Blood & Fur

Chapter Nineteen: Witch's Dawn

The more the author wrote about Tlaloc, the less flattering the portrait of the god became.

Tlaloc prizes the suffering of children, as he resents never bestowing his seed upon Xochiquetzal’s fertile womb. The tears of the young are his favored drink, their hearts his delicacy. In ancient times, tribes sacrificed the young atop mountains in his name by drowning them in water. It matters not to mighty Tlaloc whether those sacrificed are men or beasts; so long as they are taken before their life can truly begin.

Any god who requested human sacrifices was unworthy of worship; I had said as much to Mictantecuhtli. I refused to go against this belief, even for the sake of earning Tlaloc’s embers.

“Is Tlaloc truly so…” I looked up at Queen Mictecacihuatl. Now that my deal with Xolotl had been struck, he had left to return to his duties and left me with his mistress. “Cruel?”

Queen Mictecacihuatl let out a sigh. “Alas, my brother Tlaloc is much like the storms he rules over. His passions and excesses know no moderation.”

That was one way to put it. At least the next paragraph indicated that Tlaloc welcomed sacrificed children into his paradise in Tlalocan after they perished in his name. As if offering them a good afterlife somehow erased the sin of their murder.

The more I read about Tlaloc, the more he reminded me of Yoloxochitl. Mad and dangerous to know.

I did not wish to stain my hands with more innocent blood, let alone screaming babes, but how could I earn Tlaloc’s favor then? The tome did not list any other gift that might warrant his attention, and the text warned me thoroughly against approaching the god with an offer for trade. I could not deal with Tlaloc as I did with Mictantecuhtli. While the latter had been fair and willing to exchange a service for a service, the former would react with hostility.

I could try to steal the embers if all else failed, or trick Tlaloc into giving them away… but robbing a god who had burned an entire world to cinders in a fit of rage struck me as madness. Moreover, I would still need his guidance to enter the next layer. I considered all my options, trying to find a solution that would let me deal with Tlaloc without compromising my principles.

Wait… perhaps I was looking at it the wrong way. So far I had considered approaching Tlaloc on my own while praying to make a good impression—an unlikely prospect.

My eyes looked up to the sky. The crying sun of Mictlan rained purple tears upon the land below, mourning for the lost mankind she convinced her husband to let her create.

“Clever owl,” Queen Mictecacihuatl commented. She had guessed my intentions. “Indeed, when our brother wallowed in grief and fury, Chalchiuhtlicue mended his wounded heart. Now that they have become the suns of two dead worlds, they can only reunite on rare occasions when the cosmos aligns. He will not deny her emissary anything.”

Tlaloc wasn’t the one I needed to court. Much like how Mictecacihuatl’s favor earned me an audience with her husband, I needed to convince Chalchiuhtlicue to support me in my quest.

However, I immediately realized the problem.

“My Queen,” I whispered, staring at the sky. “How does one speak with the sun?”

The goddess laughed back at me. “You are looking the wrong way, Iztac.” She pointed a finger at my chest. “Search inside, not up.”

I did not ponder the queen’s words for long. I had welcomed Chalchiuhtlicue’s embers within my Teyolia and built a connection with her through them. Perhaps I could establish a direct line of communication with the fourth sun through meditation.

“Be mindful that Chalchiuhtlicue is in many ways my opposite,” Queen Mictecacihuatl advised me. “Where my husband and I preside over death, Tlaloc and her oversee fertility. She is the patroness of life-giving rivers and childbirth… and the lady of sorrow. Remember, death is cold but never cruel. It is life’s warmth that brings suffering.”

“She will ask me to pay a price for her favor,” I guessed.

“Yes.” The goddess smiled kindly at me. “Though I suspect she will look fondly on your quest, she will drive a harder bargain than my faithful Xolotl and I.”

So long as it did not involve sacrificing children or harvesting their tears, I was willing to negotiate on a great many things.

“Thank you for your wisdom, oh goddess,” I said with a respectful bow.

“You are kind, my child.” Queen Mictecacihuatl glanced down at my book, her fingers flipping the pages to maps of Tlalocan. “However, I would worry more about reaching our brother Tlaloc than convincing his wife to support you. Great terrors await you in Tlalocan.”

