Blood & Fur

Chapter Twenty-Six: A Curse in the Family

My answer was short and to the point.

“No,” I said, first to myself, then to my mother. “No. There has to be another way.”

Mother tilted her head at me with a quizzical expression. “Why such a reaction?”

“Why?” How could she take a good look at me and say these words? “The entire reason I fight the Nightlords is to avoid being sacrificed in one of their magical rituals. Now you ask me to do the same to others?”

Now she seemed even more confused. “Yes, what of it?”

I stared at her for a moment before realizing the problem. My mother was a thief of souls. Of course she wouldn’t see the issue with sacrificing others in occult rituals. She supported me in my quest because I was her son, not because she was against what the Nightlords did to their subjects and puppet emperors alike.

“I don’t want to become what I fight against,” I protested.

Mother answered my doubts with cold logic. “Forgive me, my son, but have you not started a war? Tell me how it is worse to kill a dozen men on a mountain’s slope than ten thousand on the battlefield?”

My jaw clenched all the harder from the fact she had a point. “I saw no other alternatives then.”

“Lies,” Mother replied implacably. “There were alternatives available to engineering an international crisis… but none of them would have been as effective at weakening your foes and securing your power base, am I wrong?”

I lowered my head in silent shame. When faced with an honest truth, I didn’t find the strength to lie to myself.

She was right, it was hypocritical of me to draw the line here after I’d crossed so many earlier from murder to assassination. I’d sowed the seeds of disasters whose bloom would claim countless innocent lives. Worse, I knew the Nightlords would force me to participate in human sacrifices during my year of rulership. Nearly all of the religious festivals involved spilling blood.

Even then… even then the idea of putting others through the same fate the Nightlords planned for me lurched my stomach. It felt like a betrayal, not just of others, but of myself. There had to be a better solution.

“Can’t I slice a longneck’s throat?” I asked. “If the ritual demands blood, then such a beast will offer a hundred men’s worth of it. Enough to fill a lake.”

“You think magic has anything to do with blood?” Mother snorted in disbelief. “Animal sacrifice would not suffice. We need victims who can symbolically represent the Nightlords or Smoke Mountain itself.”

“The Nightlords liken themselves to animals,” I pointed out, still trying to find a way out of sacrificing my kinsmen. “They do not call Ocelocihuatl the Jaguar Woman for nothing. Can’t I skin a beast in her place?”

“You are more likely to anger the true god than its imitator if you try that.” My confusion must have shown on my face, for Mother let out a chuckle. “Have you not noticed yet?”

“Noticed what?”

“The Nightlords have been trying to slowly replace the four celestial gods in men’s hearts and minds for many years now,” she explained. “Xolochitl, the Flower of the Heart, imitates Xipe Totec, father of agriculture. The Jaguar Woman impersonates the sorcerer Tezcatlipoca. Iztacoatl mimics our Feathered Lord Quetzalcoatl and Sugey promotes herself as Huitzilopochtli’s successor as master of war.”

Now that she mentioned it, the similarities were quite eerie. The soldier god Huitzilopochtli was often represented by a hummingbird, and Sugey called herself the Bird of War… I cursed myself for not noticing it earlier.

“They are trying to slowly erase them from mortal memories the same way they are trying to outlaw Queen Mictecacihuatl’s worship,” I guessed. It didn’t surprise me much. “Do they gain power from it?”

“Not yet, but who knows?” The flicker of a dark smile stretched across Mother’s face. “If they succeed in replacing the sun, they might try to replace the true gods in a few centuries.”

“Do not insult my intelligence with such blatant manipulation.” I glared at her. “You only say that so I will go through with your counter-ritual.”

“I mean what I say,” she insisted. “Do you think the vampires’ thirst for power will ever be sated? They will always want more.”

“I won’t deny it,” I confessed. If the Nightlords’ arrogance let them hatch a plot to replace the very sun, then they were capable of anything. “So you think animal sacrifices won’t work?”

“No,” Mother replied bluntly. “To disrupt a ritual of the New Fire Ceremony’s magnitude, you will need humans slaughtered in a way that symbolically strikes at our targets. The more the better.”

My fists curled in frustration. “What’s the minimum number?”

Mother stared at me as if I had gone mad. “The minimum?”

“One for each Nightlord? Half a dozen?” I shook my head. “I want to reduce casualties to a minimum.”

