Chapter Four: Wed to Death

I received gifts all morning with three strangers and an undead friend watching me over my shoulder.

My coronation had been a bloody affair witnessed by the entire empire. The homecoming ceremony was more lively, with drummers, flutists, and ocarina players playing a delightful melody in the background. A motley assembly gathered in the throne room to swear oaths of fealty and offer gifts. I counted hundreds of them hailing from all four corners of Yohuachanca and beyond. Representatives from old imperial cities and assimilated tribes that varied from regal nobles covered head-to-toe in vibrant feathers and jewels, to tribal chiefs clad in jaguar pelts and cotton armor. The warriors among them wore warpaint and tattoos, though they weren’t allowed to carry weapons in ‘my’ halls. These people were the imperial elite, who had known nothing other than the Nightlords’ yoke.

Newly assimilated tribes followed them in the procession. Tawny chiefs from the northern borderlands, with headdresses of white feathers and embroidered clothes; men and women whose seashell adornments marked them as princes and princesses from the Boiling Sea’s disparate islands; and red-haired amazons from the green jungles to the south wearing little more than pelts and warpaints.

The latter group gave dark, pained looks of utter humiliation to their fellow among my consorts. I shared a little of their sorrow. These were defeated people, conquered tribes whose members fueled the Nightlords’ altars by the thousands a few nights ago. We shared a common kinship.

The last group, the foreign diplomats, was the smallest. Few civilizations survived their first contact with Yohuachanca, and fewer retained their independence afterward. I counted only two delegations: envoys from the Sapa Empire in the southwest and the distant Three-Rivers Federation in the far north. I recognized the former from their llama wool mantles and the sheer weight of gold they carried on their person; the latter wore bison-leather mantles, animal bones, and gray wolf pelts. Their gazes were cautious, even slightly defiant. They alone had survived Yohuachanca’s conquests… for now.

Both the Sapa and the Three-Rivers had only been saved from conquest by their strength and distance from Yohuachanca’s heartland. In time though, the empire would attack them after conquering the tribes acting as buffer states between the realms. Everyone knew it.

I wondered if we could find common ground against the Nightlords… and how many of them understood that I was nothing but a puppet. I could already imagine Tlacaelel’s answer: you are not a puppet, oh great emperor, but the godspeaker whom all mortals fear.

That was true at least. The Nightlords never met with ‘worldly rulers’ directly; their so-called divine dignity made anyone lesser than the emperor unworthy of their presence. As far as the world was concerned, I spoke with their voice and listened with their ears.

One by one, the visitors approached in turn to lay gifts at my feet. Imperial representatives went first. Huitzilampa, a city famous for its flowers, gave away a basket of lush and splendid rare flowers for the gardens. Tonalco’s mines offered chests overflowing with goldwork and a shining mask in my predecessor’s image. Quetzaltenango delivered a finely crafted, leather-bound codex and maps of the empire, which pleased me more than any gold; I might not be able to escape this palace’s walls, but at least I could read about the world beyond them. More gifts followed, each more splendid than the last: handwoven tapestries depicting Yohuachanca’s history, collections of precious ivory horns, ceremonial cups adorned with gemstones, jade sculptures, a collection of bronze bells… one of the noble visitors even presented me their newborn son, asking that I name them myself. I chose ‘Guatemoc’ and thanked him for the honor.

I had never seen so much wealth in my life, and yet I found myself struggling against disinterest by the twentieth offering and vow of fealty. It was hard for me to focus with Eztli standing at my side, so close I could sense her gaze on my shoulder.

I only emerged from my reverie when the newly federated northern tribes presented their own gift: a baby, birdlike animal no taller than a large ocelot. Its body, covered in a soft layer of fluffy brown feathers, possessed minuscule forearms, sturdy disproportionate legs, and a tapered tail. Inquisitive round eyes looked at me above a muzzled, elongated snout and a maw full of fangs. The creature fluttered in excitement, struggling against the rope by which its captors kept it tightly bound to. The beast’s sharp claws scratched the leash.

I shifted in my seat in excitement as I recognized the animal. In spite of its small size, I could see the shadow of the terror it would eventually grow into.

“Is that a baby feathered tyrant?” I muttered.

“Indeed, my lord,” a melodious voice answered on my right. My gold-haired consort leaned in to better whisper into my ears. “I’ve been told that this specimen is two years old.”

