Blood & Fur

Chapter Sixty: Burned Bridges

After slaughtering my former classmates and having their ashes join those left by Smoke Mountain’s eruption, I went to visit the rest of the refugees.

I found it eerie how easily I went from one to the other. I’d committed a brutal massacre and switched to charity work in a heartbeat without guilt or remorse. My mind was clear and devoid of doubt.

I’d grown numb to killing my fellow man.

“By the will of the heavens, Emperor Iztac shall now listen to your grievances!” Tayatzin announced to the line of visitors waiting for me to bless them. I counted hundreds of them, from families in tattered clothes to wealthier individuals. “Prostrate yourself in submission, and know his divine wisdom!”

Smoke Mountain had ravaged the region, but my imperial bureaucracy took care of the waves of refugees that resulted from it. They did a pretty good job at it, setting up camps of animal hide tents and wooden shacks to house them. The eruption’s victims carried all their belongings in bags of cloth or wagons filled with salvaged food, housewares, and what little wealth they had left. Turkeys and dogs lingered among my people, all of them desperate for food and shelter.

My men set up a makeshift audience chamber for me to welcome visitors. I sat on a palanquin throne backed up by smaller chairs. Only Nenetl would advise me today, alongside Necahual; Eztli still hid from the sun, while Ingrid and Chikal attended to other duties. We had received messages related to our upcoming war with the Sapa, and I would rather have them review those documents on my behalf.

Itzili rested at my feet, his hunger satiated on the flesh of my former classmates, and a bonfire set behind me cast a bright light upon my improvised court. A large escort of guards and priests ensured that no one could get close enough to me with a weapon. With the upcoming war with the Sapa and the Nightchildren’s depredations, it didn’t hurt to be on the lookout for disgruntled assassins.

It felt so strange to see rolling hills rather than walls around us. Birds soared in the clouded sky above my head, while the sun approached the horizon with each passing minute. I only had hours until twilight and the upcoming operation.

Yoloxochitl’s garden wouldn’t survive the night, and I hoped that my mother would.

“Your Majesty won’t have time to hear them all,” Necahual noted upon seeing the line. “I suggest distributing tortilla bread to those who will have waited in vain.”

“You should distribute food to everyone, Iztac,” Nenetl replied with surprising firmness. “These people need all the help they can get.”

Nenetl had little confidence when it came to herself, and plenty when defending the interests of others. Her unrelenting kindness soothed my heart after this noon’s mass sacrifice.

“You speak true, Nenetl: an emperor’s magnanimity should be renowned,” I said before waving a hand at Tayatzin. “See that these people receive a portion of our supplies on my consort’s behalf.”

“As Your Majesty demands,” Tayatzin replied with a bow, before addressing the crowd. “By the will of Godspeaker Iztac, ruler of the earth, and his beloved consort Lady Nenetl, all of you shall receive a gift of food and drink as a reward for your faith!”

A chorus of prayers, thanks, and supplications erupted in response. Its power paled when compared to that of Nenetl’s smile, however, which filled my heart with warmth.

“If only she knew the fiend beneath the guise of humanity,” the wind taunted me. I ignored it.

We began the audience afterward. Imperial protocol demanded that priests and nobles come first, to my distaste. Giving preference to the Nightlords’ servants kept reminding me of my own servitude.

First came the local high priest, Mahuizoh, who served the Jaguar Woman. That alone did not endear him to me in the slightest, and his demands proved quite the annoyance.

“Our community’s temple was destroyed in the eruption, and the loss of Lady Yoloxochitl’s priesthood diminished our manpower,” he explained while bowing at my feet. “The people have lost their spiritual haven and are now left adrift in a sea of uncertainty. I humbly petition Your Imperial Majesty for a new temple, where our citizens can properly worship the gods.”

The idea of investing resources in a temple dedicated to the Nightlords sounded like an utter waste of time, but Necahual swiftly offered me an amusing alternative.

“Your Majesty should dedicate it to Lady Yoloxochitl,” she said with solemn gravity that hardly hid the thin smile at her lips’ edge. “So the people can pray for her safe return among us.”

I suppressed a chuckle of my own. While the suggestion appeared innocent at first glance, rebuilding a temple dedicated to Yoloxochitl near the site of her death would fiercely annoy Iztacoatl. The fact that Necahual was officially unaware of the truth offered me plausible deniability too.