“You cannot.” Mother kept hitting where it hurt. “Our counter-ritual will pile bodies upon bodies in the best of cases, yet the deaths that will result from our enterprise will pale before the cosmic dawn of a sulfur sun.”

“I know,” I rasped. “You do not need to remind me.”

“Apparently I must.” Her tone deepened in her quiet anger. “Stop questioning yourself, my son. Doubt dulls the blade of the mind. The very foundations of our universe are at risk, and you squabble over a few dozen lives?”

“The universe would be safer if you helped me with the ritual!” I snapped back at her. Her criticisms were getting on my nerves. “You live in the same world as I do, yet why must I be the one to dirty my hands?! If you think this is the best way to stop the Nightlords’ ritual, then why don’t you do it yourself?!”

“Quiet, son,” she said sharply, her eyes glancing into the tunnel. “Quiet.”

I opened my mouth to protest when I heard a faint noise coming from deeper inside the cavern. I immediately activated my Gaze spell and prepared to fight whatever might hide there.

The light coming from my eyes illuminated the nearby walls, revealing cave paintings of longnecks, ancient birds, and other animals. Crude carvings crafted with red dust covered more ancient inscriptions written in a language I could not recognize. The tunnels descended deeper into the earth beyond my Gaze spell’s reach.

The rattling noise of bones and nails scratching against stone echoed from further ahead.

“The Burned Men?” I whispered under my breath.

“Most likely,” Mother replied with surprising calm. With the giant undead bird outside blocking our way out, we had little room to deal with enemies. “Cast a Veil. Show me what you can do.”

“But you said Tlaloc unveiled all lies in his territory.”

“His light does,” Mother replied, pointing a finger at the tunnel’s exit while reminding me that we were enshrouded in shadows. “It will not reach us here.”

If she said so… I cast my Veil spell and blanketed us both in an illusory barrier. We became one with the nearest stone wall, as invisible as fresh air, as silent as inert dust. I also canceled my Gaze spell in case our foes could sense it the way vampires did. I stood next to Mother as we heard the noise grow stronger, closer, sharper…

A shambling horror emerged from the darkness, looking for blood.

Many times have I walked among Mictlan’s citizens, whose death had stripped the flesh and skin off their bones. The appearance of the city’s skeletal inhabitants surprised me at first, but their friendly and human demeanor won me over quickly.

There was nothing human about this creature except for the shape. It was a corpse alright, one with pulsating red flesh covering its bones. The burning winds of Tlalocan had flayed the skin off its raw muscles. An empty hole bled where it’s heart should be and hate-filled black eyes peered at us; the same malice that fueled the dead spirit Azcatlapalli, but sharpened with human intelligence and malice. Its pointed teeth opened and exhaled smoke.

The Burned Man was neither alone, nor unarmed. Another of its kindred followed right after first, both of them wearing dust-stained rags and rusty metal plates; the remains of some armor I supposed. They wielded strange blades of a dull gray metal unlike anything I’d seen. They resembled daggers, but longer than clubs and far sharper. Neither of them carried torches, but the darkness did not seem to bother them.

The two walked into the tunnel, their weapons grazing the stone floor and their throats letting out a threatening rattle. They stepped in front of us without noticing anything wrong. Mother and I had to lean back against the wall so as not to bump into the undead. Their black eyes could see in the dark, but not through my sorcery.

The Burned Men walked to the edge of the tunnel while carefully avoiding Tlaloc’s sunlight. Did it burn them like the vampires I sought to destroy, or did they simply fear the god who scorched their entire world? Whatever the case they still took a moment to look outside the cave for any sign of intruders. One of the two made hand signs to its compatriot, who replied with a rattle.

Words, I realized. The pain stripped them of their sanity, but not their intelligence.

“What are those?” I whispered to Mother, the Veil preventing our words from reaching the Burned Men. “The weapons they carry?”

“Steel swords,” Mother replied. “Steel is a metal alloy.”

An alloy? My knowledge of metallurgy only extended to gold and copper. “I’ve never heard of it. Is it better than obsidian?”

“Much better and more durable. The Third Humanity discovered many wondrous things, and they have not forgotten all of them.” Mother’s hand moved to her owl mask. “This is a good opportunity to learn.”

I observed her with rapt attention. Mother plucked a black feather from her mask, kissed it lightly, and then whispered words to it.

“I want him to suffer,” she said. “I want him to stumble and fall, for pain to wrack his bones and tear off his flesh. I want him to burn and suffer a thousand humiliations.”