My consorts weren’t allowed to sit for this ceremony. Instead, they stood next to my throne and whispered in my ear. Before we began, Tlacaelel told me their names: the gold-haired girl with the singing voice was Ingrid; her foreign name sounded unlike anything I’d ever heard. The amazon went by the name of Chikal, and my fellow Nahualli by Nenetl.

And then, of course, there was Eztli. “What name will you give him, Iztac?” she whispered in my left ear. Her voice sounded so familiar, so coy, so friendly, yet I couldn’t hear her breath. “May I suggest Xolotl?”

My head snapped in her direction in shock, much to her amusement. Her smile was so much like Eztli’s, so full of life. Only instead of warmth her red eyes put ice in my veins. “Why that reaction?” she asked me with a chuckle. “You don’t like it?”

Does she know? I tried to keep a blank face. I suddenly realized my mistake. No, it’s just a joke. Don’t give anything away.

“Xolotl, the guide of the dead?” Nenetl chewed her lip anxiously. She stood on my left too, but as far from Eztli as protocol would allow. “Is it not… dreadful?”

“Will he not send men to the Underworld when he is grown?” Eztli replied mirthfully. “Should we not honor the gods this way?”

Chikal the amazon clenched her jaw at her fellow consort’s words, but said nothing. I seized on the opportunity to know her better and turn my head away from Eztli. “What would you suggest?”

Chikal considered her words a few seconds before answering. From that alone, I could tell she was more thoughtful than the others. “This creature is untested in battle, Lord Emperor,” she replied with a deep, bellowing voice and a guarded tone. “I would suggest a humbler name.”

“Why not name him after your father, my lord?” Ingrid suggested with a warm smile. “You would honor your family.”

What a good suggestion. I nodded sharply and turned my attention upon the dignitaries. “I accept this gift with warmth,” I said, trying to sound regal the best I could. I had absolutely no idea what was proper in this environment, and I didn’t care too much. “I shall name it Itzili, after my father.”

The dignitaries bowed and took my feathered tyrant away to the menagerie. It saddened me a little. These animals usually took a decade to grow to full size, and I was unlikely to live that long.

Representatives from the Boiling Islands followed soon after, offering me chests full of chili peppers, spices, and polished conch shells. “They offer a fine tribute,” Ingrid murmured with a small frown. “But my lord emperor should demand more to show strength. The islanders did not submit easily.”

Nenetl showed them more empathy. “Should we not forgive them?” she asked with gentle eyes full of compassion, though she spoke so low I struggled to hear her. “Their people have been decimated by the blood sacrifices… this may be all they can afford.”

Chikal nodded in agreement. “To forgive them would show your wisdom, Lord Emperor.”

I observed the islanders, who avoided my gaze in fear. They too had suffered a heavy toll at the Nightlords’ hands. I would not increase their burden. “I accept your gifts,” I said. And I hope you will remember this if I ever call upon you.

Could these people even become good allies? They looked beaten and defeated. But then again, I had to pretend to be the same.

The amazon tribes followed with their gifts; eight nubile red-haired girls wearing nothing except for loincloths and tattoos. All were around my age, with fully formed breasts, strong muscles, fair faces, and sparkling eyes. Much to my shame, my cock erected a bit beneath my robes at the sight; though I managed to hide it by crossing my legs. Damn it, I wasn’t used to seeing so many women half-naked…

“Oh great emperor, we offer you the daughters of the south as wives,” a red-haired crone said, her voice cracking a bit. “One princess of each tribe.”

The eight women avoided my gaze, like everyone else; but they couldn’t hide their shaking fists, their trembling fingers, or their clenched jaws. They didn’t want to be here. No more than I did.

Instead of answering immediately, I gestured to Chikal, inviting her to approach. “What is the meaning of this?” I asked her, so low only the other consorts could hear.

Chikal’s lips strained slightly. “To offer a woman to a male is a tribe’s greatest gift,” she declared diplomatically. “For it means the daughters born of the union will strengthen the tribe as a whole.”

I didn’t need years of political training to read between the lines: these tribes had been crushed and had surrendered unconditionally. To have their princesses shipped as wives to their conqueror was a complete and utter humiliation.

I considered how to answer, before realizing this could be a wonderful opportunity to gather allies… or at least buy some goodwill.

“I appreciate the gifts,” I told the amazons loud enough for the entire throne room to hear. I then waved a hand at my consorts. “But as you can see, I have enough wives already.”

