine their fate."

“I need them both alive,” I rasped.

“You need neither of them,” the Nightlord replied coldly. “There will always be more women, more men, more thralls. Each of them can be replaced. Your failure to grasp this truth is why they were chosen.”

I looked down on the sacrifices and then at their daughters. All of them stared back, pleading for my mercy.

“Now.” The Jaguar Woman waved her hand at the sacrifices. “Which one of them will you kill?”