I was just keeping up appearances about our lost Nightlord’s supposed survival, after all.

“My favorite speaks true,” I declared. “I shall allocate materials and labor for the temple’s facilities, under two conditions: I will dedicate it to the goddess Yoloxochitl first and foremost, so that she may one day bless us again with her presence; and its facilities will offer free lodging to our homeless citizens.”

“Your Majesty’s faith is only matched by their magnanimity,” Mahuizoh replied as he prostrated himself. Tayatzin sent me a strange glance, but didn’t comment on my decision.

Next came a council of elders representing local communities overseen by a local noble, whose entire family had been decimated by the eruption. The ownership of his lands and remaining possessions remained in question.

“If these lands have no owners left, then they belong to everyone, Iztac,” Nenetl suggested before quickly catching herself for her overt familiarity. “I mean, Your Majesty… Your Majesty is free to distribute them as he wishes, but I suggest having them divided among the people.”

“Agreed,” I replied, much to Nenetl’s relief. “Our country will benefit more from thirty of our displaced citizens gaining a plot of land than a single man monopolizing them all. In the absence of a living next of kin, I order this man’s inheritance to be fractioned and distributed evenly to the poorest members of the local communities.”

This did not seem to entirely please the farmer collective. “Your Imperial Majesty is kind,” their representative said with the utmost respect, his eyes set on the ground so he wouldn’t meet my gaze. “But most lands are covered in ashes and debris. It’ll be years before crops can grow.”

“It will be a blessing in disguise over time,” Nenetl said without thinking, her cheeks turning scarlet when she realized how insensitive it must have sounded to the refugees. “I, uh, I’m not saying that the eruption wasn’t a tragedy, but in the long-term… in the long-term, it will make the land more fertile.”

“The imperial administration will oversee unusable areas until they become cultivable again,” I declared. “Those that are still fertile will be distributed immediately, and our late lord’s belongings sold off so that his peasants may each earn a monetary compensation.”

The farmers thanked me for the gifts and wisdom, then left. Next came a group of wealthier locals who had caught a man stealing two maize bushels this morning. Though he admitted to the crime, the thief argued that he did it to feed his two children, having lost his livestock in the eruption.

“I sympathize with the reasons behind your crime, but it cannot remain unpunished,” I said. Allowing refugees to steal from one another without consequences would encourage rampant robbery. “I shall show you mercy and give you an opportunity to redeem yourself. You shall be conscripted into my army as a porter until your debt is repaid.”

I would have likely spared that man early on in my reign to foster chaos among the people, but I’d since switched my strategy to portraying an image of divine foresight and infallibility; a facade that would strengthen my sorcerous power in due time.

“This man will die all the same,” the wind taunted me. “His blood will stain the battlefield rather than the gallows.”

A kinder death than the one I’d given to so many already.

Next came a mother of two called Xochitl. I could immediately tell that this case would prove difficult. She held a sickly-looking babe in her arm and guided a child of three by the hand; a boy who clearly hadn’t eaten his fair share of food lately. She stared at me with abject fear and intimidation.

“Prostrate yourself before the emperor!” one of my priestly escorts ordered, much to me and my advisors’ annoyance. How could this woman be expected to kneel while holding a babe against her bosom?

“Then you shall help her,” I said sharply. The priest recoiled at my reproach, and a glare from Tayatzin encouraged him to behave. Xochitl was clearly reluctant to let go of the babe, but she eventually surrendered it to my men and knelt alongside her older son.

Necahual, whose gaze had been lingering on the baby for a while, ordered it brought to her. Her expression darkened the moment she took a closer look at it.

“This boy is sick,” Necahual whispered with a grim expression. “He needs food and immediate medical attention, or else he will die within days.”

“Your Majesty, I…” Xochitl rubbed her forehead against the dirt, tears falling from her eyes onto the earth below. “I came begging for the lives of my children. I do not produce enough milk to feed my Teiuc, nor do I have food to give to his elder brother.”

“That’s awful,” Nenetl replied, her cheeks pale as chalk. “Can you save the baby, Lady Necahual?”

“Maybe,” my favorite replied. I could tell that it would be a long shot from her uncertain tone.

“I have faith in your abilities,” I encouraged her before setting my gaze on Xochitl herself. “Children are the seeds of the future. I shall have my dear Necahual, my favorite and personal physician, tend to your youngest son and have his brother taken care of.”