Tlacaelel, who stood in a corner, smiled cruelly. “Do you reject the gift, oh great Godspeaker?”

The amazon ambassadors froze, as did Chikal. No doubt they expected punishment on my part. I decided to disappoint them all.

“I will keep these daughters of the jungle, but not as wives.” Would they respond well to flattery? It didn’t cost me anything to try… “Amazons are famed for their skills at warfare, so they shall join my family’s personal guard. They shall protect my consorts from harm.”

One of the eight was so shocked that her head snapped in my direction, before swiftly lowering it upon recognizing her mistake. Chikal glanced at me with a puzzled look, before offering a sharp, thankful nod. She appreciated the gesture.

Tlacaelel squinted at me, but kept his mouth shut. Did that bastard already suspect me of trying to gather allies? I had to eliminate him somehow in a way that couldn’t be traced back to me. A talon to the throat would fill me with satisfaction, but it would give my Tonalli away. Should I use poison, maybe? I did glean a few tips from watching Necahual work with herbs…

An idea hit me like a lightning bolt.

Would she agree to help? I wondered. Necahual hated me, but she probably hated the Nightlords’ servants even more now. Or at least I would in her situation. The possibility that she might betray me remained. I need leverage.

That could wait though. The foreign dignitaries followed with their own gifts. The Three-Rivers lead ambassador bowed before me, his shell jewelry reflecting the light of the torches. His assistants unveiled exquisitely crafted pottery filled to the brim with colorful feathers.

“Feathers hold great importance among the Three-Rivers tribes, my lord,” Ingrid whispered to me. “The blue ones symbolize friendship, and the green ones wealth.”

“So they offer a fruitful friendship?” I asked, the nuances lost on me.

Ingrid smiled warmly. “My lord is wise.”

I had heard enough of Tlacaelel’s flattery to recognize unearned praise. Of the four consorts, she was the one most eager to get into my good graces. It made me distrust her a bit, though I did not show it.

I accepted the gift, though I promised nothing in return; I knew all too well the Nightlords might demand these people’s submission in the near future. The Sapa representatives followed soon afterward and contrasted starkly with the other delegation; whereas the Three-Rivers showed humility in their garments, the Sapa ambassadors reveled in their ostentatious gold jewelry. Perhaps they intended to show their wealth.

If so, they succeeded. Their gift was the most impressive of them all.

I watched on, mesmerized, as half a dozen slaves dragged a massive stone tablet through the throne room. Over ten feet in height and half as wide, the artifact appeared as ancient as it was beautiful. Carved from black volcanic stone common in the south, its metal-plated surface represented a familiar view of the night sky. Silver stars and constellations were etched around an obsidian stone circled with gold at the center, which represented an eclipsed sun.

“The Lords of the Sapa wish to offer you this Chaskarumi, oh great Yohuachancan Emperor,” the Sapa ambassador said in our language. “Our masters use these star tablets to predict the motion of constellations.”

I did not answer. There was something… something strange about this tablet. Something magical. The way the silver stars glimmered in the hall’s filtered light, the way the constellations’ patterns shifted slightly depending on the angle at which I looked at them… I could feel my Tonalli waking in the depths of my soul. My slumbering magic reacted to this tablet somehow.

Tlacaelel noticed my fascination. “Are you trying to curse our emperor with foreign magic?” he asked the ambassadors with a smile that wasn’t one. “How brazen of you.”

The Sapa ambassador smirked ruefully. “I am sure no earthbound magic could affect your gods’ true prophet.”

The reply appeared polite, almost tactful, but I immediately picked up on an important detail: the ambassador didn’t say ‘the gods’ but ‘your gods.’ The Sapa did not worship the Nightlords.

Ingrid eagerly leaned in closer to me to offer advice. “You should accept the gift, my lord,” she said. “Show you are above such trivialities. Disinterest is the greatest insult. By lowering yourself to their level, you weaken your authority.”

I thanked her with a sharp nod, though she clearly missed the supernatural subtleties of this gift. This tablet did have power. I could feel it in my bones. Was it cursed as Tlacaelel said, or blessed? Whatever the case, anything that annoyed the eunuch brought me joy.

“You are correct, ambassador,” I said. “No foreign magic will affect me. Nonetheless, your gift is appreciated.”

“We hope it shall inaugurate a long-lasting friendship between our people.” The ambassador bowed graciously. “One that will mutually benefit our realms.”

I hoped so too. If I couldn’t find allies inside the empire, I would have to look for them outside our borders.