The feather darkened as cruel wishes flowed out of Mother’s lips. Its blackness somehow deepened into wispy shadows and ephemeral darkness. A witch’s curses taking solid form in the world.

“Now watch.” Mother stealthily crouched without a sound and placed the feather against one of the Burned Men’s shadows. The former swiftly merged with the latter and vanished from sight. “To use the Curse, you must cast off one of your own feathers and plant it in the target’s shadow. This stains the target’s Tonalli with doom’s call.”

I didn’t have to wait long to see the effects. The targeted Burned Man looked over his shoulder as if he had heard us, only for a stone under his feet to crumble at the tunnel’s edge. The flayed corpse suddenly lost balance, stumbled near the exit, and fell off into the canyon with a frightful cry. Its comrade watched the scene with what could pass for silent glee. It neither helped nor called out to the other warrior; it simply observed the fall with malice. The fiery rains had burned away all sense of kinship.

“Did the feather cause the fall?” I whispered to Mother. The accident had been so subtle I didn’t detect any trace of magic.

“Yes and no. The feather does not command the flow of destiny, it simply makes it easier for doom to manifest.” Mother carefully watched the second Burned Man without summoning another feather; mayhaps she thought two Curses would be one too much. “In general, it is best to suggest humble calamities. The more likely an event is to happen naturally, the easier it is for the Curse to turn it from a possibility into a certainty.”

A simple enough rule to understand. The Curse did not create outcomes from nothing, it simply improved the odds of them happening. A man was more likely to die from a bad fall than from battle, so telling the feather to induce the former would make the Curse likelier to take effect.

After a while, the last of the Burned Men lost interest in the tunnel and turned away, leaving its kindred to fend for itself outside. The creature briefly paused in front of the cave paintings as if to reminisce on long lost times before retreating further into the dark. I did not cancel my Veil immediately in case it returned later.

I briefly stepped closer to the tunnel’s edge while avoiding Tlaloc’s sunlight. The cursed Burned Man was nowhere to be seen. The canyon was so deep I could hardly see the bottom from our current position.

“How long does a Curse last?” I questioned Mother.

“Until the feather is removed, whether by magic or death,” Mother replied calmly. “Experienced sorcerers can remove the feather from their shadow by plucking it with their Tonalli, but the uninitiated cannot cure themselves. The best they can do is mitigate a Curse’s effects if they learn of it and avoid situations that would trigger it. Otherwise, they will carry it until their final hour.”

As far as spells went, this one might be the most cruel yet. It would probably fail to affect the Nightlords, but it would let me subtly assassinate their servants with little threat of discovery.

“The Haunt requires a similar process, but you must place the feathers into fresh corpses and then bury them in the place you wish to curse. The spell should then last until the corpses decay.” Mother smiled at me, anticipating my protests. “Animals will do in most cases. You may use birds or rodents when a cosmic ritual is not involved.”

“Good,” I rasped. “But it does not invalidate my prior complaint.”

“It does not,” Mother conceded without changing her mind. “I cannot perform the counter-ritual myself, son.”

“Because it would endanger your fragile life?” I asked with heavy sarcasm.

“Because since you will carry out the New Fire Ceremony ritual, your spells will have an easier time disrupting it than mine.” Mother paused for a moment. “However…”

I squinted at her. “However?”

“I can secure the sacrifices and arrange for their death.” Mother observed my face sharply. “Your assistance will be required to plant the feathers, but your hands won’t have to wield the knife.”

I wasn’t impressed. Giving the order to kill someone was the same as killing them yourself. I would simply use an intermediary as the weapon rather than use a dagger. It would make the operation easier though, and force Mother to tie herself to it more directly. If she had a stake and role in it, she was less likely to betray me at a critical juncture.

I let out a tired sigh. “Is there truly no other option?”

“Triggering Smoke Mountain eruption is one,” Mother quipped. “No mountain, no ritual.”

I shuddered, though I couldn’t tell whether it was because of Mother’s idea or the fact she seemed capable of humor. “Is it even possible?”

“Everything is possible with effort,” Mother replied with a shrug. “However, the cost and result of such an action would no doubt put a Haunt to shame.”

I snorted in disdain. My mother seemed to take the death of thousands no more seriously than a slight change in weather. Human life no longer mattered to her, if it ever did.

