Chapter Three: Love and Hate

Chapter Three: Love and Hate

I had rarely rested my head on a woman’s lap, let alone a vampire’s.

It was... comfortable. And dreadful. Yoloxochitl’s skin was colder than Eztli’s, and though her smile was warm, the air was fraught with danger. I could cut the tension with an obsidian knife... or an owl’s talon.

I desired nothing more than to summon my Tonalli to rip Yoloxochitl to shreds. The magic stirred within me, waiting for the word to strike. I restrained myself. I would have only one chance to take the Nightlord by surprise, and failure meant the end of all my hopes.

“How does it feel?” Yoloxochitl softly asked me. “To die?”

A flash of pain raced through my chest as I remembered plunging a knife into it. While what awaited me after crossing death’s door wasn’t so terrible, I only had one word to describe the process. “Terrible.”

Yoloxochitl shook her head with a sigh. “Why did you do such an awful thing to yourself, Iztac?”

To escape you, I thought, my eyes darting around the room. If the other Nigthlords hid nearby in the dark, I couldn’t detect them. The bedroom appeared empty. To spite you. Because you’re a demon.

The Nightlord’s smile morphed into a scowl. “Iztac, you need not be so sullen. It would be easier if you told me what weighs on your chest.”

The fact I’ve met a real god, and he told me you were a fraud. A dangerous fraud. Of course, I kept that to myself and changed the subject. I tried to appear fearful and cowed, so she wouldn’t suspect anything. “What will happen to me?”

“Nothing.” My shock must have shown on my face, for Yoloxochitl smiled kindly at me. I couldn’t even tell if it was sincere or not. “Sister Ocelocihuatl wanted you tortured for your transgression, but I put an end to it.”

It sounded halfway plausible—the Jaguar Woman had threatened me with punishment already—but Yoloxochitl would find no gratitude in my reborn heart. Not after what I’d learned. This woman wanted to kill me for show. Her concern was a mask woven with lies. Yet she managed to sound so genuine, so sorry for me, that I almost believed her.

“To try taking your own life... it is such a sad act.” Yoloxochitl’s cold dead hand brushed against my hair. I recoiled a bit, much to her confusion. “Your mother never touched you like this?

“No.” Necahual’s cruel words flowed back into my mind, each of them another stab into my heart: even his mother didn’t want him. “She abandoned me at birth.”

I’d never known her. I barely even knew how she looked. Father never spoke of her while he lived, and the other villagers remained tight-lipped. I only managed to coax a few details from Guatemoc while he was drunk: that my mother was a white-hair witch who brought misfortune to my father’s house.

All I had was her name: Ichtaca.

“I see...” Yoloxochitl’s eyes fluttered with what could pass for sadness. “And the woman who took you in? Did she truly throw stones at you?”

“She did,” I admitted. Did vampires feed on my bad memories as much as my blood? Why was a Nightlord asking me this? “She hated me, saw me as a burden.”

As for her husband, I was a worker, never a son. Only Eztli truly cared.

“I understand you more now; why you tried to cut your own heart open.” Yoloxochitl’s hand moved to my chest. A chill ran through my skin when she touched me. “It was filled with sorrow, and you tried to alleviate the pain the best you could.”

The worst part was, she wasn’t too far from the truth. I tried to kill myself because being emperor had been one insult too many. “Something like that.”

“I never bore children of my own, Iztac,” the Nightlord whispered. Was that a hint of pain I detected in her voice? “I wanted to once, but our Father... blessed me first. He could never control his thirst.”

Blessed? Her wording caused me to frown in puzzlement. I had been taught that the Nightlords were born as goddesses sired by the divine First Emperor. I immediately tried to fish for more information. “He fed on your blood too?”

“It takes more than blood to sate a god’s thirst,” Yoloxochitl answered with a sweet smile. I immediately felt I had overstepped. She had raised the walls around her heart, and it would take time to bring them down. “Goddesses like us can’t bear life, Iztac. Immortality withers the womb, but the desire never left me.”

She was human once. The realization hit me like a lightning bolt. Like the Nightkin.