By the time the ceremony concluded, the day was already half-spent. Priests dismissed the various representatives without giving me a chance to talk with them in private. I quickly realized little could happen in the palace without oversight.

“Oh divine emperor, our cooks have prepared a wonderful midday meal for you and your consorts,” Tlacaelel said. “A roasted young longneck on a bed of potatoes.”

“Will you attend?” I asked him as I rose from my throne. I tried to hide my joy when he answered no. The less I saw this half-man, the better. “What am I to expect from days going forward?”

As it turned out, emperors followed a pretty busy schedule: after dressing up at dawn and breakfast, I would immediately hold a morning council where my advisors and I were expected to oversee the empire’s day-to-day affairs, prepare military campaigns, launch construction projects… in short, do the Nightlords’ work for them. Then I would hold an audience to receive petitions, collect tributes, and judge cases. After a midday meal, most of the afternoon was free for me to enjoy as I wished, though I was expected to occasionally show my face at festivals, ball games, or oversee army drills.

“The day will conclude with nightfall religious rituals, where you must offer gifts to the Nightlords and purify the empire’s sins.” Tlacaelel smiled ear to ear. “This is of paramount importance to maintain your connection to the gods and their divine favor.”

I would have to report to my captors each night. I tried to hide my joy at this wonderful prospect.

Cold arms fell on my shoulder and sent a chill down my spine. “Don’t worry, Iztac,” Eztli whispered behind me. She leaned against my back until I felt her chin brushing against my neck. “I will be there to protect you.”

I slowly glanced over my shoulder and met her crimson eyes. Her face and smile were so gentle, so familiar, but her gaze…

“What’s wrong?” Eztli’s gentle smile hid her fangs well. I noticed the other consorts watching the scene unfold at the periphery of my gaze, either too frightened or unsettled to intervene. “Do I look so good that you are left speechless?”

I wondered if I should lie, but… I didn’t have the strength to.

“I watched you drink your father to death,” I said flatly. Nenetl, who had been close enough to hear, put a hand on her mouth to hide her horror.

Eztli blinked briefly, as if struggling to remember an unimportant detail. “Oh.” She nodded to herself. “That.”

I detected not even the slightest hint of disgust. Only passing acknowledgment, and then nothing.

“Do not worry, Iztac,” Eztli said with a giggle, as if sharing a joke. “He’s still inside me.”

The Parliament’s warnings echoed in my mind: that the vampire kiss denied its victims an afterlife. I glanced at Eztli’s stomach, my heart skipping a beat as I imagined Guatemoc’s soul wiggling in her intestines.

I… I didn’t know how to respond to that. Eztli waited for me to find my words, and awkwardly let me go when I didn’t. I could tell my reaction bothered her as much as her words unsettled me.

Servants guided us to a council room upstairs close to my bedchambers. Much like the rest of the palace, the chamber was a study in opulence with its polished marble floor covered in jaguar rugs, its cotton curtains, and massive obsidian windows offering a splendid view of the gardens outside. A large granite table stood in its center with five matching wood chairs. A tremendous feast of food and drink awaited us: fresh avocados as appetizers, spicy salsa and tomatoes, maize soup, potatoes, and of course, the roasted baby longneck Tlacaelel so eagerly promised. The animal sat atop the table with its insides filled with vegetables. Servants swiftly began to cut it up and serve us beverages, including fruit juices and frothing chocolate drinks.

Though this was more food than I had seen in my entire life, I focused more on my fellow eaters. Their reactions told me much. Ingrid quickly chose the chair next to mine, as if fearful someone else would steal it; Eztli sat on my other side, far from the obsidian window; Chikal moved next to Ingrid, her eyes observing me warily; and Nenetl, who had hesitated, found herself forced to take the last seat available.

Ingrid was eager to please me. Eztli already possessed vampiric instincts. Chikal assessed me cautiously. And Nenetl was a wallflower. Who was my friend among them, and who was my foe?

After a few seconds, I realized they were all waiting for me to begin the feast. I relieved the tension by grabbing a slice of the longneck. Ingrid chose the same plate I did, Chikal ate with regal restraint, and Nenetl stuck to the vegetables. Only Eztli did not touch a meal. She had already drunk her fill of blood earlier.

“Ingrid,” I said. The gold-haired girl immediately appeared pleased that I paid attention to her first. “Forgive my curiosity, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard a name like yours.”