“I must think about it,” I said. I still hoped to find another, more palpable solution, and I needed to consult the Parliament of Skulls on the matter. I did not yet trust my Mother entirely. If she neglected to inform me of key details, my predecessors might help dispel her lies.

“Not for long,” Mother warned me, “We only have a handful of days left.”

“Then begin to teach me now.” Even if a better option came up, the Curse and Haunt spells would help me out on my quest. I plucked a feather from my owl mask and examined it. “Must I simply whisper words to it?”

“You must infuse the feather with your malice,” Mother explained. “Whisper the target’s name to it. Voice your grievances and offer suggestions. The purer and more personal the grudge, the crueler the Curse. Weave your hateful will into calamity’s threads.”

Hate was the one thing I would never run out of.

I spent the next half an hour or so practicing the Curse with Mother, which mostly involved plucking feathers from my body and then whispering hateful words to it. Both came easily to me, yet no matter how many cruelties I came up with my feathers never gained the shadowy hue that Mother demonstrated.

“You must use all of yourself,” Mother advised. “The Curse blends all three pillars of magic. Your Tonalli provides the feather and substance, but it is your Ihiyotl that anchors calamity, and your Teyolia that produces the malice.”

“I thought the Curse spell relied on my Tonalli alone?” I asked.

“All spells focus on a primary aspect of your soul, but it does not mean the others do not influence the result,” Mother replied. “You must have noticed that your Doll and Spiritual Manifestation spells grew in power after you consumed the fourth sun’s embers. If both relied on your Tonalli alone, why would strengthening your Teyolia improve them? Much like a strong heart helps the lungs quicken your breath, a spell will grow stronger if you can call upon all of your soul’s resources.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Look inward,” Mother explained clearly. “Remember events that put you through pain and echo the calamity you wish to brand the feather with. Do you wish to see a man fall? Then reminisce how it hurt to fall yourself. Do you wish to see a woman spurned by men? Then meditate on how it felt to be rejected yourself. Your Teyolia will burn with hateful flames, and your Ihiyotl will give them purpose through your words.”

I closed my eyes and meditated on a hated memory. I reminisced on that terrible night when I watched Eztli murder her own father on Yoloxochitl’s orders. How helpless it felt to watch the unthinkable.

“I wish to see this boy watch his father die,” I whispered to the feather, the fire in my heart burning balefully and my words dripping with venom. “I want him to stand by helplessly as his loved ones suffer. I want him to feel weak.”

A cloud of darkness floated around my feather when I opened my eyes again. Mother nodded in appreciation before ordering me to practice it again.

For all of her failures as a parent, she made for a pretty straightforward teacher as far as magic was concerned. Whereas Queen Mictecacihuatl had been attentive and Huehuecoyotl an utter pain to deal with, Mother spoke factually, pointed out my mistakes, and explained the underlying logic behind our brand of sorcery. She was refreshingly direct.

“The more information you give to your feather, the stronger the Curse," Mother explained. "A feather that targets a named person will inflict more harm than one meant for all of the world's men."

“Can a Curse be tracked back to its caster?" I asked. If the Nightlords noticed a feather, it wouldn't take them long to piece the truth together.

“If the sorcerer is inexperienced," Mother said before quickly reassuring me. "I will teach you how to hide such things."

I wondered how far I could push curses. If they could influence probabilities, would I be able to trigger complex scenarios with thorough planning? If I planted feathers on two different people and then cursed them to die by another’s hand, would it cause them to fight? Moreover, the Haunt’s ability to stain a location might serve me well in the palace itself.

I needed to experiment further, but it would wait for another time. My soul felt weaker, its spiritual essence pulled up towards the waking world.

“I’m about to wake up,” I warned Mother. Leaving my carrying frame and its precious contents in a Burned Men-infested tunnel did not sit well with me. “We need to hide my belongings.”

“I will take care of them in your absence,” Mother said sharply. “And wait for your return.”

“I do not know when I will sleep again.”

“Hours or days, it matters not. I will be there when you sleep again.” Mother let out a shrug. “I rarely leave the Underworld nowadays.”

I woke up before I could push her for details.

My awakening was rude and sudden.

I wasn’t used to sleeping during the day after a sleepless night, so I supposed my body struggled to adjust. My flesh felt sore and tense. The prior day’s exhaustion carried over into the next.

