Chapter Fifty-Four: The Hand of Fate

Chapter Fifty-Four: The Hand of Fate

The dawn purged the undead with light and flames.

The Nightlords had long retreated inside their underground abode by then, where the Nightkin gathered scores of the First Emperor’s abominations. My captors had me check whether my authority extended to all these creatures, and it did. Dozens of undying, soul-devouring abominations brought from the capital’s various temples knelt to me in the silent dark.

“Our Godspeaker’s intuition proved correct,” the Jaguar Woman said, her fingers intertwined in deep contemplation. “The Nightchildren do bow to our emperor’s will.”

Nightchildren, eh? The title sounded appropriate, if a little pedantic for my taste. The Nightlords wished to present this curse as a boon to them rather than an attempt to bring them to ruin.

“Is this an accident?” Iztacoatl wondered out loud, her eyes glaring at me. She knew that I would use this dark boon to harm their interests. “Or intentional?”

I was asking myself the exact same question.

Did the First Emperor plan for this to happen? It would make sense for that monster to put his finger on the scale by providing me with tools to destroy his treacherous spawn; tools that he could take back the moment he escaped the seal binding him anyway. The First Emperor struck me as a mad force of hunger and destruction, but even feral beasts possessed a low form of cunning.

It could also have been a coincidence; an attempt to curse the world that I could harness for myself as the First Emperor’s representative on Earth.

But the ‘why’ mattered little in the end. I pondered more how I could use this development to my advantage. Being too bold too soon would raise the Nightlords’ suspicions, so I waited for them to debate with each other.

“Our emperor’s words may be correct,” the Jaguar Woman decided. “We may have misread the signs. I believed that the stars’ prophesied age of darkness heralded the rise of the Sulfur Sun where we would conquer the daylight, when in truth the night’s shadows have only thickened.”

“These shadows are not ours to command,” Sugey pointed out. Though they wisely didn’t try to do so in my presence, I bet that they had tried to command the Nightchildren themselves and failed. “This smells like a trap.”

“Would you spit on such a gift?” Eztli said with a snort. “No warriors will hold the line before this army.”

“Quiet, child,” the Jaguar Woman said sharply, with Eztli straightening up in response. “Nonetheless, you do have a point. The prophecy is formal: the coming age will see Yohuachanca’s ultimate triumph.”

I seized my chance. “If the goddesses would allow me to speak?”

Four pairs of eyes turned to me, none sharper than the Jaguar Woman’s. “Do you have something to say, our Godspeaker?”

“Lady Iztacoatl spoke most wisely earlier.” I immediately noticed the suspicion in Iztacoatl’s gaze. Perfect. “Let us summon the Three-Rivers’ ambassadors and show them how I command the living and the dead. Let them know that once I wipe the Sapa off from the face of the Earth, I shall turn my gaze north to claim further tributes. Let them learn that a futile demise is all that awaits those who deny Yohuachanca; and that death will be no escape to those who challenge the empire’s might.”

The longer I spoke, the more Iztacoatl’s fair face grew laced with the slightest bit of tension. I could almost read her mind. Did he plan this from the start? Did he somehow trick me into playing into his schemes?

While I mostly said these words to destabilize Iztacoatl, I did see a few ways to subvert her plan. With luck, the Three-Rivers Federation would realize the existential threat that I represented and strike the empire from the north while my forces fought the Sapa to the south. At worst, they would surrender to me and my prestige among the people would only grow.

Prophets gained a following by performing miracles. I had spoken for the gods and now commanded the restless dead that escaped the Nightlords’ own control. With enough effort, my citizens might begin to believe in me instead of them.

“Allow me to lead these Nightchildren in your name when I confront the Sapa Empire,” I declared with a hand on my chest. “These soldiers, though few in number, shall strike fear among our enemies.”

“You presume too much, songbird,” Iztacoatl replied immediately. She wisely sensed the trap I’d set and tried to disarm it. “We ought to destroy these abominations, my sisters. The risk of them turning on us is too great.”