My eyes instantly wandered to the most ominous of the noted landmarks: the black pyramid of Xibalba, where my mother nested. The volume dedicated an entire chapter to this sinister place.

Xibalba - The House of Fright

Among the flames stands Xibalba, the House of Fright. Neither men nor gods built this blackened city and its central pyramid. As far as the tales go, Xibalba arose on its own from the corpse of the third world with the first nightmare, as it appeared in older incarnations of the universe. Xibalba is more than a place; it is a symbol. So long as fear will persist among the living, the House of Fright will endure.

While the dreams of mortals often show them glimpses of the heavens and the Underworld, nightmares bring slumbering minds to Xibalba. There the sleeping minds endure terrible trials and torment at the hands of its dreadful inhabitants, dead deities of terror and cruelty. Those who die of fright in their sleep suffer a worse fate: their soul is bound to the blackened city and nurtures the growth of its countless terrors.

The lords of Xibalba are a cruel lot, both masters of their realm and its prisoners. They reign over the city from its black pyramid, bickering among themselves and devising ever clever plots to torment their sleeping visitors. To them, fear is more than a game; it is an art. They respect those who weave the brush of pain and scorn those who let fright conquer them.

Xibalba is a dreadful place, but also one built on great and terrible sorceries. Warlocks who venture there might leave with powerful spells and secrets, though the lords of Xibalba fetch a high price for their knowledge. Whether friends or foes, those who enter the city can only earn their freedom by winning a game on the ball court. Few survive to regret it.

As a Tzinacantli, I feel drawn to this place. The bat in me sees a nest. A place that my soul can call a home…

“‘Tzinacantli?’” I whispered. The rest of the page had become unreadable, erased by time. “What does that mean?”

“Tzinacantli,” Queen Mictecacihuatl muttered the word a few times, as if searching for a distant, long-forgotten echo. “It has been many centuries since I have heard of a bat-totem…”

A bat-totem? On one hand, it made a great deal of sense. The First Emperor and his daughters were heavily associated with bats, the wings of the night. On the other hand… It did raise interesting questions.

“The First Emperor was not a Tlacatecolotl?“ I questioned the goddess. “How could he journey across the Underworld then?”

“The Tlacatecolotl was not the only kind of Nahualli to travel between life and death,” the queen said. “There used to be two others: the Tzinacantli, the bat-totems; and the Tzahualli, the spider-totems.”

I remained silent for a moment as I digested this piece of information. The Parliament of Skulls had never mentioned either of these totems, and the vampires above had no knowledge of the Land of the Dead Suns. If their progenitor could travel to the Underworld, he did not pass on the knowledge nor ability to his progeny.

As for spiders… I remembered very well my last encounter with one.

“I slew a monster in the mists around Mictlan,” I whispered. “A dreadful spider with eight long arms and human hands…”

“You must have fought one of the Tzahualli’s dead spawns.” The flayed skin covered Queen Mictecacihuatl’s skull twisted into an expression of disdain and revulsion. “A terrible appetite consumes these Nahualli. They hunger not for the flesh, but for frightened spirits.”

I shuddered. “The spiders feed on souls.”

The goddess nodded sharply. “The Tzahualli hunted our subjects for sport for many centuries. My husband grew weary of their depredations and ordered them wiped out from his layer. Few to no spider-totems have arisen since. If any remain, they are either well-hidden or restrain their appetite to the living world.”

Or they might hunt in lower layers, I thought while examining the map of Tlalocan. Mictantecuhtli’s sway only extended to Mictlan. Ancient terrors still lurked beneath our feet.

“As for the Tzinacantli, none have visited Mictlan in many centuries, either in life or death,” the goddess said. “I doubt they are born anymore. Their totem does not see fit to dwell within human souls anymore, I suppose.”

“That makes me wonder how Nahualli are born,” I muttered out loud, unable to suppress my curiosity. Why was I born with white hair and blue eyes? What cosmic fate decided it? I had asked myself these questions many times, and I would finally receive an answer.

“Nahualli are bridges between man and animal,” Queen Mictecacihuatl explained. “Your soul is an emanation of the owl-totem; the mask through which a cosmic force expresses itself. The totem’s influence waxes and wanes with time.”