“So I settled on adoption,” Yoloxochitl whispered. Her head cocked to the side, towards the obsidian window. “The world is full of lost children in need of love. It is a holy duty for those who adopt them to provide it. Home is more than a roof over one’s head. True love is a fire that keeps us warm at night.”

“I had that once with Father,” I whispered. But then he died, and though Eztli did her best, I never felt fully welcomed in Guatemoc’s household.

“It saddens me that you’ve suffered so much.” Yoloxochitl bent a little and kissed me on the forehead as if I were her own son. Her cold lips sent shivers down my spine; she was so close I could confirm that she did not breathe unless she needed to speak. “I may not be allowed to claim you as my child, Iztac, but I swear to you. I shall soothe your wounded heart and fill it with happiness.”

Somehow, that promise filled me with greater unease than the Jaguar Woman’s threats. I locked eyes with the Nightlord, whose eyes brimmed with concern and... something else. Something unsettling and dangerous.

I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I could feel it in my bones. Yoloxochitl sounded genuine when she promised me happiness, and false when she pretended to be a goddess. Either she was an amazing liar, or a poor one. Her actions didn’t add up. And her eyes...

Her eyes looked so much like Eztli’s.

She is sincere, I realized, my heart skipping a beat in shock. Her compassion is genuine.

I remembered how Yoloxochitl tried to convince the Jaguar Woman not to torture me at my coronation. Though I had been chosen as emperor, she truly felt sorry for my circumstances. Much like Eztli before her.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to hate her—she shackled me like the other Nightlords—but to know that she truly intended to make the last year of my life a happy one out of the kindness of her heart... no one showed me true compassion since Eztli. I felt so conflicted.

Yoloxochitl squinted at me. “You do not believe me?”

Damn it, my unease had shown. Quick, Iztac, think of something. “I...”

“You do not need to lie,” Yoloxochitl interrupted me with a warm smile that showed her pointed fangs. “I understand. After suffering so many wounds, any kindness must reek of falseness to you.”

She lifted the power that bound my muscles with a wave of her hand. I slowly and carefully raised my head, half expecting the axe to fall anytime. It did not.

“Allow me to back my words with action, Iztac,” Yoloxochitl said upon stepping off of the bed. She looked like such a lovely creature, so slender and ethereal. Many men would have killed for the privilege to worship at her feet. I was not one of them. “I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” I asked warily. The poisoned kind?

Yoloxochitl nodded calmly. She waved at me, inviting me to join her. I stepped off the bed with only a cotton loincloth to hide my nakedness. She took my hand into her own and smiled at my skittishness.

“Do not be shy, Iztac,” the Nightlord said with fingers cold as ice. “We finished selecting your consorts.”

The prospect of having a wife, let alone four, would have delighted me once, but now... now I realized whoever the Nightlords picked would share my fate. They would be killed for nothing.

“You know that each of us Nightlords pick a consort?” Yoloxochitl asked me. “I hesitated a long time about my choice. My sisters have preferences, but what I care most for is our emperor’s happiness.”

I doubt that, I thought.

“I sought to select the perfect companion for you. Someone who will care and die for you.” Yoloxochitl’s face beamed with pride. “When the priests told me about your life’s story, I immediately knew who I should choose. I met the girl, and she was such a lovely creature... albeit saddled with a terrible mother and a drunkard for a father. The most beautiful flowers always find a way to bloom, even in the poorest soil.”

My blood froze in my veins. There was only one person who fit that description, and the idea of a Nightlord sinking her claws into her filled me with fearful rage.

She couldn’t have... My head grew heavier with dark thoughts. She couldn’t have... oh please no... she will die by the year’s end if...

“I knew she would never grow healthy with her current parents.” Yoloxochitl chuckled to herself, as if remembering an amusing tale. Her eyes fluttered with mischief and childishness. “So...”

She guided me to my bedchamber’s doors. I smelled blood in the air, and heard the sound of suction.

“I adopted her.”

The doors snapped open.

The faint smell of blood became overwhelming, alongside a sickening taste of iron and copper in the air. The dim light of torches carried by guests illuminated the grim feast in all of its morbid horror. A red puddle spread upon the waiting lobby outside my chambers.

Eztli had spilled her first drink.

Namely, her own father.