I expected more tears of joy and kind words from that woman, and received shivers and whimpers in response. My nails sank into my throne’s armrests. This reaction didn’t bode well.

“Your Majesty…” She gulped in fear of speaking up and then mustered her courage. “When… When will my husband return? My brother Zolin was slain by the bats for his faithlessness, but my husband…” Her voice died in her throat. “Tlachinolli… he always prayed on time…”

I frowned at her in confusion, before the truth hit me. I exchanged a glance with Tayatzin, who confirmed my guess with a small movement of his chin.

My guards had strangled that woman’s husband to death a few hours ago.

Though Necahual guessed the truth on her own, Nenetl’s gaze wandered from that woman to me in confusion. I knew the news would inevitably spread sooner or later, but I couldn’t suppress a pang of guilt.

No, not guilt, I realized. Fear.

It wasn’t my crime’s discovery that I dreaded, but Nenetl’s judgment and reaction. She had been my kindest friend and confidant, choosing to see the good in me rather than the growing darkness I carried in my heart. I’d done my best to preserve her innocence and avoid staining her hands with my dirty deeds. The idea of losing her respect and adoration bothered me more than committing the crimes themselves.

I can’t lie to her forever. Nenetl said she wished to see the true me. I might as well show it to her now. Better she learn the truth from me than Iztacoatl, who will twist it.

I gestured at Tayatzin to come closer, then whispered in his ear. “Why was this Tlachinolli on the list?”

“Your Imperial Majesty asked me to gather burdens to the state,” Tayatzin reminded me. “That woman’s husband suffered grievous wounds in the eruption and could no longer work. He wouldn’t have been able to feed his family, nor provide useful labor.”

But he could still offer his shoulder to his crying wife and guidance to his sons. My heart sank in my chest when I stared at the two boys, whose father would never see them grow up. I took one of their parents away to save one of mine.

The weight of Nenetl’s horrified gaze soon became unbearable. She had overheard Tayatzin’s words, and she was smart enough to guess that something terrible happened to Tlachinolli.

“Your sins are yours to bear,” the wind warned me. “You will choose how to carry that weight.”

I’d promised I would own up to my crimes, and I shall honor that promise.

“I cannot return your husband nor brother,” I declared as solemnly as I could. “Both belong to the gods now.”

Xochitl remained quiet for a brief second, then began to sob. A floodgate of tears opened all of a sudden and stained the earth with its salty waters.

While my heart had been unclouded before, the skies of my soul now darkened. The consequences of my choice cried at my feet. It had been so easy for me to take so many lives, and it would be so hard to make up for it.

Nenetl didn’t speak a word. She stared at me in disbelief, her voice dead in her throat. Her heart struggled to reconcile her good image of me with reality. I sensed I had lost something irreplaceable today.

That ship had sailed.

“Know that Tlachinolli perished to save your brother’s soul from the damnation his sins condemned him to, alongside many others,” I lied through my teeth. I had opened this woman’s wounds, and while I couldn’t close them, I might at least soften the pain. “Both shall now rest in Mictlan with the Gods-in-Spirit, where they shall feast until the Fifth Sun comes to an end.”

I expected my words to fall on deaf ears, but they did lessen the flow of Xochitl’s tears. I was the Godspeaker, who had carried the First Emperor’s words to the untold masses of our capital. She saw the prophet in me, and mistook my lies for divine truth.

“The gods forgave Zolin?” she asked, no, pleaded.

“They did. His ashes will be returned to you in time.” Once we found the Nightchild he had no doubt become. “Carry this pride with you and see that your sons inherit it. I shall honor your husband’s sacrifice by ensuring that you never want for anything.”

My lie and promises soothed Xochitl’s heart a little, enough that she wiped away most of her tears. I had Necahual and a handful of priests take her and her sons to receive both food and medical attention. Nenetl remained with me, her hands bound in silence, her expression forlorn.

I sighed and decided to cut this farce short. “I’ve had enough of these audiences, and the sun shall set soon,” I told Tayatzin. “I shall now return to my quarters to rest.”

Tayatzin offered me a deep reverence. “Would Your Majesty allow me to present one final petitioner first?”

I raised an eyebrow. Tayatzin rarely insisted on such things. “Whom?”

