Blood & Fur

Chapter Nine: How to Win Friends and Influence People

Nearly six hundred years of endless conquests had refined the empire’s tribute system into a terribly efficient tool of oppression.

Nenetl and I spent most of the day reviewing its current state, which proved enlightening. First of all, tributes were divided into fifty administrative provinces, each overseen by an official called a calpixqui. These stewards assessed the economic potential of each region, discussed terms of tributes with various cities, collected them on Yohuachanca’s behalf, kept detailed records, and reported any issue to the central government. Loyal provinces who joined the empire voluntarily obtained deals that were better than those who resisted assimilation. Chilam, for example, only paid a third of what her sister-city Balam was taxed.

The calpixqui collected the tributes four times a year, which could take the form of food, crafted goods, or slaves depending on Yohuachanca’s needs. The bureaucracy’s demands reflected each region’s capabilities. Provinces specialized in agriculture mostly sent maize and cotton, while mining towns sent gold and stone. Once they had collected the tributes, each calpixqui sent the ‘harvest’ back to the capital where it would be redistributed. Portions went to the emperor, the Nightlords, the military, and the priests, while the rest was stocked for use in times of need. The shares varied depending on circumstances; almost all the food went to the army, the Nightlords and priests kept the jaguar’s share of the human sacrifices, while I kept most of the luxury items. My main role was to impress others with my lavish lifestyle and splendor, after all.

If a region failed to deliver the required payment, the assigned calpixqui could requisition it by force with the army’s help. A province would sometimes attempt to rebel over the tribute every few years, but this rarely happened nowadays. Only smoking ruins remained of cities that dared to defy the Nightlords’ demands.

Even after reading the tax documents with Nenetl, I struggled to imagine the empire’s wealth. The numbers were so absurd that they formed an abstract picture in my mind. My personal fortune as emperor alone simply boggled the mind. I owned dozens of smaller palaces and villas, entire vaults filled with precious metal, thousands of slaves… I couldn’t see any way to spend all my wealth in a year, let alone bankrupt the empire.

A war might strain the tribute system, but it wouldn’t cause it to collapse. The bureaucracy had been purposefully designed to fund endless campaigns. I needed another way to sabotage it.

Everything revolves around the calpixqui, I thought. These officials kept the river of gold and blood flowing. But even if I were to kill them all, the extensive imperial records would allow the bureaucracy to quickly replace them. All papers and reports are gathered in my palace, however. If I could destroy them at an opportune time, it might disrupt the flow of tributes, at least for a few months… but even then I’m not sure.

Now I understood why the empire could afford a new emperor each year. Its resilient bureaucracy could survive madmen and eccentrics alike.

“I’m so sorry,” Nenetl apologized as we finished reviewing the last reports. “It must have been so bothersome.”

“You are too kind, my lord.” Nenetl blushed a bit, something all the more noticeable because of her pale skin. “The priests said I had an… an eidetic memory. I will never forget anything.”

I believed her. Nenetl had an amazing understanding of the imperial administration, of what each province specialized in, and how much I could ask from them.

“Where do you come from?” I asked her. I was curious about what life another Nahualli experienced.

“Oh, I was born in Quetzaltenango,” Nenetle explained. “I, uh… I was raised by Lady Ocelocihuatl’s priests.”

“The priests?” That was impossible. Red-eyed priests couldn’t have children. The magic that bound them to their Nightlord overlords granted them unnatural youth and vigor, but made them sterile to a man. I suspected that was why the Nightlords didn’t turn everyone into red-eyed thralls.

Now she was all fidgeting and licking her lips in anxiety. “My father… my father gave me away to the temple when I was born.”

Though I felt sorry for her, it didn’t surprise me much. Many had wondered why my father insisted on raising me; the soothsayer’s prophecy forbade others to murder me, not to give me away to an orphanage.

“I… I would have been sacrificed, but the priests decided against it after reading my day signs. I was meant to serve the Gods-in-the-Flesh, they said.” Nenetl smiled shyly. “I guess… I guess they predicted I would be here.”

“Mayhaps,” I replied without truly believing it. The way through which the Nightlords selected their sacrifices remained obtuse. Perhaps they did keep a detailed schedule for future victims. “So you’ve never known your parents?”

“No, I… I never met them.” Nenetl shook her head meekly. “The priests treated me kindly enough. They didn’t hurt me, unless I… unless I asked stupid things.”