My thoughts were akin to balls shattering against a stone wall. My reborn heart stopped beating in my chest, stabbed not by a knife, but by the bitter sting of horror and disgust. My eyes struggled to process the scene unfolding before my eyes. Eztli was right there, standing before me with eyes as red as her bloodsoaked cotton dress. Her hands held her kneeling father to the ground while her fangs hungrily bit into his jugular.

Guatemoc’s muffled moans of agony were drowned by his daughter’s greedy gulping. His skin was pale, his veins dried up. His eyes were devoid of light, and his twitching fingers grew weaker with each passing second. It didn’t deter Eztli. She greedily drank with a bestial, maddened hunger. She didn’t seem to notice me. She would suck Guatemoc down to the last drop of blood.

The grim feast had an audience. Two red priests held Necahual prisoner and forced her to watch the spectacle. She struggled against the ropes restraining her hands in a panicked attempt to turn away. Tears of fear flowed down her cheeks and onto the cotton scarf keeping her mouth closed. I had dreamed of seeing her reduced to such a state in my darkest fantasies, and now it filled me with disgust.

Tlacaelel... he was there too, rubbing his hands in a corner. Smiling. He was smiling, the dickless bastard. A couple of Nightkins chittered at his sides in their bestial state, their bat fangs salivating like dogs waiting for their turn.

“So beautiful...” Yoloxochitl’s hands seized my shoulders, gently but firmly. “I’m moved...”

I wasn’t moved. In fact, I was as still as a marble statue. The scene was such a gruesome display of absolute evil, so nauseating in its cruelty, that I simply stood there frozen in place. My head felt heavier than stone. My words died in my throat, drowned by the sound of Guatemoc’s blood ebbing away. His brownish cheeks turned ashen, and his daughter’s iron grip caused his empty veins to squeeze.

I... I... what... what was I looking at?

“Ah...” I panted in shock, unable to string two words together. “Ah...”

Eztli, my dearest friend... Unlike her mother, she showed no horror at the crime she was committing. A maddened bestial look of ecstatic delight showed on her bloodsoaked face. I couldn’t find the girl I’d loved so dearly in the abomination’s eyes. Only a bottomless hunger and an unquenchable bloodlust.

This... this had to be a nightmare. I was still in the Land of the Dead Suns, dreaming of darkness.

“The first feast is always the most unsightly,” the Nightlord behind me said. “But look at how calm her father is... he’s giving his life so she might feed...”

Yes... yes this was a nightmare. None of this was true. It was a dying hallucination, a feeble illusion on the afterlife’s threshold. It couldn’t be real...

A warm liquid fell on my neck while Guatemoc turned limp and cold. The sensation snapped me out of my trance long enough to peek over my shoulder.

Yoloxochitl was crying tears of blood.

Tears of emotion.

Tears of joy.

“This is love, Iztac,” she said, oh so sweetly. Her blissful smile was the gentlest I had ever seen. “This is what true love looks like.”

The most terrifying part was that she believed it. I could see it in her eyes. The feverish glint of insanity, the sincere gaze of a diseased mind who could interpret this... this horrific abomination as a laudable act.

I finally realized what was wrong with Yoloxochitl. The Jaguar Woman was evil, the White Serpent was cruel, and the Bird of War was brutish. But the Flower of the Heart? The Flower was mad.

Once Eztli had finished her meal, she released her grip on her lifeless father’s corpse. His empty husk slumped at his wife’s feet with a loud noise. Eztli licked the blood off her lips with a dark look of absolute bliss that soured my stomach.

This... this wasn’t a dream. This was reality. A nightmare, but still reality.

“E-Eztli?” I found the strength to stammer. “Eztli?”

Eztli did not respond. Her crimson eyes fluttered in a daze, lost in an expression of ultimate pleasure. Her muscles were relaxed and her tongue stuck between her lips. Sharp fangs gleamed in the torches’ light. I wanted to hold her, to shake her out of it, but her terrifying expression made me recoil.

She... was Eztli even somewhere inside that creature?

I... I...

“Give her time to adjust,” Yoloxochitl said with a tone that could pass for kindness. “I swear to you Iztac, I will raise her right this time.”

My heart thrummed in fury, and an owl’s phantom talons materialized behind the Nightlord.