“As you may expect, many of our citizens know that they owe our world’s survival to Your Divine Majesty’s bravery and wisdom.” To his credit, Tayatzin appeared to at least believe part of this propaganda. My many miracles had made a believer out of him. “Enough that they would offer their wives and daughters to join your harem.”

I scowled in disgust, but Tayatzin hurriedly finished saying his piece before I could shoot the idea down. “Knowing your tastes, I denied most of their requests, but I believe that one candidate warrants your personal appreciation. She claims to have known you in your mortal life.”

This caught my attention; enough that I allowed the audience to proceed.

My guards soon introduced a brown-haired girl of sixteen to me. She was pretty in a common sort of way, but nothing compared to the beauties that populated my harem. Her face seemed familiar to me, though it took me a while to remember her.

“Ciceptl?” I blinked in genuine surprise. “You are alive?”

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“I am, Your Majesty Iztac, though only by the skin of my teeth,” the young woman replied with an awkward bow and a shy smile. “I am pleased that you remember me and to hear that Lady Necahual is safe and sound. I owe her very much for saving my life all those years ago.”

“You whispered her fiancé’s name to us once,” the wind whispered in my ear, “and you gave us his breath.”

Cipetl was the fiancé of Chimalpopoca, a classmate whose sexual indiscretions I’d shared with the Yaotzin when I first used the Augury. He had been one of the hundred souls sacrificed to the wind today. Although she lived in a village away from Acampa, Necahual once cured her of a strong fever in her childhood.

Did Cipetl come to inquire about Chimalpopoca’s fate? She did look quite anxious, biting her lips and keeping her hands joined to hide her unease.

“It has been many moons since we last met, Cipetl,” I said with the full solemnity of an emperor. “Last time we met, Chimalpopoca and you planned to wed.”

“Chimalpopoca?” To my utter surprise, Cipetl responded to the name with a face of genuine anger. “That boy cheated on me with another boy! When my father heard of it, he had our marriage pact immediately canceled!”

A light breeze flew on my face. The Yaotzin used its payment to harm others, and it made good use of mine. This farce would have been halfway amusing if I hadn’t put Chimalpopoca to death hours earlier.

“He has never touched me, Your Majesty,” Cipetl insisted as if that would have made a difference. “My maidenhead is for you alone to take.”

You know not what you ask for. “Why offer yourself to me?” I asked her. “This world owes me its life, but your submission is gratitude enough.”

“I… it’s a bit shameful…” Cipetl shyly avoided my gaze. “My father lost everything in the eruption, Your Majesty. Everything. His house, his lands, and with Chimalpopoca’s affront, his hopes of seeing me wed to a good party. He is too old to rebuild his life, so I want him to retire comfortably.”

“You hope to secure your father’s prosperity by becoming my concubine?” I asked Cipetl, who nodded in confirmation. “Blessed are those who sacrifice everything for their kin.”

Truth be told, I was halfway tempted to take her up on her offer. Cipetl was pretty, educated, and somewhat kind based on the few interactions we had in the past. I didn’t remember her mocking me about my cursed birth. Nenetl needed a handmaiden of her age who could help her fight her loneliness, and I owed Cipetl for destroying her family farm in the eruption.

Nonetheless, becoming an imperial concubine wasn’t a fate I wished on anyone with a good heart.

I glanced at my advisors, whether real or imagined. Nenetl was too concerned about what she had learned earlier to focus on the audience; as for Itzili, my feather tyrant had grown forebodingly quiet. His reptilian eyes glared at Cipetl and sized her up in tense silence. I took it as a dire warning.

Am I truly letting Itzili’s reactions affect my judgment? I suppressed a scoff of amusement at the sheer irony of it. The joke had gone on long enough to become true. Well, he has proven twice wiser than Tayatzin time and time again.

I decided to test the girl first.

“A pity my dear Eztli is currently asleep,” I said before setting up a subtle trap. “She would have loved to meet you again. The two of you played patolli more times than I can count, though she’s still sore over your last victory.”

She shyly smiled at me, a brief flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. “That takes me back, Your Majesty. I fear my skills have dulled since those days.”

A chill traveled down my spine, though I hid my true feelings behind a veil of affability. She had misplayed there. The real Cipetl and Eztli were never close, nor did they ever play patolli together.