“Ugh…” I grumbled as my eyes struggled to adjust to the luminosity. My bed felt so cold compared to Tlalocan’s searing heat, and just as unwelcoming. “What… what time is it?”

“Past midday, my lord,” Ingrid’s voice answered my question. I turned towards my bedside and found her standing there, fully clothed. Tezozomoc was there too. I wondered how long they had been waiting for me to wake up. “The sun is high in the sky.”

“I took the liberty of canceling your morning appointments and delaying the generals’ assembly until this afternoon for the sake of Your Majesty’s rest,” Tezozomoc said.

“You did well.” I would have been too tired for morning audiences anyway. I already struggled to sit up on my own mattress. “What is the plan for the day?”

“Lady Chikal will oversee your afternoon training after the generals’ assembly,” Tezozomoc explained. “The Goddesses will then summon you at sundown for the nightly prayer ceremony soon after your evening bath.”

As expected, I would spend the night praying over their cursed sulfur flame. This did not sit well with me. The winter solstice had only recently passed, so nights remained long. If I could sleep from dawn to midday, I could hardly squeeze four to five hours of sleep in each day until the New Fire Ceremony; preciously short interludes to spend on spellcasting practice.

Should I take naps to catch up? No, it would hardly offer time for me to truly fall asleep. I would hardly stay longer than a few minutes in the Land of the Dead Suns before being yanked back to the waking world.

What other options did I have? I would still need naps to keep my mind sharp. Tiredness would dull my wits and weaken my body at a critical juncture.

Perhaps I should take an hour before or after the evening baths to practice Spiritual Manifestation? While my body would fall into torpor, I could have my Tonalli travel around under an illusory Veil.

Come to think of it, I’d memorized a map of the palace’s secret passages thanks to Eztli. I could have my Tonalli escape the palace through them. My flesh would recover in a state of half-sleep, and my soul could spy on people inside my prison… or contact individuals beyond its walls.

I could already think of a few.

“Are Tlaxcala and his mother still in the city?” I asked Tezozomoc. “And Tlazohtzin?”

“Of course,” my servant replied. “All of them await Your Majesty’s judgment.”

“Tlazohtzin?” Ingrid raised an eyebrow. “I thought my Lord Emperor intended to select his brother as their father’s heir?”

“I haven’t changed my mind.” But the scorned brother might yet prove useful. “I will announce my decision another time though.”

Tezozomoc nodded sharply. “Your Majesty is wise to preserve their strength and focus on more important matters. Shall I summon the generals soon?”

“After my daily meditation.” I needed to consult my predecessors. Much had happened since we last met, and critically important events would follow. “What should I expect from it?”

“Lady Chikal and your military advisors will present Your Majesty’s military strategy for the coming war to the empire’s generals,” Tezozomoc explained. “As customary, all of Your Majesty’s consorts will be present.”

“All of them?” I repeated, my heartbeat quickening. “Has Nenetl recovered?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Tezozomoc replied. “The Goddesses released her this morning, and she is eager to serve you again.”

I didn’t fail to notice Ingrid’s eyes squinting in displeasure. I didn’t bother to hide my joy and relief. Nenetl suffered terrible injuries partly by my fault, and was delivered to the Jaguar Woman’scruel ministrations. I was eager to see her again safe and sound.

I could only hope the Nightlords didn’t treat her too harshly.

“Good,” I told Tezozomoc. “You may go for now.”

The red-eyed priest offered me a bow and then left the room. Lady Sigrun walked out of my bathroom almost at the same time, wearing nothing other than a jaguar fur mantle that covered everything but the head and ankles.

“I am pleased to see our Lord Emperor has woken up,” she greeted me with her melodious voice. “You worried us.”

“You did not sleep well, my lord.” Ingrid gave me a worried look. “Did you have nightmares?”

Yes, of a spirit-spider trying to eat me alive and a charnel realm of flayed men. “Yes,” I replied sharply. “You could say that.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Ingrid asked kindly. For once, her concern seemed sincere. “Fears are like words, my lord. They go away when spoken aloud.”

Which, considering the Yaotzin existed, meant that they would come back stronger later. “Maybe another time,” I said evasively. “I am thirsty.”

Ingrid didn’t insist further, and Necahual soon arrived to serve me a chocolate cup. As usual, she avoided my gaze and those of my silent guards. A thought crossed my mind as she approached me.