As in, they probably did their best to ignore her and just reminded her she was a cursed girl lucky to be alive whenever they remembered her. No wonder she turned out so shy and insecure. With no loving parent to treat her kindly, she had internalized the lies instead of rejecting them.

My silence caused her to blush. “How… how was your childhood?” Nenetl dared to ask me, which I took as a good sign. “You mentioned your father…”

“My mother abandoned me,” I confessed. Even though she was a Tlacatecolotl herself. “My father raised me alone before he died four years ago from the drought.”

“Oh, I’m…” Nenetl cleared her throat. “I’m–”

“Don’t say sorry,” I interrupted her. “You don’t need to apologize to me for anything. I won’t punish you for speaking your mind.”

“But–”

“No buts.” I shrugged. “We’re both cursed children, are we not? That makes us kin.”

“I… I see.” Nenetl joined her hands and mulled over my words. Thankfully, it seemed they got through to her. “I’ve… I’ve never met anyone like me before. I’m glad.” She blushed immediately. “I mean, not that you’re like me, but…”

“I know what you mean,” I reassured her with a smile on my lips.

She sighed in relief. “I… I shouldn’t hold you back any longer, my lord. You wished to spend the afternoon with your, uh, concubine, right?”

“You can call me Iztac if you want, Nenetl.” I had the feeling it would be an uphill battle until it stuck. “Perhaps we could spend the afternoon together tomorrow? What do you like to do in your free time?”

“The afternoon?” Nenetl held her breath for a second. “You mean… alone?”

“Yes,” I replied bluntly, causing her to redden considerably. I suddenly realized how that probably sounded to her. “As friends.”

“Yes, uh… I wouldn’t mind, my lord Iztac.” Nenetl sighed in relief. I guessed an official date would put too much pressure on her shoulders. “I… I like to play board games. Do you like to play patolli? Or bul?”

“I’ve played patolli in the past.” Eztli always beat me at it, though I often won against Guatemoc when he accepted a match. “I’ve never tried to play bul. You could teach me.”

“I would love to.” Nenetl beamed like the sun. “So… tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” I concurred with a strange feeling building up in my stomach. It took me a while to realize why.

For the first time in my life, I might have made a friend that wasn’t named Eztli.

I still intended to test Nenetl to see if she could become an ally against the Nightlords… but I would have still frequented her for the pleasure of her company. She was right. It was nice to meet a fellow Nahualli. I loved Eztli, but she could never truly understand what I went through all my life. Nenetl might.

After leaving Nenetl, Necahual and I spent the afternoon visiting the gardens and menagerie. My mother-in-law came fully clothed this time. The priests saw fit to dress her in a ceremonial huipil blouse streaked with red and white flower motifs, alongside a small crown of feathers and black onyx earrings. She would have looked like a noble lady, if not for the choker marking her as my property.

Necahual arrived with a basket hanging from her arm, a pestle, a mortar, and an all-too-familiar glare. She welcomed me with stone cold silence. A surge of anger boiled my veins. Though I had comforted her only a few hours ago, it seemed Necahual stubbornly decided to go back to hating me.

What did I expect from her? I wondered. Gratitude?

The wind whispered into my ear. She does feel gratitude, and it disgusts her.

Good. I offered her my arm, which Necahual took for the sake of appearance with a look of visceral humiliation. Her forced reaction filled me with dark glee. After forcing me to behave according to her wishes for years, the roles were now reversed.

I found the promenade soothing nonetheless. The gardens breathed life, unlike the Land of the Dead Suns. I had almost missed the breeze blowing on my face.

In the sulfur pits, the darkness burns in exalted hatred, the wind whispered, with no one to hear it scream.

Almost.

I paid close attention to Necahual as we walked among flowers. My mother-in-law appeared genuinely amazed by the sheer variety of plants in the imperial gardens. Her eyes darted from one rare orchid to another, and we had to stop half a dozen times for her to pick them up.

“Will that be sufficient?” I whispered into her ear, too low for the guards trailing us to listen.

Necahual scowled a bit, as if angry that I dared to breathe on her. “Yes.”

“I need something undetectable,” I insisted. “Symptoms that will be overlooked. Too quick a death and we’ll be suspected.”

Necahual glared at me for daring to question her expertise, and then looked down on her basket. I glanced at her harvest: a set of plants of various colors, mostly red, alongside a few small grains and moonflowers.