The fact that Necahual saved Cipetl’s life in her infancy and her issues with Chimalpopoca would be a matter of public school records. The priests had selected the perfect disguise: a girl I was familiar with, but not close enough with for me to notice any discrepancies.

My predecessors’ warning rang true. This Cipetl was a fake. One of Iztacoatl’s spies meant to infiltrate my bed and inner circle through an elaborate scheme.

This was too perfect of a setup, I soon realized to my utter annoyance. The nice, pretty childhood classmate, wronged by my ‘failure’ to light the Sulfur Sun and who now required a protector to save her loving family from financial ruin. She pulled all of my heartstrings. Moreover, Tayatzin skillfully moved her audience right after Xochitl’s, which was sure to leave me emotionally devastated. The real Cipetl must have died in the eruption. What a vicious trick the snake whore played on me.

Then again, this offered me a golden opportunity to turn Iztacoatl’s trap in on itself. I could let her believe that she had successfully infiltrated my spy network and feed her false information.

“It would be a shame for a flower such as yourself to wilt this way,” I said as I pretended to examine her closely, mostly as a way to buy time to think. “Truly a shame…”

Cipetl smiled at me as she awaited my decision. I quickly chose against making her Nenetl’s handmaiden. Iztacoatl would grow suspicious if I fell for the first trap she set on my path. I needed to play hard to get; to become the wily fish who avoided all the hooks, so she would feel a sense of triumph once she finally caught me in her net. Victory would blind her to my own deceit.

Should I take the fake Cipetl as a concubine anyway? I had no regrets about condemning a Nightlord’s servant to slavery, and I could easily play with her for a bit before losing interest. Denying her outright would raise suspicions…

A snarling growl drew me out of my thoughts.

Itzili had risen, his claws out, his lips unveiling his fangs. He threateningly snapped his jaw at Cipetl, growling all the while. His plumage extended to make him look bigger. I recognized this as a posture of intimidation.

And it worked too. Cipetl took a step back in fear and the guards kept a hand on their weapons. Itzili paid them no mind. His snarls grew louder and more threatening. His reaction caused Nenetl to snap out of her gloomy thoughts too.

“Itzili?” I called out in surprise. I’ve never seen him so agitated. “Itzili, what’s wrong?”

Itzili answered with more growls, his muzzle pointing at Cipetl, who could only shiver.

“Your Majesty…” she whispered. Itzili took a step forward with murderous aggression, much to her horror. “Your Majesty!”

“He’s going to attack her…” Nenetl muttered under her breath, her hands covering her mouth. “Iztac!”

“Guards, take that woman out of my sight!” I ordered before things could degenerate any further. “She is unworthy to stand in my presence!”

My soldiers grabbed Cipetl without ceremony and dragged her away from my audience plaza in spite of her protests. Itzili didn’t calm down in the slightest. He continued to glare at Cipetl, his body tense, his feathers on full display, his tail straighter than an arrow. I immediately recognized the tension coursing through him for what it was.

Fear.

That girl disturbed Itzili enough to register as a threat.

What’s going on here? Itzili wouldn’t have reacted so dramatically for a mere human infiltrator. Something doesn’t feel right.

I took a good look at Cipetl before she vanished. I caught a brief glimpse of her brown eyes, and then I saw it: a glare of pure, undiluted hatred; a well of malice and seething malevolence whose depth rivaled the Nightlords’ blackened souls. I recalled Chamiaholom’s immense cruelty and briefly gazed at its earthly reflection.

The impression lasted less than an instant, but it left me shaken until Cipetl vanished among the crowd of refugees. Itzili stopped growling soon after. He remained on his guards, however, and my own hand was shaking on its own.

“Do you not see it?” the wind whispered in my ear. “The faceless knife that stalks your steps?”

My first thought was to have the fake Cipetl hanged from a tree. I took all of my composure to decide against it. Whatever game Iztacoatl played, I couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

Tayatzin quickly begged for forgiveness. “I apologize for my foolishness, Your Majesty. The thought that your feathered tyrant would dislike her so much never crossed my–”

“This shall not happen again, Tayatzin,” I interrupted him as I rose from my throne. “Do you understand me?”

Tayatzin paled at the barely veiled threat and quickly prostrated himself in penance. “I swear to Your Majesty… I shall not disappoint you again.”