A Curse spell lasted until removed…

I discreetly activated the Gaze spell while cloaking it in a Veil. My truth-peering eyes swiftly set on Necahual’s shadow. I studied it carefully, looking for what I knew would be there. It took me a good minute to tell its shape away from the rest.

As I suspected, my Mother was a petty woman.

A black feather was subtly woven in Necahual’s shadow. No wonder she had been unlucky in love. Mother must have placed this Curse early in my father’s courtship or when Necahual discovered her identity as an owl-witch; since I could detect it, I assume she did so very early. Whatever the case, my mother-in-law had carried the feather for years.

I was tempted to remove the feather on the spot, if only because the Curse might affect Necahual when I needed her assistance the most, but I didn’t know yet how to do so safely. I decided to leave the matter for later once I’d mastered the spell.

“If my lord will forgive me for asking,” Ingrid said while I sipped my chocolate cup. “But would you agree to let me witness your training session?”

“My training session?” I repeated, somewhat surprised. “The one with Chikal?”

“If my lord does not mind,” Ingrid confirmed. Her mother observed her sharply, her expression an impenetrable mask. “I have always been curious about amazons. I would love to see them in action.”

Whether Ingrid asked me that request out of genuine curiosity or to keep an eye on my other consort, I saw no reason to deny her wish. I assented with a quick nod.

“Must I bring food too?” Necahual asked with a low tone after I emptied my cup.

“No, not yet,” I grumbled. “I’m too tired to eat right now.”

Lady Sigrun smiled ear to ear, a flicker of mischievousness in her eyes. “Perhaps our Lord Emperor needs more rest.”

My eyes lingered on her fur mantle. “I wouldn’t mind another massage.”

“I believe my Lord Emperor would appreciate a little novelty.” Lady Sigrun turned to her daughter. “Ingrid, if you would kindly assist me.”

The daughter was usually as unflappable as her mother, so it surprised me to see Ingrid blush. My consort smiled sheepishly, almost as if she were embarrassed by the request. Now I was well and truly curious.

“If my lord would kindly sit near the bed’s edge,” my consort said, her cheeks pinkish.

I did so. Ingrid’s hands undid my loincloth, but instead of removing her own clothes as I expected her to she instead knelt before me. She moved her head near my manhood for a reason I couldn’t fathom. What was she–

Oh.

Oh…

I admit the contact of her lips startled me at first. Ingrid was timid at first, but my moan of surprise seemed to embolden her. Her mouth was wet and sweet, her hands warm and gentle.

Necahual lowered her head as she left the room, probably to hide either her disgust or her embarrassment. Lady Sigrun stayed and watched the scene without blinking. It added a certain transgressive appeal to the whole affair.

Ingrid slid up and down, like she once did with her thighs on our first night. It felt… exciting. Strange, but exciting. I closed my eyes, relaxed, and focused on that feeling of pressure building up… until I finally let go.

My loins ached and then came the bliss, that brief moment of absolute peace and contentment. My mind cleared like the sky and my strained back suddenly relaxed.

"Does our Lord Emperor feel better now?" Lady Sigrun asked as her daughter's lips let go of me.

"It was, uh…" Now it was my turn to blush. "Something."

"Salty?" Ingrid suggested as she wiped her mouth with her hand. She smiled sheepishly at me. "I hope my lord will forgive my inexperience on the matter."

"I…" I wouldn't mind her practicing this on me more often, but I was too embarrassed to say it. "I appreciated it."

"My Lord Emperor should call us again after his training," Lady Sigrun said with a chuckle, her hand suggestively brushing against her fur coat. "He has seen nothing yet."

How could such a simple, graceful gesture make my blood pump so quickly? Worse, her plan indeed filled me with renewed energy; for I now had something to look forward to.

Still, work came before pleasure. Ingrid and her mother helped me put on my imperial clothes, and I took the opportunity to ask the latter for information.

“I need the brothers’ current address,” I whispered into Lady Sigrun's ear. “Quickly and discreetly.”

“A two-story mansion in the northern district for Tlaxcala, a smaller inn located a street away from his sibling,” my spymaster whispered back without hesitation.

How quick. If so, then the brothers’ lodgings were only a short walk away from my palace. How appropriate. How convenient.

“I can arrange a message if you wish,” Lady Sigrun suggested, having guessed my intent.

“No need.” I would deliver that one in person; in a manner of speaking. “How much will this information cost me?”

Her laugh sounded like a waterfall. “Your best efforts when you call on us again."