“I can make a poison from these,” she whispered back. “Whoever ingests it will feel drowsiness after a few hours. They will suffer from diarrhea, abdominal pain, and then from a fatal seizure.”

The idea of Tlacaelel shitting himself to death appealed to me. “How long?”

“One to two days.” Long enough to avoid suspicion. “The powder is tasteless if put in a drink.”

Excellent. I could simply invite Tlacaelel to breakfast and slip it into his cacao drink. “Make only a little. A satchel’s worth I can hide on myself.”

Necahual bit her lip in silent anger. “Do not speak to me like that. I am not stupid.”

“I will treat you with courtesy when you return the favor.” I sneered at her. “I saved your miserable life, and this is the thanks I get? Silence and glares?”

“Thanks?” Her nails sank into my flesh. “It is your fault that Eztli is–”

I saw red for a second, my blood boiling in my veins and my fists tightening in rage. Necahual let go of my arm and recoiled away in fear upon my expression. If looks could kill, my glare would have murdered her on the spot.

A wiser person would have shut up rather than push their luck. Necahual wasn’t one of them.

“This is all your fault,” she hissed under her breath. “If you had… if you’d just listened… my husband and my daughter would still be alive.”

It took all my willpower not to punch her. Nobody would think twice if I did. But I held back. I was better than that.

The truth cuts deeper than any blade, the wind gleefully whispered into my ear.

“I see why my father chose my mother over you,” I said coldly.

Necahual flinched as if I had slapped her.

“He deserved better than a small, petty, hateful thing like you,” I taunted her. “You could have never hoped to satisfy him.”

Necahual slapped me.

Or rather, she tried. I grabbed her wrist before her hand reached anywhere close to my cheek. Necahual struggled against my grip, but much to her surprise I was both too strong and unwilling to let go. I’d never fought back like this before.

Since it was forbidden for anyone to raise their hand against Yohuachanca’s emperor, the guards immediately raised their obsidian clubs to intervene. I raised my hand to stop them in their tracks.

“It’s fine.” Using one hand to hold on to Necahual’s wrist, I used the other to grab the back of her head. “It’s part of the fun.”

I pressed my lips against her own.

I heard Necahual gasp and freeze in shock at the second contact. Her lips tasted different from Eztli; older, warmer, yet full of life. Yet they welcomed me all the same past the initial shock. I expected her to puke in my face, but instead she closed her eyes and returned the kiss.

It… it felt surprisingly good, actually. Not because there was any tenderness in this kiss, like with Eztli, but because it tasted of revenge.

The soldiers exchanged a silent glance, and then took a step back. With no need to maintain the charade, I let go of Necahual. She caught her breath, her eyes wide open in shock. She didn’t know how to react.

“Were you imagining my father in my place?” I whispered into her ear.

From the tears of rage and humiliation forming in her eyes, I had guessed correctly.

“Seems I hit a nerve,” I taunted her. “It must have hurt, to see me each morning with my father’s face and my mother’s eyes. Looking at the mirror of your defeat.”

“Your mother was a witch,” Necahual hissed through her clenched teeth. “A monster.”

“Yet Father didn’t come to you even when she left,” I mocked her. “You hoped he would, didn’t you? Maybe you thought he would elope with you?”

“How could…” Necahual’s skin turned paler than a corpse. “You’re… you’re like her.”

I sneered. “Wasn’t that why you tormented me for so long?”

Necahual didn’t answer. Another emotion had taken her over, banishing the disgust and anger: overwhelming, abject terror. It only further reduced whatever sympathy I felt for her. She only threw stones at me because she believed she wouldn’t suffer any consequences for it. How brave.

“Ask yourself why my father never returned your feelings.” I stared into her eyes and told her the truth she needed to hear. “Maybe he would have, if you stopped being such a bitch.”

Then I delivered the killing blow.

“One so unbearable,” I said, “that Yoloxochitl ‘adopted’ Eztli because she thought she could be a better mother than you.”

At that moment… At that moment, Necahual became livid, her gaze empty. Something had shattered inside her heart.

I put my arm around her own for show. She shivered at my touch, but did not push me away.

“The only reason I saved you is because of Eztli,” I reminded my mother-in-law. “Never forget it. Never blame me for what happened to her and your late husband ever again. Do you understand me?”