“There is no fault to forgive my lord,” Ingrid reassured me with a pleasant smile. I had to admit she looked quite lovely. “My mother comes from a distant land. She gave me the name Ingrid for it means ‘beloved’ in the Runetongue of her home.”

The Runetongue? I had never heard of this language. “Did she come from the north?”

“My mother hails from a cold land to the east,” Ingrid replied with a hint of pride. “Far beyond the Boiling Sea and the ocean beyond it.”

That drew my full attention. I completely forgot about the delicious meat and my vow of caution. The tales of the world beyond the sea had always fascinated me. “What’s its name?” I asked. “What is it like?”

Ingrid chuckled at my sudden interest. “My mother calls it the Winland, though I’ve never seen it,” she explained. I noticed that Nenetl was also listening rapturously, while Chikal and Eztli both appeared a little more wary. “It is a land of snowy meadows and sailors, who ride ships of wood into the stormy sea.”

“Interesting,” Eztli said, her lips playful. “How did your mother end up in Yohuachanca then? The Boiling Sea burns away most ships, does it not?”

“It does.” Ingrid’s smile strained a bit. “Mother’s boat was shipwrecked. She and others were rescued by Emperor Moctezuma the Fifth, who fell in love with her and sired me.”

“You’re…” Nenetl gulped slightly. “Sorry… are you a princess?”

“Indeed I am,” Ingrid replied proudly, though she quickly focused her attention back on me. “I’ve only ever known this palace. I know it like the back of my hand. Would you like me to show you around, my lord?”

“It would please me,” I replied politely. I should question the Parliament of Skulls about Ingrid tonight; her father had to be among the ghosts.

Chikal, who had listened in silence so far, set her drink aside. “Did your mother ever try to return to her homeland, Ingrid?”

“Why would she?” Ingrid replied with a sly grin. “Yohuachanca is our home.”

Did she truly mean it, or was she just saying these words for the sake of the servants serving us food? I briefly glanced at them, wondering how many reported what they heard to Tlacaelel. “What about you, Chikal?” I asked the amazon. “Where do you come from?”

Chikal set her beverage on the table with poise. “I once led the tribe known as Chilam in the southeast,” she explained. Only then did I realize she spoke with a near-perfect Yohuachancan accent except for her deep intonations; if I was blind, I could have mistaken her for a native. “We lived in a city deep in the jungle.”

Chilam, Chilam… the name felt familiar, though it took me a while to remember it. “Chilam was conquered last year,” I muttered in remembrance. “Alongside its sister-city, Balam.”

Chikal nodded sharply. “Your predecessor routed us in battle, but we fought well enough to earn the favor of the Nightlord Sugey. My tribe was spared the altars on the condition that I become your loyal consort and general, Lord Iztac.”

So we shared a common plight. Still, one word bothered me. “My general?”

“As Lady Sugey’s pick, I will advise you on military matters,” Chikal explained with a blank, unreadable face. “I will help organize campaigns, serve as your aide, and lead armies in the field if you ask it of me.”

My jaw clenched in sympathy. The Nightlords would force her to enslave more tribes, as her own had been conquered. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Chikal shrugged. “Woe to the conquered,” she said. “I am not bitter with this arrangement. It shall secure my tribe’s survival.”

She has accepted defeat, I realized. She fought, lost, and submitted. It upsets her to see her tribe brought low, but it’s still better than death.

Was there still some fight left in her, buried under her resentment? What would it take to unearth it?

“Is it true you amazons do not have males?” Eztli asked. The fact the mere sound of her voice unsettled the other consorts appeared lost on her. “Or is it a myth?”

“We only use males for the purpose of reproduction,” Chikal replied. “All our children are born female, so we must find men from outside our tribes.”

Eztli raised an eyebrow. “And how did you court them?”

There was a dangerous edge to Chikal’s smile. “We defeated tribes in battle and captured their men.”

On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t pity her tribe too much. I realized Chikal didn’t mind serving Yohuachanca because she would keep up with her kind’s practices; only on a much larger scale.

Which left only one consort a mystery. Nenetl blushed when she felt my gaze on her. “I, uh…” she cleared her throat and fidgeted on her seat. “I am nothing special, my lord.”

“That’s wrong,” Eztli said with a chuckle. She grabbed a strand of Nenetl’s white hair, causing her to squeal. “I’ve never seen someone with the same hair as Iztac.”

“I…” Nenetl’s hands moved to her lap and her eyes turned to face the ground rather than us. “I… I was born cursed, yes.”