I returned to the longneck with Itzili and Nenetl in short order, my mood fouler than ever. We were preparing to climb back into our quarters when my consort finally mustered the courage to ask me a burning question.

“What…” Nenetl gathered her breath and dared to face me. “What happened to that woman’s husband?”

“He died.” I didn’t deny it. “I had him sacrificed, alongside many other souls.”

Nenetl flinched. She had guessed the truth already, but to hear it from my own mouth came as the final nail in the coffin. “How many?”

“Enough.” A tense silence fell between us, which I quickly broke. “Don’t be naive, Nenetl. This is the heavens’ will, whispered to me by the skies above.” Which wasn’t even a complete

lie. “I was granted the freedom to choose who would die, but not how many.”

“Did you choose these people at random?” she asked me, her voice lower than before. “Or because they hurt you in the past?”

“Both.” As usual, she was more insightful than I gave her credit for. “The truth is that the goddesses taught me a harsh lesson: not all lives are equal in an emperor’s eye.”

Nenetl’s expression twisted into one of utter sadness and disappointment. I didn’t think it was the fact I had to order that sacrifice that broke her heart—the Nightlords had already forced me to do it in the past—but the fact that I showed no guilt over it.

“Were there any alternatives?” she inquired. Even after what I told her, she hoped to hear one last excuse.

“Yes,” I confessed. “But none were satisfactory.”

I could have let my mother die and Iztacoatl triumph, or surrendered on the first day of my tenure instead of rebelling. I always had the choice to lie down and die. I simply couldn’t stomach it.

“Do you want another eruption to wipe out thousands, Nenetl?” I asked her. “For plagues to take sons and daughters away from their parents? For death to triumph? For these refugees to become the norm among our subjects rather than an unfortunate exception?”

Did she want the Nightlords to kill her by the year’s end? For their cruelties and oppressive rule to continue uncontested for six more centuries? For Eztli to slowly turn into the very monster who had corrupted her?

Nenetl lowered her head. “No.”

“Then you must understand my position. I’ll dirty my hands in the name of a greater cause.” Father had suggested that I lay hints of the truth to Nenetl in the name of honesty. Perhaps now was the best of times. “This war with the Sapa was my choice to wage too, Nenetl. The first stepping stone on the path of a better future.”

Nenetl blankly stared at me. She was smart; smart enough to figure it out. I could see the slow realization creeping on her. Now that she knew what I was capable of, the truth wasn’t hard to glimpse. She reassessed every tiny detail and recontextualized them into a darker picture.

I must have looked exactly the same when Necahual revealed the truth about Eztli’s descent into madness. A veil had been lifted off our eyes and we both began to see a loved one for what they truly were.

But much like Eztli still loved me in spite of her curse, I bore great affection for Nenetl and wished her only the best.

“You are precious to me, Nenetl,” I swore to her after taking her trembling hands into my own. “If I had to choose between your life and that of another, I would gladly sacrifice the latter. Remember this.”

“You… I understand, Iztac, but…” Nenetl removed her hands and stepped away from me. “That is not a choice I would like you to make.”

And I hoped I would never have to face it myself.

“You will,” the wind warned me. “True tests never end."

We climbed aboard the longneck in a tense and awkward silence. There was nothing more to say. Nenetl needed time to digest the truth, and I had to accept that our relationship would now suffer from it. Father argued that mutual honesty would strengthen the bond between us, but I couldn’t muster the strength to believe in his advice at the moment. I felt I had instead opened up a fresh wound.

The truth was a sword without a hilt. It cut both ways.

Chikal, Ingrid, and their respective handmaidens welcomed us back. Eztli was still asleep in her coffin. Good. I wasn’t in the right state of mind for that particular discussion. Not to mention that I only had a few hours until Iztacoatl inevitably came to wake me up. Either she would parade my captive mother in chains in spite of all my efforts to avoid that scenario, or she would confront me about her escape.

I expected trouble in either case.

“Welcome back, my lord.” Ingrid intertwined her fingers, her green eyes alight with cunning. Burying herself in her work helped her avoid thinking of her sister. “We have received two messages from the Sapa Empire. An official one, and a secret counteroffer.”

“The self-proclaimed emperor Manco agreed to your offer of a wide-scale battle of four thousand warriors and he will increase the number of fighters accordingly,” Chikal explained. “This Flower War shall be the largest in half a century and a welcome distraction for our plan.”