Necahual did not argue, nor did she curse me. She simply nodded meekly and followed along.

We settled on a tense silence for the rest of the promenade, only broken by the noise of our steps. I knew it might have been wiser to talk to her sweetly, I would need Necahual after all. However, I didn’t regret a single word I said. They had been years in the making.

Men spin beautiful lies to disguise the ugly truth, the wind whispered. To others and, most of all, to themselves. True change cannot happen without pain.

Change? Necahual? I struggled not to laugh.

We made our way to a prison within my prison: the menagerie. The zoo was divided into sections meticulously designed for each animal collection that it housed. Beautiful stones adorned the well-crafted enclosures, with lines of text written on them to offer insight on the captive creatures. Aviary cages kept hundreds of brightly colored birds from the southern rainforests captive, singing beautiful songs next to feathered serpents. Swamp-like pits hosted snakes, crocodiles, and centipedes the size of my arm. Pumas, jaguars, coyotes, bisons, and even a sabertooth tiger from the north roamed comfortable spaces, separated from hundreds of workers by barriers of thick wood and bard stone. Apes, monkeys, and giant sloths lazily ate leaves from trees under the afternoon sun.

Other enclosures housed strange and unusual animals: snakes with two heads, deformed turkeys with four legs rather than two, and snow-white ocelots. I paused the longest at this section. Much like me, these animals were born different and suffered for it. People considered them bizarre anomalies, either curses or wonders. I wondered whether I was expected to laugh at them or marvel at their strangeness. Instead, I felt a strange sense of kinship.

“See that these are well-treated,” I ordered one of the menagerie’s keepers. All of them bowed at my approach without meeting my gaze.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the man replied obsequiously. “I assure you that your animals are well taken care of. Dedicated hunters gather meat for the carnivores, workers clean their enclosures daily, and healers cure their ills.”

It said something that an emperor’s pets were better treated than most human peasants.

We passed by massive fish ponds filled with freshwater on our way to another section. I blinked upon seeing a strange, blue, doglike creature with a hand for a tail staring at me from the other side of an enclosure. The animal immediately vanished inside the water once spotted.

An ahuizotl, I recognized with a shiver. All fishermen near my village learned to fear these animals. Crocodiles only attacked you when you bothered them or showed weakness, but the ahuizotl possessed a strange fondness for human eyes. They delighted in using their hand-tail to drag men and children underwater to drown them.

I glanced at Necahual, studying her expression. Her tears had dried. Her hollow eyes stared into the distance, unaffected by the natural marvels surrounding her. She moved along without a word or hint of understanding of the outside world. Did my words break her, or had they gotten her thinking?

Thinking? I snorted inwardly. She’ll probably go back to spitting at me once she recovers.

“I want to see Itzili,” I informed the section’s keepers. Hearing my father’s name snapped Necahual out of her trance. “Where is he?”

“This way, Your Majesty.” The keepers immediately offered to guide me to the enclosure. “Would you like to feed the beast?”

I nodded sharply. The keepers guided us to an enclosure kept between a small horde of grazing trihorns and a couple of longnecks whose heads towered over the trees. Little Itzili roamed a space dedicated to him, which included a small pond and a nest of leaves.

Feathered Tyrants were infamous predators that roamed the continent. The discovery of one usually resulted in a large hunt to either drive it off or kill it before it started preying on villages, with even the Nightlords often sending their spawn to hunt the creatures personally.

Itzili was nothing like the ferocious monster I expected. When we arrived, we found the animal splashing himself in the water like a child. He looked up at us when the keepers opened the enclosure, before cautiously approaching. He stared at me with his strange reptilian eyes, though I couldn’t tell if he remembered me from the audience.

His wary behavior changed utterly when a keeper offered me a dead turkey. Itzili immediately realized I had come to feed him and started yapping happily. I found it adorable.

“Is it safe to indulge him?” I asked the local keeper. I only ever had experience with handling dogs and turkeys.

“Yes,” the keeper replied. “Feathered tyrants are gregarious animals, and this one is accustomed to men. He won’t bite unless he feels threatened. But Your Majesty must never forget that a tyrant will never be a friend. If they smell weakness, they will eat even long-time handlers without remorse.”

Much like a human emperor, I thought while feeding one of the turkey’s legs to Iztili. My pet tyrant leaped to catch it in midair with surprising agility. I wondered if he would keep the same swiftness once he reached adulthood.