My blood boiled in my veins. “Don’t say that,” I snapped. My angry tone caused Nenetl’s back to stiffen. “That’s just stupid superstitions.”

Nenetl opened her mouth to argue, but then swiftly closed it. “I’m…” she gulped. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

“For what?” I questioned her, utterly puzzled. Did she… “Wait, do you actually believe such stupidity?”

Her meek silence was an answer in itself.

I stared at my fellow Nahualli, utterly speechless. It had never occurred to me that someone in my situation wouldn’t struggle back against the superstitions that bound us. But I should have known that if one repeated a lie often enough, it became believable. I fought back the urge to shake Nenetl like a tree and bring her back to her senses.

At least she seems nice, I thought. I felt the most sympathy for Nenetl as a fellow victim of popular superstitions. Ingrid was a transparent flatterer, though I wondered what she aimed to gain from cozying up to me. Chikal was experienced, maybe even dangerous. And Eztli…

After the meal, Ingrid swiftly put a hand on my arm. “Will you let me show you around the palace this afternoon, my lord?”

I blushed a bit. Her fingers were warm and smooth, and I was unused to a beautiful young woman showing interest in me; even the rather insincere kind. “I would appreciate it,” I said. Especially the gardens. “Perhaps you and Nenetl can show me around.”

I didn’t miss the slight flash of displeasure in Ingrid’s eyes. Bringing a tagalong didn’t fill her with joy.

“Me?” Nenetl asked in surprise. “I, uh… I don’t know much about the palace…”

“Good, then you will benefit from it.” I turned toward Chikal. “Would you mind welcoming our new guards instead of joining us?”

“Your will is my command, Lord Emperor,” Chikal replied politely.

“I will pass on the visit, Iztac,” Eztli said with a smile, her body meshing with the shadows in the room. “The day is not my time. We’ll meet again at nightfall.”

I wasn’t looking forward to it.

I spent the afternoon on a pleasant stroll.

Ingrid held my arm in her own as she guided me through the gargantuan palace and its even larger gardens while Nenetl shadowed us alongside a cadre of red-eyed guards. The latter often switched with others, but we couldn’t step into any room without half a dozen of them trailing us. Ingrid seemed as annoyed by their presence as I was, though she proved quite the gracious guide.

“The garden’s flowers come from all corners of the empire,” she explained as we walked along stone pathways meandering through lush foliage and exotic plants. The silence around us contrasted neatly with the palace’s bustling activity. For a moment, I could convince myself I had fled civilization to enter a primeval forest unknown to man. “Each part of the garden is carefully arranged to represent one of Yohuachanca’s provinces. See the flowers on your right?”

I followed her advice and gazed upon a radiant array of light purple dahlias. Their fragrance almost covered the stench of blood radiating from the red-eyed guards trailing us.

“These are called the emperor’s blooms,” Ingrid explained while squeezing my arm. “Emperor Moctezuma the First loved them so much he put them on display everywhere in the palace, hence the name. Their tubes are used to transport water and their petals can heal illnesses.”

“I’m impressed by your knowledge,” I said sincerely. Ingrid knew the name of almost all the garden plants and the menagerie’s many beasts. I never knew large snakes from the jungle were called ‘boas’ until she told me.

“My lord flatters me.” Ingrid’s laugh was like falling water, clear and crystalline. “As Iztacoatl’s representative, I have been trained to advise you on matters of diplomacy, arts, and culture. With my advice, your name—and that of the empire—shall echo forevermore.”

She is hungry, the breeze whispered into my ear. For fame, for power, for respect. She has her mother’s hunger, and she will bite rather than starve.

Couldn’t the Yaotzin’s warnings be less cryptic? Then again, it sought payment according to the Parliament. Like any good merchant, it tempted me, teased me, but wouldn’t deliver until I showed the money.

“I hope my name will be associated with greater things than flowers.” Like killing the Nightlords, for example. “What about you, Nenetl? What is your specialty?”

Nenetl, who had been smelling the flowers, suddenly stiffened. “Me?”

“Who else?” Ingrid asked with a displeased tone.

“I… I have been told I should help you with imperial governance, Lord Iztac.” The more Nenetl spoke, the redder she became. “I can help you count the tributes, or with the administration… if you don’t like to read papers, I can do it for you… see how to build bridges too… Everyone loves bridges.”