Considering Yohuachanca had been founded six centuries ago, and the bat-totems stopped appearing around this time, I quickly gleaned a hint of a connection.

“Your Majesty, do you believe the rise of vampires is linked to the Tzinacantlis’ disappearance?” I asked the queen of the dead.

“It would seem likely, would it not?”

Of course it did. Whatever allowed the First Emperor to emerge from the Underworld’s depths as a god affected the totem that granted him his magic in the first place. I had the feeling that the vampire curse could be a corruption of the Tzinacantlis’ transformation, though I could not tell for certain yet.

I needed to gather more Skin Codices. The one Xolotl brought to me was only the second volume, which implied the existence of more. The book in my hands had also suffered damage. I might be able to find intact copies in the living world. It would surprise me greatly if the Nightlords and their red-eyed priests did not keep at least records of their progenitor’s writings.

“Hide these codices, Centehua,” the Yaotzin had whispered into my ear yesterday. “Hide them from the priests where they will never be found. Therein lies the true history.”

The true history…

Lady Sigrun had been looking into secret codices the red-eyed priests sought to hide. It could have been a coincidence, but my gut told me otherwise. Did she learn about the First Emperor’s texts somehow and seek to recover them?

Queen Mictecacihuatl’s amused laugh drew me out of my thoughts. “I see I have given you much to think about, Iztac,” she said. “I shall take my leave and leave you to your meditation.”

“I apologize, oh goddess,” I said, utterly embarrassed. “I did not mean to show you disrespect.”

“You did not. Duty calls to me too.” The goddess smiled kindly at me. “I hope my words have helped you in your quest.”

“They did.” I knelt before the queen of the dead in gratitude. “I shall make it up to you on the Day of the Dead.”

“I look forward to it,” Queen Mictecacihuatl said with amusement as she floated away into the air. “I bid thee good luck in your coming flights, owl-child.”

I wished a thousand blessings upon her while she left, though I doubted a goddess would need them. I had the feeling the living world would be a much different place if she had dominion over it.

Not all gods are cruel, I mused while sitting under the purple sun with my legs crossed. I rested my hands on my knees and closed my eyes. But few of them are kind.

I had to pray Chalchiuhtlicue would prove as understanding as her sister.

One did not need to breathe in the Land of the Dead Suns, to the point that Mictlantecuhtli forbade the presence of sound itself in his vicinity. Still, I tried to inhale, to focus on the dust-heavy air flowing into my chest. Wind fueled fire. The breath empowered the flame within my heart.

My caged Teyolia warmed up in response to my focus. Though it had grown in power after consuming the embers of the Fourth Sun, it remained small; a fire that demanded more fuel before it could grow large enough to scorch the land and sky. I perceived it as a baleful purple flame shining alone in a sea of darkness, under a violet sunset. The rattling noises of Mictlan vanished in the distance, reduced to nothingness. The air became cold and wet, dripping with sorrow.

The accursed flame inside me burned with hatred, anger, and ambition. My Teyolia carried my desire for freedom and vengeance against my captors.

Lady Chalchiuhtlicue’s sun, meanwhile, radiated sadness. I immediately felt crushed under a terrible weight. An immense burden of suffocating guilt, of crushing despair, descended upon my soul. A sensation of salty, flowing water filled my throat.

I’m drowning in invisible tears, I thought. It wasn’t as terrible as the night I consumed her embers. My Teyolia had grown stronger since. Enough to let me keep my wits in a goddess’ presence.

I realized now why King Mictlantecuhtli delivered to me the Fourth Sun’s embers rather than Chalchiuhtlicue herself. She was simply too wrapped up in her own grief to listen to mortal prayers anymore. I hoped my voice would break through the walls around her heart.

“Lady Chalchiuhtlicue?” I whispered through my mouth and the fire of my soul.

My flame shone brighter when I uttered these words, though the sun above it remained unmoved. And why wouldn’t it be? The goddess mourned over a dead world. How could my plea compare?

Still, I would not relent.

“Lady Chalchiuhtlicue, great sun of the Underworld and lady of water,” I beseeched her, louder. “Please heed my prayer.”

The goddess did not answer.