I ordered the keepers to leave Necahual and I alone with Itzili, mostly so the former could prepare her herbal potions in peace. My mother-in-law pounded herbs together with her mortar and pestle, mixing them in ways that only made sense to a trained healer. As for me, I spent the next hour feeding Itzili. Once he had devoured the entire turkey, he let me scratch his feathers and scales.

“Are you even aware that you’re a prisoner?” I whispered to the animal. “Do you resent it?”

Itzili looked up at me in confusion. He did not understand me.

Men are the most miserable of all animals, the wind whispered into my ear. For only they understand that they were born to die.

“Can’t you give me anything less cryptic?” I muttered under my breath. “How about how I could start a war with the Sapa? Could you help with that?”

Pain is the wage of the damned, the wind replied. Happiness is never without its cost.

The Yaotzin wind always asked for a price. Secrets that would harm others. I knew a few, but they might come back to haunt me if revealed. I needed to hoard more knowledge to sell away.

I need to recruit spies, I thought. Sources who will feed me intel that I can then use to power my Augury spell. Would Lady Sigrun help me with that? What price would she ask for? Eztli’s use of the secret passages could also help me gather information. I need allies.

“Why?” Necahual asked me without warning.

I looked at her over my shoulder, a hand on Itzili’s head.

“Why did you name this creature after your father?” Necahual asked me while pounding herbs.

I shrugged. “Because I loved him, why else?”

My mother-in-law bristled, but said nothing.

Necahual completed her task by evening. She had recovered enough from our discussion to offer me two small pouches of whitened powder. “For a better sleep,” she said while handing me the first pouch. “For an eternal sleep,” she added while giving me the second one after some hesitation.

“Do not try anything,” I warned her while slipping both in a pocket. “If I die from ingesting it, it won’t stick, and the Nightlords will make you suffer for it.”

“I know.” Necahual stared at me with some hesitation, struggling to find her words. “I… I…”

“What?” I snapped at her. “Speak up.”

“I…” Necahual took in a deep breath, as if confessing to a great sin. “I apologize.”

I stood in place for a few seconds, my mind struggling to register what she had just said. Necahual might as well have spoken in a foreign language, for I had never heard those words coming out of her mouth before.

“I apologize for… what I said earlier.” Necahual bit her lip. “I did not think clearly, and… I did not think.”

“No, you did not,” I replied harshly.

To my surprise, Necahual did not argue. “I understand you saved my life, Iztac, although you had every reason not to. I am not ungrateful. It…” She looked away. “It would be easier if I could blame you for everything. For what happened with your father, with my husband and Eztli. But… I can’t. Because it’s not true.”

It sounded like it physically hurt her to say that, so it was probably genuine. I still struggled to believe it. I half-wondered if both of the pouches she gave me contained poison. I wouldn’t put it past her.

She fears your magic, the wind whispered into my ear. She has kept your mother’s secret out of dread, for she finds submission preferable to death.

Of course. Necahual still remained a coward at heart. Still, from the way she avoided my gaze in embarrassment, she appeared genuinely ashamed. I didn’t think the woman was capable of it. Perhaps my words did reach her a bit.

“I will never forgive you for all the years of abuse,” I warned her. “But for the sake of our mutual survival, and for Eztli, I will try to look past it.”

“I… I will do the same.” Necahual nodded slowly. “If you need my help, I will give it.”

I doubted we would ever get along, but I might learn to tolerate her one day.

The evening proved more pleasant than the afternoon.

As it turned out, Lady Sigrun and her family—as befitting a consort’s kin—occupied apartments on the same floor as my own. Ingrid personally came to lead me into grand chambers of polished marble, wearing the same dress as from the morning council.

“I hope you shall appreciate the decorations, my lord,” she said while draping her arm around mine. Her touch felt quite pleasant, unlike with Necahual. “Our apartments aren’t as lavish as yours, but we do our best to make them cozy.”

Exotic might have been a better term. I’d never seen similar decorations as what I found that night.

The iridescent gemstones adorning the main hall’s domed ceiling evoked the opalescent interior of a seashell. Layers of colored wood covered the walls, alongside knotworks representing strange horned warriors sailing on ships, world-devouring serpents, and wolves hunting after what I assumed were the moon and sun. The most beautiful piece remained a tapestry representing strange lights floating above a white sea. Bear furs from the north covered the ground, while torches mounted atop shield trophies glittered on the walls. Shelves full of scrolls, quills, jewelry, and potions stood next to intricate wooden chests. The place possessed its own hearth, one facing a small rock shrine covered in carved symbols and a large handcrafted table.