I felt Yoloxochitl’s nails curl into my flesh. Her head snapped to the side, though I managed to dispel my spirit manifestation before she could catch a glimpse of it. It took everything to keep a blank face and not give myself away. My pulse quickened in panic.

“No, we do not,” the Parliament answered bluntly. “Yoloxochitl is the weakest of the four, but she is still too powerful for you. You must strengthen your magic before you can even think of confronting her in open battle.”

“Then let us begin now.” My time among the living would be short, and I would not delay. I would have no more nights like this one. “What must I do? What flame is powerful enough to burn a Nightlord to cinders?”

“The soul is made of three things,” the Parliament of Skulls began. “The Tonalli, the mind and spirit; the Teyolia, the life-fire of the heart; and the Ihiyotl, the breath and the will. You must master all three to become a true sorcerer. Do you remember the faded sun?”

Yes, I did. The Underworld’s purple sun was a pale shadow of the one that burned in the land of the living, yet it did provide light. Could I make it mine?

“The four deities that became suns before your own offered their Teyolia to kindle the sky,” The Parliament’s lights flickered in the dark as they reminisced. “Their life-fire might have faded away, but embers of power remain. If you gather these remaining flames and infuse your own Teyolia with them–”

“I will gain the sun’s power,” I guessed, my fingers trembling with a meager hope.

“A fraction of it,” the Parliament clarified. “Your heart will become a pyre that shall burn even the gods. It will not guarantee victory, but it shall give you a chance.”

My hand moved to my naked chest. My heart thrummed underneath the Nightlords’ mark, demanding revenge. “I will shoulder any obstacle, oh honored spirits,” I said with determination. “But I only saw one sun in the Underworld, that of the goddess Chalchiuhtlicue. Where are the other three?”

“You must travel downward to find them,” the Parliament replied. “The Land of the Dead Suns is made of four layers, each a world’s corpse and a sun’s tomb. The strata you visited, the Catacombs of Sorrow, is naught but the first step in a dangerous journey. There are dead things down in the levels below that the gods locked away for a reason. Lost monsters and forgotten ideas that are anathema to life itself. Your nights will be long and full of dread.”

“The days already are,” I replied dryly. Whatever terrors awaited in the Underworld, they couldn’t be worse than watching Eztli murder her own father. “Show me the road and I will walk it.”

“First you must claim Chalchiuhtlicue’s fire,” the Parliament declared. “You must travel to the dead kingdom of Mictlan in the first layer, where you will find both her sun’s embers and the gate leading you to the next level. We can discuss how to reach them when you next sleep. The waking world will demand other skills.”

Somehow, I had the suspicion that waking hours would be harder on me. My quest in the Underworld sounded simple: to descend into its depths, collect four suns’ embers, and learn magic along the way. My time as an emperor, however, would be spent with the Nightlords watching over my neck.

“What must I do after tonight’s slight?” I asked my predecessors. Merely thinking about Eztli’s fate boiled the blood in my veins. “How must I answer it?”

“With patience,” the Parliament of Skulls replied calmly. “Submit to the Nightlords in words, pretend helplessness, and keep your true intentions a secret.”

My jaw clenched in frustration. “I must let them stone me and murder innocents, and then thank them for the privilege?”

“Would you rather play the fool or be one?” The Parliament let out a rattle of displeasure. “You must be like the silent snake, who slithers in the grass to better catch its prey unaware. Let the Nightlords believe that their cruelty crushed your spirit and that the pleasures they offer dulled your edges. Entertain them when they watch you, and gather allies when they do not.”

“What of Necahual? I have no wish to...” The words died in my throat. “Touch her. I lied to Yoloxochitl so she would leave her alone, but if the Nightlord suspects the truth–”

“Then you should kill the one called Necahual.”

My head snapped at my predecessors in shock. “What?!”

“We’ve told you once before,” my predecessors reminded me. “The vampire’s kiss denies its victims their afterlife. When these leeches feed on blood, they also feast on the soul. This Guatemoc will only pass the Gate of Skulls when his killer is well and truly destroyed. His widow will suffer the same fate if the Nightlords grow weary of her. If she dies by your hand, at least she will pass on properly.”