She is like clay, soft and weak and easy to twist, the wind whispered. She will become either your puppet or someone else’s, bound by love’s cruel strings.

“As for the… Nightkin…” Ingrid cleared her throat, as if the very word inflicted pain upon her. “I assume she will assist you with matters related to religion and the gods’ justice.”

I quickly noticed a pattern; each of the Nightlords’ chosen represented their own focus. Sugey loved war and her representative was a fallen warrior-chieftain. Iztacoatl, who loved her spies and artistic displays, chose Ingrid. The Jaguar Woman, a sorceress and first among equals, chose a Nahualli with a focus on administration. Only Yoloxochitl’s pick differed a bit from the norm. Was there a reason behind these choices? The Parliament did mention their ritual strengthened their magic…

In any case, Ingrid’s visit proved fruitful in mapping out the palace. The upper floors were mostly recreational areas dedicated to the emperor, his harem, and his core court. The middle floors contained administrative centers, libraries, and barracks. Lower servants languished on the ground floor alongside kennels, kitchens, and other facilities. In time, I might find a way to put this information to use.

Our stroll through the gardens led us to an elegant fountain in the middle of an artificial grove of trees. The sunset reflected in pools of clear water; I would have loved the view if it didn’t announce the coming of the night and its horrors.

“If I may be so bold, my lord.” Ingrid rested her head on my shoulder. I froze upon sensing her warm breath on my neck. “Inviting the amazons to join our guard might have been a mistake.”

I squinted at the fountain. “How so?”

“They’re likely to be loyal to Chikal,” she whispered. “They will spy on you… and us.”

I didn’t care which consort the guards reported to, so long as it wasn’t the Nightlords. “You would rather pick your own guards?”

“I would rather my lord pick those he trusts,” Ingrid replied with a cunning smirk. So would I, but I trusted no one within these walls. “My lord was wise to curry favor from outsiders, but I would suggest recruiting from a… wider pool.”

I didn’t quite understand what she was suggesting, so I kept my mouth shut and listened. Thankfully, Ingrid proved quite the talker. “The Chilams are a powerful tribe, but they share some bad blood with a few rivals. Settlements they plundered also have no cause to love them. Though they have made peace under your empire’s guidance, they would certainly relish the idea of sending their daughters to protect you from the Chilams’ influence.”

“Wouldn’t that just create more bad blood?” I asked. The subtle politics of the situation escaped me, but from what I gathered she was suggesting that I import outside conflicts into the palace. I wasn’t sure I needed more distractions.

“It would keep the Chilams in check,” Ingrid countered. “And by bestowing honors on rival tribes, you will earn their gratitude and force the Chilams to work more to stay in your good graces. By setting yourself as an arbiter, you would gain more respect and influence.”

Chaos is the wellspring of power, the wind said. But its waters are poisoned.

That… that did sound somewhat interesting. The more allies I could cultivate, the more options I would have to oppose the Nightlords down on the line. Yohuachanca was built on the blood of crushed people; perhaps I could use their resentment to destabilize the empire from within? The more troubles the Nightlords faced to keep their dominion in one piece, the more leeway I would have. But chaos meant war. Innocents would pay the price for it.

“I’ll admit I don’t know much about Yohuachancan rivalries,” I said. I needed to learn more to see what could be done.

Ingrid’s smile widened. “I would be glad to advise you on these matters.”

She was ambitious, this one. But was that a bad thing? If she hoped to gain my favor by strengthening my position, we would both benefit from it. I did wonder what she was hoping to gain though. At the end of the year, we would all end up in the same place.

“I will think about it,” I replied evasively. The sun was about to fully set. “Might you and the others give me a moment alone? I would like to smell the flowers and prepare myself to meet the goddesses.”

“Of course, my lord.” Ingrid released my arm and offered me a polite bow. “I hope you find the clarity of mind you seek.”

So did I. I wandered away from the group and closer to a grove of orchids. Of course, in my prison, I was never truly alone; my consorts and guards watched me from afar. Albeit far enough not to hear my whispers.

For the wind was still blowing in my ear. Hungry for blood and secrets.

I searched among the flowers for one that would serve my needs. Thankfully, the palace’s gardeners thought it wise to raise nopal cacti close to the orchids; its pads and fruits added texture to the landscape. I kept my back to the guards so they wouldn’t see me subtly pricking my index finger on the thorns and then offer a drop of blood to the wind.