I stared in amazement at what lay upon that same table: an exquisite replica of a strange ship around the length of my arm. The vessel did not resemble any fishing boat I had ever seen, nor anything that flowed in the capital’s waterways. It possessed a single sail, mighty oars, and a reptilian head protruding from the bow. Twenty wooden men the size of my finger sailed on its hull.

“What is this?” I whispered as I examined the handcrafted ship. “I’ve never seen this design.”

“This is the vessel that brought my mother from Winland to Yohuachanca, my lord,” Ingrid explained softly. My sudden interest in the ship appeared to please her greatly. “The Longstrider.”

For a man like me, who had dreamed of purchasing a boat to sail into the sunset, to see such a detailed replica of a ship up close was nothing short of a wonder.

When I came closer, I realized that a detailed map was carved onto the table’s surface. The design represented a vast sea with Yohuachanca and the known world rising from the west, and unknown lands to the east. The ship’s position made it look like it was sailing westward toward the empire.

Fascinating, I thought as I examined the eastern shores, which I assumed represented the distant Winland. Truly fascinating.

“You did not tell me your husband appreciated woodcraft, Ingrid,” a musical, crystal-clear voice said from my left.

I turned my head in the speaker’s direction. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen stepped into the hall from another room.

The very sight of her took the breath out of my lungs. Her snow-white, unblemished skin appeared carved from marble streaked with pink at the cheeks. Her curly hair, the color of glittering gold under the summer sun, cascaded down her shoulders and back like a waterfall. Though she was taller than me, she possessed a slender graceful figure and moved with impeccable poise. She seemed about Necahual’s age, though time did not grace her perfect face with any lines. Most striking were her pale emerald eyes, which sparkled with depth and intelligence.

Her features already marked her as a foreigner, but so did her clothes. Unlike Yohuachancan dresses, her own, dyed with shades of pale gold and vibrant green, covered her arms as well as her legs. A thin ring of polished gold covered in strange letters adorned her neck; not as flexible as a necklace, yet lighter than a slave’s choker.

“I’m afraid the original Longstrider has long since sunk, Lord Iztac,” the woman explained with a pleasant smile that made my heart pound in my chest. Her voice was melodious with an accent I did not recognize, gentle yet regal. “I carved this replica to the best of my ability, but memories are like tales, sometimes short on details.”

It took me a few seconds to realize that this striking creature expected an answer from me. Ingrid’s amused chuckle brought flushing to my cheeks. “Lady Sigrun, I presume?”

“That is my name indeed,” the woman answered with a regal reverence. “I pray you will find my company most pleasant.”

The daughter is a shadow of the mother, I thought while recovering from the shock. Then again, any star would look pale compared to the sun. Not even the Nightlords nor Eztli could match this woman’s allure, for she lacked the aura of death and inhumanity that vampires exuded. Even her voice sounds enchanting.

“I’m sure he will, Mother,” Ingrid said. “Astrid, bow before your emperor.”

I had been so struck by Lady Sigrun’s beauty that I did not notice a small girl following in her footsteps. A black-haired child dressed in more traditional clothes observed me with emerald eyes and a gentle grin. She looked no older than eight.

“Greetings, Emperor Iztac,” the girl said with a cute bow. “Welcome.”

“This is Astrid, my sister,” Ingrid explained gently. “Adorable, is she not?”

“Indeed,” I replied. From the color of her hair and age difference, she was probably the daughter of another emperor. “Do you have other siblings?”

“My only son, Fjor, left the nest long ago,” Lady Sigrun replied calmly. While her voice sounded gentle and innocent, her eyes assessed me with a look of calculation. “He was a warrior like his father, so he joined the army. Only women and children can stay in the harem, for obvious reasons.”

“I hope to meet him one day then,” I said courteously. Since I wasn’t good with small talk, I changed the subject to the map. “Is that the boiling sea under the ship?”

“And seven others,” Lady Sigrun quipped. “It took us almost a year-long journey to move from Winland to Yohuachanca. The Boiling Sea covers little more than a lake in the middle of a vaster ocean.”