It wasn’t even a request. She knew I wouldn’t resist.

By the time I left my bedchambers for the Reliquary, my muscles had relaxed and my mind had sharpened. I entered my predecessors’ tomb with a renewed sense of purpose.

“We sensed a change in the Land of the Dead Suns, our successor,” the Parliament noted as I sat before them. “You have entered Tlalocan earlier than expected.”

“A Tzahualli attacked me last night,” I explained while sitting down. “Much has happened.”

A thousand eyes glowed in the dark. “Tell us.”

I recounted last night’s events to my predecessors, from Inkarri’s ambush to my descent into Tlalocan, my reunion with my mother, and the information I’d gathered on the Nightlords’ plan. The more I spoke, the more I felt tension rising in the room. The emperors’ skulls whispered between one another by the time I finished. My information had sparked quite the stir among them.

“The Sapa Apu’s ability to target you in the Underworld is worrying,” the skulls declared after a moment’s consideration. “Queen Mictecacihuatl is correct, he no longer has the means to ambush you as you fall asleep so long as you remain in the lower layers. However, we doubt a sorcerer of Inkarri’s standing lacks for other means of being a nuisance.”

“You think he will send other assassins?” I would be surprised if he didn’t.

“It might take him much more time and effort, for fewer fiends haunt Tlalocan than Mictlan, but he will find it easier than targeting the Nightlords themselves.” It said something about my captors that an ancient undead sorcerer would rather strike me in another world entirely than confront the Nightlords in this one. “The situation will change once the war comes to his nation’s doors and forces him to protect his living subjects. Until then, stay on your guard.”

They did not need to advise me. Inkarri hoped to stop a war with Yohuachanca in its infancy by striking me down before imperial troops could mobilize. Once they did, he would focus on defending his own territory rather than trying to assassinate me quietly. I could expect to suffer the full brunt of his hostility until spring.

“What of my mother?” I questioned the skulls. “I have my own opinion of her, but I would like to hear your viewpoint.”

My predecessors pondered their answer for a good minute before speaking it aloud. “Your kin she might be, but you would be wise not to trust Ichtaca. Her reputation as a dark witch and thief of soul appears well-earned.”

“I do not trust her either,” I said. I could count the number of allies I fully relied on with one hand, and even then I remained wary. The Parliament of Skulls itself didn’t hesitate to withhold information from me when its members wished to. “Do you think she is lying about wanting to help me?”

“Mayhaps, mayhaps not,” the Parliament replied. “You have seen Yoloxochitl. Even the vilest of monsters often cares for their progeny in their own way.”

I prayed to all the gods that my mother would not show me the same kind of love as the twisted Nightlord.

“Some will do terrible things to foreigners that they would never consider for their friends and kin,” my predecessors continued. “Ichtaca may be that kind of warlock, but be wary. She is clearly ruled by her fears. Fear of discovery. Fear of the final death. Fear of the Nightlords. She will assist you only as long as she might remain hidden and safe.”

“I expected the same.” My fists tightened. “As for her plan…”

“Whether or not this particular New Fire Ceremony aims to replace the sun or not, we cannot allow it to proceed to its conclusion.” The Parliament let out a sinister rattle. “Ichtaca is not wrong. We might have to resort to extreme methods to foil the Nightlords’ plan.”

“I’d hoped not to resort to more murders,” I confessed.

“But you will, if you must.”

I nodded. I wanted to explore less sinister alternatives, but if there were none… if there were none, I would not recoil from sacrifice. Victory and the world’s fate both demanded it.

“Have you no other solution to provide, my predecessors?” I asked without hoping for much.

“Unfortunately, your mother’s plan seems the most likely to succeed,” the Parliament replied. “Targeting the priests who shall accompany you on your process to Smoke Mountain might help disrupt the ritual, but their mistresses will easily replace them. Moreover, there is another element we must consider. The Nightlords have invested time and effort into this ritual. Should Ichtaca’s plan succeed in compromising it, the sisters will investigate. They will not stop until they find a responsible party.”

Damn it, I hadn’t considered that. I’d been so focused on finding a way to counter the Nightlords’ rituals that I hadn’t planned for what would come after. Mother might teach me how to hide my feathers, but I still needed better protection.

“I need someone to shift the blame to,” I whispered. “A patsy.”

“You already know who we are thinking of.”

Yes, I did.

And I knew exactly the person who would let me plant the evidence.

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