“I have seen Nezahualcoyotl and Chimalpopoca, two boys at my school, kissing and fucking in the toilets,” I whispered under my breath. “Although Chimalpopoca is fiancé to Ciceptl, who loves him very much and knows nothing of his indiscretion. I heard him mock her, for a woman can’t fight. He only intends to marry her for her father’s farm, then abandon her as soon as he gains honors as a warrior.”

I felt dirty sharing this information. Those two had never done anything cruel to me at school, except giving me the cold shoulder. But the Yaotzin would only accept a secret that would hurt another.

The breeze grew heavier as my Augury spell activated. I felt a malicious, unseen presence watching over my shoulders. The Yaotzin, the wind of chaos, accepted my offer. Ask a question, it whispered in my ear, and we shall answer it.

I had so many questions. Whom could I trust among the consorts? What was Ingrid planning? Was Nenetl truly the meek, self-hating girl she pretended to be? I knew the spell’s limits: the greater the secret I gave away, the more I would learn. The information I provided was minor, so I couldn’t hope for much, and I wanted to test the spell before asking for truly important information.

A glance at the cacti sharpened my focus. The gardens were full of poisonous flowers, and the menagerie housed enough snakes to frighten the hardiest warriors. An expert would have an easy time harvesting venom.

Someone like Necahual.

I’d also seen her brew potions to help others sleep. If I could learn the recipe, or have her cook more for me, it would help me maximize my time in the Underworld; where I would gather the real power.

Thinking of recruiting Necahual left a sour taste in my mouth. I disliked her, but she was the only person in this palace I knew wouldn’t be a thrall of the Nightlords; not after watching one of them steal her daughter, order her husband’s murder, and nearly kill her as well. However, I required insurance against betrayal. Leverage.

I muttered my answer under my breath, while careful to word it precisely. “What secret would make Necahual my loyal accomplice?”

The breeze answered with Necahual’s voice. “I love you, Itzili.”

She whispered my father’s name to the wind once, and now it echoed into my ear.

“No, do not look at this woman… she is cursed… she will destroy you…” I heard sobs and pained moans. “Why did you abandon me? Why did you saddle me with that drunkard? I would have given you… everything…”

Necahual had loved my father. She married Guatemoc because society demanded it of her, but he had been a second choice; my mother bewitched the man of her dreams. For a brief moment, I actually felt pity for the hag. The wound went deeper than superstition alone. When she looked at me, she saw not only a cursed beast, but the embodiment of her failed dreams.

The wind whispered more words into my ear. “That witch Ichtaca… she is a sorceress… I will prove it… where is she going so late into the night… what is…”

Necahual’s words grew fearful.

“What is she doing with that child?” the echo whispered, the words now little more than terrified muttering. “What… What are you, Ichtaca? You’re not… you’re not human…”

Another voice cold as ice echoed in the wind, alongside the flapping of wings and an owl’s screech. “You tell anybody what you’ve seen, and they’re dead.”

I froze in shock. A litany of curses followed.

“Your husband? Itzili? You tell them and they’re both dead. You tell anybody what you’ve seen and you’re dead. I will kill you. I will kill your unborn daughter. I will rip the soul from your flesh and entomb it below ground, among the dead suns and the screaming ghosts.”

The Yaotzin had teased me once about the darkness inside Necahual’s heart, the ugliness buried deep inside her. Now the wind laid it bare in all its cruelest details.

“I saw him play with my daughter near the river…” Necahual’s ghostly voice broke in shame and fear, her words raw with humiliation. “They looked so much like Itzili and I… why did the gods give him his father’s face… and saddled it with that… that feathered thing’s eyes… my poor Eztli… stay away from him… stay away from him!”

The last screech made me recoil in surprise. I nearly stumbled backward on the flowers, and caught myself at the last second.

“Lord Iztac!” Nenetl reacted first and hurried to my side; though Ingrid quickly outpaced her.

“My lord, are you well?” Ingrid asked, suddenly all worry and concern. “Is something the matter?”

“I… I pricked my finger.” I clenched my fist and chewed my lip to better hide my disgust. “It’s nothing.”

Nothing but the truth, the wind taunted me.

What was that… that cold voice? Could it have been my mother? And if she spoke of dead suns, then did that mean…

She is still down there, flying with jet-black wings on cursed winds, the Yaotzin confirmed. A thief of souls, hunting for secret doors and stairways into the silent dark.

My mother was like me. A Tlacatecolotl.

And I would find her in the Land of the Dead Suns.