The more I examined the map, the more I realized how large the world truly was. Yohuachanca was the greatest empire in history, yet it looked so small and insignificant compared to the sea’s vastness.

“Thankfully, a map can hold more than one country on a single sheet of paper,” Lady Sigrun said wisely. “Or a piece of wood, in this case.”

An idea struck me like a bolt of lightning. “A country,” I mused out loud, my hand trailing along the carved shores. “Or a painted ocean.”

“My lord has a way with words,” Ingrid flattered me.

“Ingrid informed me you were curious about Winland, Lord Iztac,” Lady Sigrun said. “Mayhaps you would like to hear tales of our journey over dinner?”

She reads me like an open book, I realized. “I would love to.”

“Astrid, would you be a dear and bring the plates?” Ingrid asked her sister before smiling at me. “Has my lord ever heard someone play the harp?”

I frowned in confusion. “The harp?”

“He clearly has not, Ingrid.” Lady Sigrun’s laughter sounded like splashing water. “Show him how well I taught you.”

A few minutes later, we sat on comfy cushions near the hearth and enjoyed a dinner of fish and beans. Astrid served the plates and drinks, while her older sister brought over a strange string instrument nearly as tall as her. Ingrid sat and played on it, the device making beautiful sounds whenever she plucked it.

“In Winland, it is customary to play music when we recount ancestral sagas,” Lady Sigrun explained as she served me food. “The harp is gentler than the drum, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“Indeed,” I confirmed. This harp instrument sounded so slow, so melodious, so unlike any of Yohuachanca’s usual instruments. “Why would someone dare to cross such a vast sea?”

“Greed and poverty,” Lady Sigrun answered with a laugh. “Most lands east of Winland were taken by strong lords, and Winland itself is awfully cold. Our captain, Leif, thought there would be warmer, richer lands to settle west. I aspired for more than snow, so I signed on with the trip.”

“Your captain?” I frowned. “You were a sailor, Lady Sigrun?”

“A warrior,” Lady Sigrun corrected, much to my surprise. “Women are allowed to carry weapons in Winland. Life is harsh, so we learn to defend ourselves as soon as we can walk.”

She began to tell me how she ended up boarding the Longstrider with two dozen other explorers in search of gold and land. Four other ships joined them, but all either turned back or sank before they reached western shores.

“We attempted to raise a settlement, but the locals chased us off,” Lady Sigrun explained to the tune of her daughter’s melody. “A storm blew us off course north of the Boiling Sea, where the tribes informed us of a great empire with cities of gold to the south.”

“Yohuachanca,” I guessed. I wondered if the Winlanders would have dared to continue their journey if the tales spoke of my homeland as coated in blood rather than gold.

Lady Sigrun’s nod was slow, almost dramatic. “So entranced by words of its glory, Captain Leif decided to continue on. Unfortunately, we ended up captured by savages along the way.”

I tried to match her words with the map. I guessed the Longstrider’s crew ended in the northern borderlands bordering the Boiling Sea.

“An imperial raiding party rescued us, though most of my kinsmen perished from disease or starvation beforehand. I was brought before that year’s emperor…” Lady Sigrun chuckled to herself while glancing at her daughter. “Ingrid followed nine months later.”

It sounded like quite the daring tale, though I wondered if it was true. Yohuachanca was built on lies, and Lady Ingrid sounded quite happy about losing everyone she had ever known. “Don’t you miss Winland?”

“Absolutely not.” Lady Sigrun waved a hand at her apartment. “I will take this single room over my family’s whole farm any day. Believe me, Lord Iztac, you too would grow bored of the biting frost and seals.”

“What’s a seal?” I asked her.

Lady Sigrun pointed at a fur on a wall, which belonged to some kind of gray-furred rodent the size of a dog. She must have brought this one all the way from Winland when she first arrived.

“Seals are the Tlacaelel of the animal kingdom,” Lady Sigrun quipped. “All they do is yap and squeal.”

The joke drew a smile from me. “Perhaps I should trade my advisor for a seal then.”

“It would give better advice, that’s for sure,” Lady Sigrun said while slouching on the pillows like a sleeping jaguar on a rock. “I preferred his predecessor. At least that one could sing.”

I hope his successor will pick up the pace, I thought.

“I hope his successor will at least know how to dance,” Lady Sigrun echoed my own thoughts on the matter. Astrid came to deliver a honey cake dessert. “The Nightlords are bound to grow bored of his flattery one day.”