I refused to go through with it. I hadn’t saved Necahual from death at the hands of monsters to do the deed myself. “There has to be a third way.”

“Perhaps,” the Parliament conceded. “Given time, she might prove useful to our cause.”

With Necahual now a long-term problem, my thoughts turned to Eztli. Poor Eztli, warped into a creature of the night. The Parliament’s words—that Guatemoc’s soul wouldn’t pass on until his own daughter perished—made me realize just how deep the curse went. It twisted people into monsters and denied their victims any hope for release.

“Is there a cure for vampirism?” I asked my predecessors. “Can a Nightkin be made human again?”

“If this is possible, we have yet to see it.” The Parliament noticed my disappointment and swiftly tried to lift my spirits. “The Land of the Dead Suns welcomes creatures who ruled long before the Nightlords. The vampires’ true origin remains a secret even to us, but they might tell you more. If you can find the poison’s source, perhaps you can clear the well.”

It was a slim hope, but hope nonetheless. It gave me yet another reason to delve deeper into the land of the dead. But that would come later, in my sleep.

“You said you would guide me in my waking hours,” I reminded the Parliament of Skulls. “I will soon be introduced to my consorts. What wisdom can you share with me on how to approach them, my predecessors?”

“Four consorts were chosen to share your fate. They make natural allies. Many of us found friends and confidants among them.” The Parliament’s heads grunted in anger. “We also suffered cruel betrayals, for the hearts of humans are easily led astray. Test them all, trust no one.”

“Why would they betray me?” I asked in confusion. I’d already considered approaching the consorts as friends today, but I did not expect my predecessors’ wariness. “What would they have to gain? We’re all going to die on the altar.”

“The Nightlords will tell your consorts that they might be spared if they do their bidding,” the previous emperors replied. “These will be lies—no one escapes the knife—but the desperate will cling to any hope. Some of your consorts might even believe their sacrifice will be for the good of all and that a rebellion endangers the universe. Or the Nightlords will threaten their kin. There are many ways for the powerful to cow the weak into obedience.”

I could believe that. I had seen far too many examples, from old priests bending boys at school to false prophets of the night leading an empire to believe in their lies.

“What bothers us most is Yoloxochitl’s choice,” the Parliament said. “Never before has a vampire been chosen for the sacrifice. The Nightlords’ ritual is a delicate affair. This whim may have severe consequences down the line.”

“A whim,” I muttered with a scowl. “All this blood... it was just a whim from her?”

The Parliament remained silent a moment, before offering comforting words. “We mourn your loss with you,” the skulls whispered. “We too have lost many companions to the curse. All we advise you for now is to listen. Your friend may have become a mockery of life, but part of her still remains within her.”

I changed the subject. I didn’t want to think of Eztli. The wound was too raw. “How may I become powerful?” I asked. “How can I make others behave on my behalf?”

“The emperor does wield powers of his own,” my predecessors replied. “Not all of them are borrowed. There are loopholes to exploit, duties that can become rights, rules that can give you authority. First, we shall also teach you to consult with the Yaotzin, the wind of chaos, so that you may learn secrets of friends and foes.”

The Yaotzin? “I’ve never heard of this name.”

“Where do curses go when they’re uttered?” the Parliament asked, though it did not wait for my answer. “Words carry power, Iztac Ce Ehecatl; they are the source of Ihiyotl magic. As small currents fuel great rivers, a thousand curses form deadly hurricanes. This is the Yaotzin. A wind born of malign words, the enemy of both sides.”

My eyes widened in surprise as I made the obvious connection. “The voices in the winds...”

“Indeed.” The Parliament’s hundreds faces let out a shared grunt. “As Nahualli, you can hear the Yaotzin’s whispers. Trust it not, for this wind exists to spread discord; but properly coaxed, it will answer questions.”

“Questions about what?”

“Of evil words, of shameful secrets, and secret betrayals. The Yaotzin knows every sin that has ever been uttered. The Nightlords know how to guard their secrets against it, but mortals do not. They confess their crimes and their guilt to the wind when they think of themselves alone; unaware that when they allow a word to escape their lips, it is free to torment them.”