But she did listen.

I could feel her will in the air. A brief respite in the silent downpour of sorrow-tainted sunlight. A lightening of the pressure crushing my heart. I sensed I would have only one short chance to make my case, so I chose my words carefully.

“I will soon venture into Tlalocan to meet with your husband.”

The pressure evaporated. Inside this spiritual landscape, Mictlan’s purple sun took the shape of a great eye looking down on me. I had Chalchiuhtlicue’s attention for now.

“I sought your embers from King Mictlantecuhtli and welcomed them into my heart. I am thankful for this gift.” I gathered my mind, choosing my words carefully. “But the living world… It’s full of pain. My people lead short lives filled with terror and suffering under the yoke of tyrants. My soul suffocates from the noose tightening around my heart.”

Even in my mind, I could still see the Nightlords’ chains dancing around my Teyolia. No sunlight could hide my slave brands.

“Our children are sacrificed to false gods, who drink their blood and consume their souls,” I argued, knowing this argument would resonate with the goddess of childbirth. “I understand you feel terrible about what happened to this world, and the one that came before… but I beg you to help me in saving mine, to offer a brighter future to the living children above this stone sky.”

Chalchiuhtlicue didn’t answer me with words. I did not expect her to. She had become a sun, a force of nature as pervasive as the earth and the wind. Instead, I sensed her will in the air, in the subtle wave of warmth that washed over me like a gentle wave. As Queen Mictecacihuatl guessed, her sister appeared to sympathize with my plea.

“I need your husband’s embers and power to shatter my chains,” I whispered. “To bring salvation to the world above. I know you have given me much already, but I must request your help once again. I will pay the price you ask for.”

So long as it does not involve shedding children’s blood, I kept to myself. I wondered if the goddess heard this stray thought of mine.

An eerie silence filled my mind, only broken by the brief sound of running water. A single raindrop of light fell before my Teyolia, and the dream came to an end.

A powerful force washed my soul away. When my eyes snapped open, I found I hadn’t moved an inch from my meditative spot. I was still sitting with my legs crossed, none the worse for wear.

But something had changed.

A sealed urn sat before me.

It was a small cylinder made from blue-colored ceramic, barely larger than my fist. Carvings of Tlaloc’s fanged visage covered its surface alongside pictures of mating serpents. I noticed an inscription written in a language I did not recognize, though I somehow managed to divine its meaning as if a spirit whispered it to me.

For my love.

As far as divine commandments went, this one was abundantly clear. I was to act as Chalchiuhtlicue’s messenger and deliver a gift to her husband. The task sounded simple enough… until I examined the package more closely.

The urn weighed surprisingly little, but I immediately felt its fragility the moment I seized it with my talon. A simple shock would shatter it to pieces. Moreover, the urn was hermetically sealed. I could not check its contents. My Gaze spell could pierce through illusions, but it couldn’t see through ceramic. I detected no magic coming from this gift, no enchantment that would protect it from harm.

The gift was exactly what it looked like.

A fragile urn I would have to transport intact across a fiery, monster-infested wasteland.

“Crap,” I muttered.

The Sapa sorcerer did not bother me for the rest of the night.

With little to no interruptions, I split my time in the Underworld between deciphering the Skin Codex and preparing for my journey. While I assumed I would find Tlaloc’s paradise by flight, if the fiery weather proved impossible to navigate through I assessed a few high places where this promised land would likely drift: dreadful Xibalba; the ruined tower of Tamaochan, which dominated the ravaged world; and holy mountains once dedicated to the rain god.

I knew which of these areas I would visit first. For my sake and that of my father’s soul.

‘The lords of Xibalba fetch a high price for their knowledge.’ The codex’s dire warning haunted me. My mother had left for this place with a bounty of stolen souls. I couldn’t help but fear the worst.

I prayed to whatever gods that would listen that my mother wasn’t as heartless as they said. I wanted to believe otherwise, that there was a perfectly justifiable reason behind her behavior and that her crimes had been committed in the service of a greater cause.

Much like mine.

My plan to travel across Tlalocan was relatively simple: wear the appropriate mask and body paint to survive the fire rains, then weave a Veil to make me look like one of the Burning Men. Tlaloc should be able to see through my disguise and thus spare me from his incandescent wrath, while the ghosts haunting his realm should be fooled by my illusions.