“Are you frightened?” Sugey let out a snort. “They are no threat to us in battle. Only the food ought to cower in their presence.”

“The danger comes from what they represent,” Iztacoatl argued. “Power that does not derive from our providence.”

My dear Eztli cunningly feigned confusion. “Is it not why you chose Iztac, oh goddesses? Your providen–”

Her throat ruptured open in a shower of blood.

The attack happened so swiftly that my mind didn’t register it until a droplet hit my cheek.

“I believe that I warned you, child.” The Jaguar Woman’s tone hadn’t wavered, yet each of her words cut sharper than any blade. “Be quiet.”

My shock probably saved me, for the sight of a panicked Eztli hastily covering her sliced skin filled me with horror and anger. My first instinct would have been to rush to her defense and thus expose myself.

For now, all I could do was to clench my fists in silent rage.

I knew the Jaguar Woman wouldn’t kill Eztli, since she had too much to lose if she kicked the bucket. My lover’s skin slowly healed on its own. A lethal wound for a mortal meant little more than temporary pain to a Nightkin, but from the fear in Eztli’s eyes, she would remember the warning for a very long time.

I didn’t even see it coming. The Jaguar Woman hadn’t even bothered to look at Eztli before striking her, and I could tell that she could have beheaded her in a single stroke if she desired it. For all the progress I made as a sorcerer, a fight with the Nightlords would end in my swift demise in a mere moment. One day though...

“Twice you have dared to speak without our authorization,” the Jaguar Woman warned Eztli. “Tempt me again, and I shall teach you obedience the same way I chastised our Godspeaker once. Do you understand?”

“Yes...” Eztli rasped, her barely healed throat causing her to wheeze. Her crimson eyes burned with the same hatred that gave me life. “I do...”

Iztacoatl smiled at me, her teeth flashing in the dark. “If you ask me, sister, our songbird needs a fresh reminder too.”

My blood froze in my veins the moment the Jaguar Woman turned her gaze in my direction.

“Do you?” she asked me while staring at me with those cold, soulless eyes of hers. The crypt’s air grew heavy with the weight of her unlimited malice.

My hands trembled, and it was in no way faked.

Because beneath all of my underlying rage and hatred, I did fear this monster committing yet another pointless massacre in my name. Her cruelty knew no bounds. She would have Nenetl raped, Ingrid’s sister slain, Chikal maimed, or worse. I dared not meet her gaze, because I knew someone else would pay the price if she smelled any hint of rebellion.

“No, goddess...” I rasped, my teeth clenching. “Please... not again.”

The Jaguar Woman’s smug smirk made me want to vomit.

I had learned to know this monster one humiliation at a time. She craved control. Any sign of dissent was met with overwhelming brutality, and she sought nothing less than unchallenged power over all of creation. The New Fire Ceremony and its consequences had rattled her to her core because it reminded her of how the world refused to conform to her cruel will.

Taunting me about her previous atrocities offered her the illusion of reasserting control; I let her lie to herself, let her believe that somehow she did not miscalculate in the slightest. That I was the perfect tool to enslave mankind, that Yoloxochitl’s demise was a blessing in disguise, that I could let her leech off more of her father’s power, and that everything would get back on track. My pain let her believe that she was a goddess favored by fate itself.

“Do you see, Iztacoatl?” she said with satisfaction. “Whenever you doubt our Godspeaker’s obedience, you need simply to remind him of insolence’s cost. I guarantee you that he shall never forget it.”

Iztacoatl answered with a scornful snort. “Mark my words, he will grow cocky if he is allowed to play with our Father’s toys. We would be wise to deny him this pleasure, sisters.”

“I am against it too,” Sugey said. “Victory ought to be honest and purchased with blood. Our soldiers will grow weak if they hide behind their dead.”

“True, but our Godspeaker has a point,” the Jaguar Woman said. “We should find a use for these Nightchildren before we destroy them.”

Eztli and I briefly shared a brief gaze, which Iztacoatl noticed. We wisely decided to keep our mouths shut for now.