We shall carry your words to those who will listen, the winds told me when I first rebelled against the Nightlords. I suddenly wondered who it might be.

“We shall teach you the spell of Augury, which will allow you to consult the Yaotzin. This shall be your first step in mastering Ihiyotl magic.” The Parliament’s eyes lit up as they bestowed their knowledge. “To form a covenant with it, you must offer a drop of blood to the wind to catch its attention. Then you must offer a tribute, a truth that will harm someone if revealed. Do not confess anything that can be turned against you. The Yaotzin knows nothing of loyalty, and might one day inform your enemies. Each truth you give away must be different from the last.”

I remembered Xolotl’s words: that magic was all about giving and receiving in return. I’d sworn I wouldn’t listen to the voices in the wind for the rest of my life, but I guessed stabbing my own heart and dying voided the vow. “And then?”

“Then you must ask a question. The crueler the information you reveal, the more the wind will whisper back. The Yaotzin never lies, for the truth cuts deeper than any knife.”

“Then I will interrogate the wind on the consorts once I have learned their names.” I bowed before the previous emperors. “I thank thee for your guidance.”

“We wish we could offer more than that, our successor.” The Parliament’s glowing eyes dimmed in the shadows. “We shall meet again in the Land of the Dead Suns, to plot our revenge.”

The spirits returned to their silent grave, and I emerged from the reliquary alone with my thoughts. The wind blew upon my face when I walked upon the roof and whispered poison into my ear.

Do not trust the skulls, the Yaotzin said. They keep secrets from you.

I froze for a second, meditated on this information, and then carried on as if nothing had happened. It was indeed the enemy of both sides.

With my meditation complete, maids and servants prepared me for the ceremony. They led me into hot baths to wash me, dressed me in imperial robes, and crowned me with the emperor’s headdress. I neither resisted nor said a word. The Nightlords wanted to see me cowed, and I would indulge their delusions.

“It is time for you to sit on your throne, oh great emperor,” Tlacaelel said once servants finished dressing me. “Many will come to pay you homage today, including foreign dignitaries.”

“I suppose I must welcome them with politeness, Tlacaelel?” I asked calmly.

“If that is your wish.” As I suspected, the eunuch appeared pleased that I would consult him for advice. He believed me neutered. “Everyone within the empire’s borders and beyond owes you obedience, oh great emperor.”

I wondered how many resented that fact... and whether we could find common ground.

An escort of guards guided me into a vast pavilion within the palace’s heart. I was immediately struck by the hall’s sheer size. Half my village could have fit within its confines. Great marble columns supported a vaulted ceiling tall enough to let a longneck through; precious gemstones on its surface mimicked the night sky. Delicate tapestries adorned the walls alongside a host of trophies taken from a thousand defeated tribes: colorful feathers, the skulls of great creatures, magnificent pottery, and dazzling golden statuettes stood on hardwood shelves to impress visitors. Rugs covered every inch of the marble floor.

A masterfully crafted throne of obsidian oversaw the entire room from its end atop an elevated platform. Plush and cushions sat around it, albeit on a level below it; I assumed they were meant for dignitaries and advisors. Rare plants and burning resin filled the hall with intoxicating fragrances.

None of these distractions could obscure the room’s most impressive detail: an obsidian window laced with streaks of red oversaw the throne from behind. Its carvings made it resemble a deity’s ghastly eye. I assumed it represented the First Emperor, whose dimmed sunlight filtered through the blackened glass. A reminder that the Nightlords would always look over my shoulder, no matter how high I ascended.

“Impressive, is it not?” Tlacaelel and the guards formed two lines on each side of the stairway leading to the throne. “It is time for you to take your rightful place at the apex of the world, oh great emperor.”

I ascended the steps with as much enthusiasm as a condemned man walking toward the sacrificial altar. The throne proved no more comfortable than its fearsome appearance suggested; the absence of cushions did nothing to blunt the obsidian’s coldness. The armrests’ edges were sharper than blades, preventing me from resting my hands. The one comfort I could find was the height: I towered over Tlacaelel and his ilk from over ten feet above.

I guessed the underlying message behind that design choice: that no matter how insignificant my fellow mortals were before an emperor’s majesty, I would never rest easy.