Or at least, I hoped so. I couldn’t tell whether my plan would work until I crossed the threshold into the second layer.

Moreover, transporting the urn and the codex without damaging either demanded extensive preparations. I needed to carry them in a bag that would protect them both from fire, heat, shocks, and the Burning Men’s inevitable attacks. Not to mention that I had to obtain blue body paint and a mask of Tlaloc.

Thankfully, the Market of Years offered a few solutions.

“Are these ribs?” I asked the merchant as I examined his product: a frame made of two stout femurs the length of poles and bound by curved bones, supporting a carrying compartment made of layers of thick white scales. “And these…”

“Are Macetail scales,” the skeletal merchant explained with a proud nod. “Took me fifty years to collect the entire set!”

Of all the beasts that walked the living world above, few were more difficult to slay than a Macetail. While a Feathered Tyrant possessed incredible strength and ferocity, a Macetail’s body was covered in thick bone armor strong enough to shatter obsidian blades and repel arrows. The few creatures who dared to pierce this protection also needed to contend with the tail-weapon that gave them their name.

Living merchants usually transported goods on cacaxtli, stout carrying frames used by porters to ferry loads across the empire. This contraption reminded me of them, though most were made of wood rather than near indestructible bones. It would cost a fortune among the living.

“Can I try it?” I asked and quickly received the merchant’s blessing. The bone cacaxtli weighed heavily on my shoulders when I put it on, to the point I nearly collapsed on my back. “Ouch!”

“Macetail scales are quite heavy,” the merchant noted with amusement.

That was one way to put it. I doubted I could move with it without using either the Doll spell or shapeshifting into a giant owl. “Don’t you have anything lighter?”

“Didn’t you ask for the sturdiest protection?” The skeleton shrugged his bone shoulders. “I have lighter carrying frames, but they’ll burn and break easily enough.”

I cursed upon realizing I had little choice. The trader was right: lighter cacaxtli wouldn’t survive the journey to Tlalocan, let alone my belongings.

Would reinforcing my body in the living world strengthen me in this one? I assumed as much since I kept most of my flesh in the Land of the Dead Suns. Otherwise, I would have to stick to my owl form for most of my journey.

“Fine, I’ll take it,” I said while grumbling.

“Good,” the merchant replied with a chuckle. “It’ll cost you a year of entertainment.”

I managed to haggle the price down to a full night of unforgettable illusory pleasures. The merchant—a dead citizen of Yohuachanca as it turned out—had always fantasized about the life of an emperor and wished to experience it for himself.

For his sake, I decided to stick to showing him the harem, the gardens, the baths, and the empty delights the palace had to offer. I believe he wouldn’t appreciate seeing Yoloxochitl’s special brand of motherly kindness, her garden of hanged guards, or the murders and slavery.

After outlining our deal, I promised to return the next night to deliver my payment. He agreed to hold my belongings until my return, which I thanked him for. I already felt my mind threatening to wake up.

The darkness that preceded my awakening always filled me with dread.

Each time I opened my eyes, I expected Yoloxochitl or one of her sisters to wait for me with some new cruelty. My trips to the Land of the Dead Suns had become a respite, a safe haven from the daily atrocities the Nightlords prepared for me. As odd as it sounded, I would rather linger with the dead than stay among the living.

I woke up the same way I fell asleep: alone in my bed and surrounded by guards.

However; the men standing watch in the morning were not the same ones that escorted me last night.

Four giants stood in each corner of my room, each of them wielding a shield of hardened wood and obsidian-tipped spears. They were threateningly tall, pushing nearly eight feet with wide shoulders and arms thicker than a tree’s trunk. Padded cotton armor protected their muscled chest, forearms, and legs. I could not see their faces. Each of them wore dreadful bronze masks covering their entire head themed after various animals: a jaguar, a crocodile, a serpent…

I immediately sensed that something was wrong with these men. Their body proportions felt… off. Their arms were slightly too long, their legs too thick. Their shields appeared too heavy for a man to carry with one hand as they did. I noticed stitches and scars on the parts of their skin left exposed, as if they had suffered terrible surgery under a healer’s knife. And they were pale. Almost as much as me.