“We hear your words, our Godspeaker, and we shall ponder them between us,” the Jaguar Woman concluded. “The day is yours until we call you again.”

I politely bowed to the Nightlords and then departed without a word. The thought of leaving Eztli with these monsters sickened me, but I had no choice but to retreat for now. The Jaguar Woman wished them to show a unified front in my presence, and showing obedience now would further my aims.

I sensed Iztacoatl’s gaze lingering on my back until I vanished from her sight.

I ascended the stairs leading out of the Nightlords’ abode with my hands clenched. I subtly cast the Bonecraft spell, my attention turning to my fingers. I could easily shape a phalange into a skull smaller than a fly. If my predecessors guessed correctly, then they would be able to spy through its eyes.

I considered subtly dropping this creation in the Nightlords’ underground lair before deciding that the risk was too great for now. At least, if I did it directly. I needed a catspaw in case of discovery.

Catspaw... A lip formed on my lips as an idea crossed my mind. I can think of someone.

As I promised Tayatzin, I agreed to host him for a private audience in my chambers; though I did invite a few witnesses.

On one side of the table sat Itzili the Younger. It felt strange to refer to him by his name alone after meeting with my father, even in my own head, but referencing his age helped.

On the other side was Tetzon, the margay cat that Tlaxcala gifted me a while ago. He had been quite fearful of my other pet at first, but his feline curiosity proved greater than his fear. He now rested on a pillow and made funny noises whenever I scratched his ears. Though I hadn’t been able to spend much time with him since he joined my menagerie, he was proving to be quite the sociable and docile animal.

Such a small and amusing creature. Tetzon would easily slip through any crack and hardly raise any suspicion.Small felines always wandered into the strangest places. I will put you to work soon, my little catspaw.

My plan was simple enough: subtly mix my blood with Tetzon’s food so I could cast the Ride spell on him, then have him distribute small skulls in key areas around the palace. Those I would shape in the form of small bird skulls, so the staff would mistake them for the remains of my margay’s meals should they find them.

“I thank you again for lending me some of your precious time, Your Imperial Majesty,” Tayatzin said with a deep bow. He copiously avoided mentioning anything about my pets’ presence at the table, nor did he let the growls Itzili the Younger sent him affect his composure. “I swear not to waste it.”

“You would be wise not to,” I said as I caressed Itzili’s back with one hand and scratched Tetzon’s ears with the other. “I promised you a one-on-one meeting and fulfilled that oath. What did you wish to discuss?”

“As you well know, Your Majesty, your empire is divided between tributaries,” Tayatzin reminded me. “We leave the local elites in positions of relative power and comfort so long as they pay their tributes, submit to the goddesses’ will, and accept your government’s oversight.”

‘Relative’ being the keyword here. As Chikal’s situation demonstrated, local elites only wielded as much power as the imperial state allowed them to. For all of the prestige and properties that Zyanya’s family retained, they still had to bow to me for scraps.

“It won’t surprise Your Majesty to know that some of these elites resent your enlightened guidance, especially the older generations who spent most of their life in ignorance,” Tayatzin said. “These foolish sentiments usually fade away as younger generations are given a proper education by the priesthood.”

“You need not remind me of the state of my own dominion, Tayatzin.” I was well aware of how firm the Nightlords’ grip became with each subsequent generation. “What is on your mind?”

“Apologies if I wasted your time, Your Divine Majesty.” Tayatzin offered me a short bow of penance, which I accepted in silence. “My point is that though the local elites were taught the true ways of Yohuachanca, they have remained mostly insular across the centuries. They each stick to their cities and local politics. The likes of Lady Zyanya’s clan, who have made an alliance with outsiders, are an exception. One forced upon them by their decline.”

“You think that it should not be the exception, but the rule,” I guessed.

Tayatzin nodded sharply. “By remaining insular, local elites mistake the forest for the trees. They do not sponsor trade routes or infrastructures between their dominions, even though that could benefit the whole empire’s prosperity in the long-term.”

I quickly caught on to his plot. “You would have me sponsor strategic marriages between my empire’s nobility.”