Once I sat properly, courtiers in dazzling clothes and feathered dresses swarmed the room from nowhere. They advanced with their heads down, avoiding my gaze like the crawling maggots they were. Tlacaelel announced my glory to all who would listen.

“All kneel before the great emperor of Yoahuachanca, godspeaker, servant of the long night, and first king of the Thirteenth Cycle, the Huey Tlatoani and conqueror of the earth!” Guards hit shields of wood with their spears when Tlacaelel spoke, as they did for my predecessor. “Iztac, the First of his name, and his four consorts!”

I braced myself for the blow I knew would come. Yoloxochitl had warned me whom I should expect to see today.

Enormous doors of hardwood opened and four women entered the hall.

The last consorts I saw had been shaved, drugged, stripped, and shipped to the sacrificial altar. The ladies that walked into the throne room were no vampire appetizers. They came dressed in splendid clothes and unique jewelry that showcased their differences. And most importantly, they looked at me rather than keeping their heads down as protocol demanded.

I appraised each of my fellow sacrifices in turn, trying to discern whether they would make for friends or foes. A mere glance told me much.

The first consort was a young woman my age, with the palest skin I had ever seen: not a light shade of brown like mine, but pinkish-white. Her hair was like a fountain of gold falling on her shoulders and her eyes gleamed with a vivid shade of green. I’d never seen anything like her before, even among foreigners peddling their wares in the capital’s markets. Her fair face, with its high cheekbones and slightly upturned nose, differed from the common features of Yohuachanca’s people. She strode forward with confidence that bordered on insolence, her vibrantly colored embroidered tunic left her slim legs exposed. She wore a treasury’s worth of golden armbands, necklaces, and earrings. Of the four, she looked the most like a princess; and when our eyes met, she gave me a lovely smile and a playful gaze.

The second consort couldn’t be more different. She was a head taller than me, and a decade older too. Her dark-brown skin, amber eyes, and fiery mane of red hair marked her as an amazoness from the southern jungles. She was more muscular than most warriors and dressed as one; she wore thick padded cotton armor instead of a shirt, a functional loincloth, and a simple circle of shells and claws instead of a headdress. Her callused hands instinctively brushed against her belt, searching for a dagger or a sword that was no longer there. She walked with regal dignity, but I could see the resignation in her fierce eyes. She hated being there as much as I did. Probably a war captive taken in battle.

The third consort gave me pause, for I saw my own reflection. She was a petite thing around my age, slim and frail. The earthy tones of her garments made her appear almost invisible in the pillars’ shadows. Her traits were common, her hands trembling with shyness. There was nothing particular about this young woman... except for her long white hair and pale blue eyes. The same as mine.

A Nahualli.

The girl blushed when I met her gaze and shyly lowered her head. The gold-haired consort’s smile faded at the sight, her emerald eyes flaring with a dangerous glint.

And my fourth wife...

My hands clenched in anger on my armrests, the sharp edges cutting thin lines into my palms and letting drops of blood drip onto the obsidian. I knew it was coming, and it still unsettled me.

Outwardly, she hadn’t changed much. Her skin complexion was a little lighter than before and her amber eyes were slightly more vibrant, but if anything she looked healthier and more beautiful than ever. She had traded her bloodsoaked cotton blouse for a blue priestess dress and skirt that left most of her cleavage and legs exposed. Gold armbands protected her forearms and ankles, and a half-moon shaped headdress glittered atop her long black hair. Her naked feet made no sound when she walked.

However, I had lived with her for years. I knew her inside and out. Her smile was a little more devious than normal. She moved with predatory confidence she had never shown in the past. And the golden goblet she carried in her hand spilled a drop of fresh blood on the floor.

I now guessed the purpose behind the obsidian windows. They did more than let sunlight in; they filtered out whatever holy power repelled the Nightlords and their kin. My palace was safe for them to invade. The dawn would not burn them within these unhallowed halls.

The other consorts glanced warily at their undead sister, and she alone dared to speak up.

“What’s wrong, Iztac?” The nightkin who had once been Eztli flashed a devious smile. Her fangs reflected in the filtered light. “Don’t you like my new look?”

Eztli was back in my life, and yet so far gone.