“And as I expected, one of Manco’s brothers, Ayar Cachi, has secretly contacted us,” Ingrid continued. “He has sent a messenger with a gift for my lord, since his words are too precious to be committed to writing.”

“An euphemism for treachery,” I guessed.

“Ayar Cachi wouldn’t need this secrecy if he acted on his country’s behalf,” Ingrid confirmed. “In all likelihood, he will offer us a secret alliance to remove his brother from power.”

I’d hoped that the Sapa imperial family would pull through and unite against the external threat that I represented, but blood mattered little nowadays. It saddened me that greed proved stronger than kinship so often.

My father’s warning came to mind: some people didn’t want to be free.

I quickly moved from disappointment to quiet acceptance. I wasn’t losing anything from listening to Ayar Cachi’s messenger and could always figure out a use for him.

“Arrange a meeting as soon as you can, Ingrid,” I ordered my consort. “I will hear what this messenger has to say.”

“As my lord wishes.” Ingrid’s head leaned slightly, a knowing look on her face. “Will my lord retire to rest?”

“I will meditate alone,” I replied. “I must ponder the future in solitude.”

This next task demanded all of my concentration.

My vessel’s steps resonated through Cuetlaxtlan’s hospice.

Riding a human woman’s body proved to be an interesting experience. I would rate it somewhere between using a male body and my brief time inside Tetzon; the humanoid shape was comfortably familiar, but the breasts and other anatomical details filled me with a subtle sense of wrongness. It was like wearing a sandal with the wrong measurements.

No one paid me any mind when I walked between the rows of sick beds. The patients wheezed and moaned in beds as diseases tormented them, while the nurses and midwives counted me among their numbers. I was Xiloxoch to them, one of the head healers in charge of the facility. My presence, even so late in the evening, was nothing to fuss about.

The small barrel which I carried on my back hardly warranted a glance from them.

I walked all the way into my vessel’s office. Its collection of herbs, potions, and medical scrolls put Necahual’s to shame. I lacked the expertise to identify a tenth of them, nor did I care to do so. I moved behind a desk of carved ashwood and assessed the wall behind it with my pristine hands. I pushed and scrambled about until I sensed a small contraption answer to my touch. I heard a faint clicking noise, and the stones fell back slightly to reveal a hidden passage.

So far so good.

Ingrid provided me with my current vessel’s name and Necahual’s Seidr ritual with the layout of the place. My spy network, carefully groomed and pruned like a garden, yielded the tools I would use to set this place ablaze and placed them in a hidden spot where my current body could easily recover them. I wouldn’t have been able to launch this operation without my many allies.

All my efforts were finally paying off. My heart overflowed with satisfaction.

It was too early to rejoice though. I put on a pre-prepared mask of cloth around my mouth and nose before venturing into the secret passage. Unlit torches lined the dark corridors. I grabbed one, set it alight, and progressed by following my carefully rehearsed mental map of the tunnels. Combining my Seidr visions with the official map of the complex gave me a rough but reliable idea of the place’s layout.

I didn’t encounter any guards. Most of them protected the hospice above, and the treasure they protected was so toxic that nobody could visit it for long. Only Nightkin could survive its touch, and they wouldn’t transport their weapon until the war to avoid the risk of mass contamination.

The deeper I went, the more decorated the tunnels became. Lurid murals of crimson flowers, cavorting skeletons, and vampires soon plastered the stone walls. The sight of Yoloxochitl pictured among them like a goddess of pestilence overseeing her grim work filled me with disdain.

Just you watch. I hoped Yoloxochitl could see me from whatever hell lay in her father’s stomach. Observe how I spit on your grave.

Fewer torches lit up the deepest levels of the tunnels to avoid threats to the Nightlords’ secret weapon. Mine provided all the light I required. A fetid smell hung in the air; the stench of fungi and corpses. I followed the black staircase down and reached a promontory.

Yoloxochitl’s red garden sprawled below me in all of its horrifying glory.

Nestled in a vast cavern large enough to house a full village within its earthly bosom, the monstrous forest of fungi was a terror to behold. A sea of green and red growths covered every inch of the primeval stone. They were mushrooms in the loosest sense of the word; their tumorous bulbs had no place in the gods’ natural order and wouldn’t stand the sun’s kiss. Pale white trees hung from the walls, their roots legs, their arms branches, their heads crimson flowers of unnatural beauty. I counted over two dozen of them. Their petals blossomed in spores seeking to spread to all life on earth, while their stomachs bore fruits filled with nutritious blood.