“Who are you?” I asked them, unable to suppress the wariness in my voice.

None of the guards answered me. In fact, I detected no hint that they even heard me. I slowly rose from my bed, half-naked, and walked up to the closest of them.

“Look at me,” I ordered. “In the eyes.”

The giant lowered his mask, letting me peek at what hid within their masks’ holes.

Nothing.

I couldn’t see eyes of any sort, whether red or blue or black. Those masks held nothing but darkness. Moreover, I immediately noticed an unsettling detail… or rather, the absence of it.

I could not hear these guards breathe.

“Are you alive?” I asked, though I could already guess the answer.

The… the thing stared back at me without a word.

“Can you take off your mask?” The guard shook its head in utter silence. “Then cut your shoulder open with your spear.”

A man would have at least hesitated. The creature in front of me turned its own weapon against itself the moment I finished my sentence. It did not doubt my order, nor did it consider its own well-being. It simply cut a line across its naked right shoulder. The skin appeared as thick as the padded cotton armor protecting the rest of the body to me. The same boiling black tar boiling within the Nightlords’ Abode of Darkness dripped from the wound. It quickly cooled when exposed to air, sealing the gash in seconds.

What kind of creature was this? It was no vampire, but nothing alive either. I wondered if it could even think for itself.

I did not have to wonder for long. My chambers’ doors opened and half-naked female servants walked in to dress me, their heads looking down to avoid my gaze. I noticed Necahual was among them. She dared to send me a quick glance, one that hardly lasted a second. Her eyes quickly darted to the new guards in dread.

A man I did not know followed in their wake. He was tall and strong, though not as much as the four giants, with gray hair and lined features. This surprised me since his eyes were a pale shade of red. Priests usually stopped aging when they received the Nightlords’ blessing, yet this stranger appeared well past his prime. Though he wore a simple cotton cloak, he walked with the same presence as a trained warrior.

“Greetings, oh greater Emperor of the Heavens and Earth.” The man knelt before me, his voice strong like clashing rocks. “I am Tezozomoc. The four goddesses have selected me to replace the late Tlacaelel. I pray Your Imperial Majesty will find my services agreeable.”

I hoped so too. Killing too many of my advisors on such short notice would arouse suspicion. I recognized the name too. Lady Sigrun mentioned him as Tlacaelel’s most likely successor; correctly too. What else did she call him?

Ah, yes. Someone with age, experience, and who wouldn’t rock the boat.

I studied the man carefully as my servants dressed me up in my imperial robes and set the breakfast table. Whether or not he would prove more tolerable than Tlacaelel did not matter to me, he remained a thrall to the Nightlords and thus my enemy.

Still, I decided to test the waters. To assess if he would be another butt-kissing snake or someone I could at least tolerate the presence of.

“What happened to my previous guards?” I asked, waving a hand at my new set of jailers. “Those four clearly lack certain… attributes.”

“In the light of your personal guards' sinful and repeated fits of incompetence, the goddesses decided to change them.” I did not ask if they had been fired or killed, though I hoped for the latter. “Lady Sugey selected these four attendants personally.”

“Selected,” I replied, “or created?”

Tezozomoc lowered his head further to better hide his ignorance. “I am not privy to a goddess’ secrets, Your Imperial Majesty.”

At least he spoke straight and to the point. He hadn’t bombarded me with empty flattery either so far, which I considered an improvement over his predecessor. However, I had the feeling I wouldn’t extract much information from him. The Nightlords clearly didn’t believe him to be important enough to share their secrets with.

“What of my consorts?” I asked, the memory of Nenetl thrown across a wall by the Jaguar Woman flaring in my mind. “Are they safe and well?”

“Lady Nenetl is still recovering from her illness under the goddesses’ care.” I suppressed a wince and a pang of guilt at Tezozomoc’s wording. The Parliament of Skulls had already warned me about what the Nightlords would do to Nenetl. “Lady Ingrid is safe and sound, as is Lady Chikal.”

I tensed up. “What of Eztli?”