Time to test her, I thought. If she guessed correctly, I might ask more of her. “Any idea who they would replace him with?”

“Almost certainly Tezozomoc,” Lady Sigrun replied. “He has the age, experience, and support of the priesthood.”

“I would have bet on Tayatzin,” Ingrid argued, her hands plucking one string after another. “He’s the youngest eunuch, and the most energetic.”

“He is, which is why he won’t be chosen.” Her mother tasted the cake with slow, aristocratic grace. “The Nightlords do not want an energetic assistant to advise their emperor. They want someone who will calm his master’s ardors and won’t rock the boat. Tezozomoc will serve them well… and the emperor, of course.”

Lady Sigrun added the last part like an afterthought, like heavy sarcasm. Yet she still managed to sound innocent. Her eyes shone with mischief, revealing her true feelings. She’s been here for nearly twenty years, I thought. She knows how the game is played.

Lady Sigrun held my gaze for a moment, before turning her attention to her daughters. “Ingrid, can you play a little louder? Your poor mother can hardly hear you these days. Astrid, be a dear and go to bed.”

“Yes, Mother,” her youngest obeyed dutifully and vanished out of the hall, while her eldest started to sing over her music. Ingrid’s strong voice echoed in the apartments alongside her melody.

Lady Sigrun moved closer to me, leaning onto my shoulder. Her warm breath carried whispers into my ears.

“Let me deliver the poison in your pocket, my lord.”

I froze.

“Do not fret, the rats in the walls can’t hear us over Ingrid’s song.” Lady Sigrun’s fingers trailed a line along my cotton clothes. “Tlacaelel will be on his guard around you. He will see it coming, and your associate will perish.”

“How–”

“Why would you stand the presence of a woman you hate, unless you had something to gain from her? Once I learned she was a herbalist, the truth wasn’t too difficult to glimpse.” Her hand moved into my pocket and seized a pouch. “This one, or the other?”

I clenched my jaw. I sensed my Tonalli awaken in response to the tension I felt, ready to tear out throats.

Lady Sigrun stiffened, her eyes alert. “You think of silencing me,” she guessed. “I can sense your bloodlust.”

Could she sense magic too? My hands tightened into fists. No, or else she would have ratted me out. “You have keen intuition, Lady Sigrun.”

“One does not survive long within these walls without one.” She faced me, her emerald eyes staring into mine. “Your question was meant to test my knowledge, my emperor. I offer you a chance to prove my loyalty instead.”

I held her gaze for a moment, my mind racing to consider my options. If I let her keep the poison, then she would have proof to rat me out with, but if she went through what I think she planned to do… then her hands would be stained with enough blood for me to trust her. It was a gamble.

I thought back to what my predecessors said about her. Lady Sigrun was ambitious, and clearly not stupid. She might have been Ingrid’s mother, but at the end of the day she remained a concubine. The Nightlords cared little for her, and I could replace her with a word. She had more to gain by earning my favor over Tlacaelel’s, and more to lose by making an enemy of me.

“The other pocket,” I whispered.

Lady Sigrun grabbed the poison and hid it under a pillow so swiftly, that I doubt anyone watching us could have seen it. If Ingrid noticed anything, she didn’t show it.

“I can tell a patient snake apart from a cowed songbird,” she said while resting her head against my shoulder. “Do not invite Tlacaelel to breakfast, or his mistresses would suspect the truth. Let me handle him. He will die by the week’s end.”

“You’ve done this before,” I guessed.

“Of course. Though few of your predecessors dared to ask me to murder someone in their name. I find it refreshing.” Her finger playfully pinched my cheek, as if I were an adorable child. “I know everything that happens inside this palace, except the hidden passages and forbidden areas. My reach extends beyond the walls too. If you need information on what happens outside, or to smuggle something in, I can help you. I have many other talents, as you will soon find out.”

By now I’d learned nothing was free in this world. “What do you want in exchange?”

“First of all, I want you to treat my daughter well… and then, I want you to treat me well.” Lady Sigrun let go of my cheek, her gaze sharp and calculating. “Do we have an understanding, Iztac?”

I squinted at her. “Yes.”

“Good.” Lady Sigrun smirked at her daughter. “Ingrid.”

“Yes, Mother?”

“The Emperor is tired,” her mother said with a laugh. “Show him what he was missing out on with his Nightkin.”