A throne of obsidian stood alone amidst these flowers, its owner long dead. Yoloxochitl must have witnessed countless murders from it with a mad smile on her lips. This garden was her masterpiece and inheritance: an orchard of murder whose seeds would soon be unleashed upon the Sapa and the people of the world.

By my will, this poison would never see the light of day.

I descended down the stairs, my pale mask turning redder with each breath. This paltry protection wouldn’t preserve my vessel for long. I only had minutes before the spores worked their way into her lungs and her body joined the ranks of Yoloxochitl’s forest. That would be more than enough.

I opened the barrel once I’d reached the bottom and drenched the fungi in pitch-black oil. I doused the human-trees while promising that I would soon free them of their misery. Death would be their deliverance. By the time I completed a trail crossing the entire garden, my host had begun to wheeze out loud. I felt the poison taking hold of her lungs.

I had no regrets. This woman deserved as much for helping hide this abominable place under a hospital.

“I always liked my mushrooms well cooked,” I mused out loud before throwing the torch into the oil.

A great fire erupted like Smoke Mountain and spread in an instant. A golden trailblaze spread through the cavern along the line I’d traced. The mushrooms shrieked as the flames began to devour them. They wailed with the voice of men, only for the fire to silence them forever. The blood fruits boiled in the womb of tree-candles and the cavern’s darkness receded under a tide of cleansing light.

No one would douse these flames. By the time the rising smoke alerted the hospice staff, it would already be too late.

I ascended to Yoloxochitl’s throne and sat to better observe the devastation. The sea of fire looked so beautiful to me. Red, orange, crimson, blue, and white in some places… I found it wonderful to see so many colors reflected in the flames.

They warmed my heart.

This spectacle reminded me of the time I burned the House of Jaguars to the ground. I felt at home among the flames, even as they began to consume my host’s flesh. The pain of burning alive paled before the joy of watching the last of Yoloxochitl’s legacy go up in smoke. I was the light that banished the darkness, like the Fifth Sun in the sky, and none would deny my dawn.

I laughed to death.

I woke up with a smile on my lips, and a cold hand pressed against my chest.

“Eztli?” I blurted out on pure instinct.

Iztacoatl’s laugh resonated through my bedroom. “You wish, songbird.”

My eyes snapped open without any surprise. Night had long fallen and blanketed my room in shadows, but Iztacoatl’s eyes remained fully visible even in the thickest darkness.

“Why are you smiling, my pet?” Iztacoatl asked with a tone that could pass for amusement. “Is it the thought of frustrating my efforts that delights you so?”

I played coy. “What efforts, oh goddess?”

“I woke up to capture your beloved mother, only to find her hideout empty and the spies I’d posted around the area dead.” Iztacoatl gently pinched my cheek, as if I were a misbehaving child. “It seems someone warned her of my coming.”

“I am truly sorry to hear this,” I replied with complete and utter insincerity. Thank the gods, Mother received my message. “Your pain wounds me, oh goddess of my heart.”

“I know,” she retorted with the exact same tone. I didn’t sense any anger from her. She had planned for this outcome and gleaned information from it, so she probably considered it a minor victory. “But worry not. Tales of your brave slaughter of innocents soothed my wounded heart.”

She leaned on me to better stare down at me. “I’m impressed, Iztac. I didn’t think you’d be so ruthless as to sacrifice your entire class to us. Did you get a kick out of it?”

“The death of those who have wronged me never fails to bring me joy,” I replied with a smirk.

“No doubt,” Iztacoatl whispered with a snort. She could see my veiled threat. “I think you’ll like the spare entertainment I prepared for you tonight then. A hunt.”

“A hunt?” A chill traveled down my spine as a frightful possibility formed in my mind. “Who’s the quarry?”

“A human, of course. The smartest, hardiest beast of them all. Your mother would have been my pick of quarry, but I prepared a spare in case she slipped through our fingers.”

Iztacoatl leaned over me, her lips twisting into the most despicable of smiles.

“Why do you think,” she asked, so softly, “I brought dear Astrid along?”