“The Flower of the Heart called Lady Eztli to her side,” Tezozomoc replied calmly. I immediately noticed Necahual tensing up as she set the breakfast table. “Both apologize for not greeting you this morning. The goddess herself promised to visit you tonight, once her heavenly duties are fulfilled.”

I did not particularly look forward to seeing Yoloxochitl again, but it would let me check on Eztli and gather more information on the Nightlords’ secret weapon.

“I look forward to it,” I lied.

Tezozomoc nodded sharply, before sending a dark look at the servants. “If it pleases Your Imperial Majesty, may we speak in private?”

Oh? Come to think of it, I noticed that he had evasively qualified Nenetl’s condition as an ‘illness’ rather than anything more specific. He clearly worried about eavesdroppers.

“My slave Necahual will stay to pour our drinks,” I replied, startling my mother-in-law. I gave her a sneer of pure and utter arrogance. “Mother Yoloxochitl taught her how to hold her tongue.”

Necahual clenched her jaw in restrained fury, but swallowed her anger and nodded obediently. Tezozomoc raised an eyebrow with a hint of disapproval.

A minute later, the three of us sat at the breakfast table with only my guards for company. Today’s meal involved a platter of fish and potatoes imported from our southern territories. I ordered Necahual to serve the two of us, much to her clear frustration.

It was for her own sake. I had convinced Yoloxochitl to spare Necahual on the grounds that I desired to thoroughly humiliate and dominate her. Considering the rampant paranoia that would follow the Sapa disaster, I needed to constantly reinforce this lie among outsiders. This plan would spare her an early grave.

That, and I had to admit it felt somewhat enjoyable to boss her around after the way she treated me in the past.

“First of all, I formally apologize on the priesthood's behalf for last night’s incident,” Tezozomoc said. Astonishingly, he even sounded sincere; that or he lied better than Tlacaelel. “This will not happen again.”

“I hope so, for your sake.” It didn’t take me much enough to channel righteous anger. I felt that way all the time. “My consort and I nearly perished.”

“I can guarantee Your Imperial Majesty that there will be no repeat of last night’s incident,” Tezozomoc stated with confidence. “We have detained the Sapa delegation and are currently investigating the palace for any sign of foreign influence among Your Imperial Majesty’s servants.”

“Is that why you wished to discuss the situation in private, Tezozomoc?”

“Yes.” My advisor coughed as Necahual filled his chocolate cup. “Would His Imperial Majesty allow me to say a personal remark?”

Tlacaelel never asked permission, though he disguised his venom under a veneer of sweetness. “What bothers you?”

“I do not believe it wise to mistreat those working under oneself, even a bed slave,” Tezozomoc said. “I understand that Your Imperial Majesty might seek to demean that woman for the wrongs she caused you in your former mortal life, but she has functioning ears and her heart will fester with resentment. She might slander Your Imperial Majesty or worse, share her knowledge with enemies of the state.”

I stared blankly at Tezozomoc, searching for any hint of hypocrisy. I found none. He truly believed in his own advice, the way the old grew ever confident of their own wisdom with time.

Of course, he conveniently ignored that I was myself a prisoner bound to the altar through no fault of my own other than four vampires’ caprice.

I guessed his point stood nonetheless. If the Nightlords hadn’t wished to earn my hatred, they should have treated me better.

“What is stronger than hatred, Tezozomoc?” I asked my advisor.

“Faith,” he replied without hesitation.

You’re wrong, fool, I thought while glancing at Necahual, who did her best to hide her anger and resentment under a mask of blankness, enough hatred can overcome anything.

“You’re wrong,” I said out loud. “Fear is stronger than hate. Mother Yoloxochitl taught her that much.”

I met Necahual’s eyes, which I found startlingly familiar. I had worn the same expression in the past.

“After all,” I said. “That’s how she kept me under her yoke for all those years.”

I watched as the fire of Necahual’s anger was blown away by a surprise, and then a very special kind of shame. My mother-in-law glanced at our fish platter, so very similar to the rare feast her husband and daughter had been allowed to partake in while she forced me to serve them. I recognized the emotion in her gaze all too well.

Guilt.

To my own astonishment, Necahual seemed to finally reflect on what she put me through now that she was in a similar situation. Could she actually improve as a person? I dared not keep my hopes up considering our disagreements, but the mere possibility amazed me.

Tezozomoc mistook Necahual’s shame for an admission of despair, though he appeared doubtful of the point I was trying to make. “I pray Your Imperial Majesty is wiser than I am.”

“So do I,” I replied imperiously before changing the subject. “I will witness these interrogation sessions personally. These fools tried to have me killed. I want them to regret it.”

Moreover, there might be a chance that one of the ambassadors possessed information on the Mallquis and how to contact them. Unfortunately, I would likely have to execute them if only to create more outrage among the Sapa people. Now that I had set alight the fire of war, I needed to nurture it.

“Of course.” Tezozomoc bowed his head obediently. Unlike Tlacaelel, he didn’t appear keen on obstructing me. “While the next few days will be dedicated to the New Fire Ceremony as expected, I have taken the liberty of changing your morning’s schedule to include a meeting with Lady Chikal and other military advisors. Imperial generals have been recalled to the capital as per the Bird of War’s orders. They should arrive within a week’s time.”

The Nightlords did not waste time when it came to bloodshed.

So far so good. My predecessor nearly launched a successful coup by recruiting generals, and according to the Parliament of Skulls a few rebels among them remained undiscovered. The coming days would provide the opportunity to cultivate allies inside the military, or at least test their loyalties.

However, tonight’s issues with the cacaxtli showcased a small issue, which a look at my arm only confirmed.

Namely, I was no warrior.

I had started to gain weight—the good kind—now that I ate to my heart’s content, but I remained rather gaunt for my age. My predecessors warned me that soldiers followed the brave and the victorious. While I knew only my magic could overcome the Nightlords, I could not reveal my spells until I was ready to take on the Nightlords in open battle, if at all. To the empire’s warriors, I was no future sorcerer and sun-eater, but a frail emperor unfit to be a simple porter.

They would die for their god-appointed emperor, but not for Iztac Ce Ehecatl.

I needed to change that, to become a figure they would love and respect. And for that, I had to look the part.

“War is coming to Yohuachanca, and our enemies will strike at me again,” I declared. “I must prepare for it. See to it that my schedule involves fighting lessons. I must be able to defend myself in combat if the need arises.”

Tezozomoc visibly frowned. “Your Imperial Majesty, your concerns are unwarranted,” he said, his eyes wandering to the silent guards. “No foe will approach you ever again in your new guards’ presence.”

“I pray you’re right,” I replied with a sharp smile. “But that remains to be proven.”

The rebuke caused Tezozomoc to scowl. Good. I’d long noticed that people worked harder when they had something to prove. “I understand,” he said. “I shall see to it that Your Majesty receives the best trainers. Lady Chikal will prove a most worthy sparring partner, I believe.”

I hoped so too. Chikal was the consort I knew the least about so far, the one best at keeping her true feelings hidden. The next few days would be my chance to understand her better, and to see if I could make an ally of her.

I dismissed Tezozomoc after breakfast with the pretext that I wished to prepare for my morning meditation. My new advisor excused himself with a deep, respectful bow. Unlike Tlacaelel, I sensed no subtle mockery in the gesture.

Either this man played a very subtle game, or he was perhaps the kind of priest I feared the most.

A true believer.

“It is best to lay low for a while,” I whispered into Necahual’s ear as she cleaned the platter, too low for the guards to hear. “War is coming, and the Nightlords will cut off any head that stands too tall.”

I briefly worried about Lady Sigrun, before realizing that she had probably survived half a dozen or more disasters across her career.

My mother-in-law stared into my eyes, studying my face. I did not need magic to tell what crossed her mind. Necahual was smart. She must have guessed that I had somehow started this very same war and somehow gotten away with it.

However, her confusion did not last long. Necahual’s expression darkened, her jaw clenching, her lips straining. She gulped, her eyes briefly fidgeting from one side of the room to the other. Her trembling fingers clenched back and forth.

She wanted to ask me something. Something that ashamed her.

I squinted at her. “What is it?”

She finally mustered the courage to whisper back an answer. “Teach me.”

“Teach you what?”

“Witchcraft. What… what you and your mother can do.” Necahual inhaled sharply, as if confessing to a secret sin. “I want you to teach me.”

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