“Your Divine Majesty is as wise as ever, though I would suggest widening the range of possibilities to the merchant class as well. I strongly believe that Lady Zyanya’s marriage to young Tlaxcala will prove beneficial to both parties. Nobility owns land, but does not have the keen mercantile insight required to see them prosper.”

This was a bold proposal, albeit a risky one. I could see why the priesthood never gave it any thought. Namely, encouraging the empire’s nobles to intermarry would inevitably result in the rise of power blocks. No mortal army could hope to defeat the Nightlords, but a few of these groups were bound to grow bold enough to try after a time. Yohuachanca ruled by keeping its tributaries too divided to challenge the central state.

Tayatzin’s proposal hardly interested me. I wouldn’t live long enough to see the fruits of his policy, and my discussion with Father removed what few hopes I had of seeing a grassroots rebellion. Nobles—especially those who only kept their power by bending the knee—had too much to lose by rebelling against the empire’s might.

Tayatzin had to see the danger too, so why come forward with this proposal? Was this a trap of some kind? I decided to err on the side of plausible deniability for now.

“This is a bold plan, Tayatzin, but one that might destabilize my realm in the future,” I decided. “Should tributaries form blood alliances, they might slowly build small kingdoms inside our borders and foment revolts.”

“If the signs are never wrong, then why could learning of them influence their outcome?”

“If I had to give an example...” Lahun stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Should the signs say that an empire will fall if a king declares war on his neighbor, then it means that either could win. Destiny only predicts that one of them will fall once war is declared. Victory or death once fate’s course is put in motion, no other outcome.”

I crossed my arms as I tried to make sense of her reasoning. “The king could decide not to launch war if he thinks a war is not worth the risk, or wager it all on his victory.”

“Your Majesty catches on quickly. Embracing or denying one’s fate is a choice in itself, the same as treading on a known path or venturing into the unknown. Some twists of fate are unavoidable, but we can choose how we react to them.”

I would be a fool to deny the existence of destiny. I was born a Nahualli, and the Nightlords specifically selected their emperors because we fulfilled strange esoteric criteria for their ritual. The fact that I could influence fate’s course reassured me more; as did her assertion that the gods could break from its shackles completely.

Lahun proceeded with more bizarre rituals. She threw corn on the table seven times, checking whether they formed rows or lines, only to scowl when they kept landing either in scattered circles or tight piles. She then filled a bowl with water, put the grains inside, and counted which of them had hit the bottom and those that floated upward. She then asked me to look at the liquid’s surface.

“Your face shows clearly,” Lahun observed. “Your Tonalli is exceptionally strong.”

“Tonalli?” I repeated while feigning surprise. The mere fact she knew of the concept greatly interested me.

“A Tonalli is your totem-spirit, the reflection of your soul. The owl, in Your Majesty’s case. It forms a triad with your Teyolia, your heart-fire and lifeforce, and your Ihiyotl, your breath and will.” Lahun put the bowl aside. “The corn represents the former of the two. Them being scattered usually means the severance of your lifeforce, and the pile a strong line of life. I would say you constantly dance on the thin edge between life and death.”

She was more correct than she knew. Nonetheless, part of her reasoning left me puzzled.

“Why corn?” I asked her. “Wouldn’t fire better represent my lifeforce?”

“At the dawn of the Fifth Sun, the celestial gods Huitzilopochtli and Quetzalcoatl gave the first woman the grains she had to throw to know the fate of her people,” Lahun explained. “Since then, corn grains have been used by lorekeepers for divination.”

I was beginning to see how this ritual worked. “And since this ‘Tonalli’ is my spirit’s reflection, you look into the water to catch a glimpse of it.”

“Your Majesty shows keen insight, as befitting of a Nahualli.” Lahun gave me a handful of tiny conch shells small enough to fit into her hands. “I will ask you to blow on these next, to measure your Ihiyotl.”

As usual with sorcery, it all came down to symbolism and representation. Just as I gathered power from embodying the First Emperor, corn derived a measure of magical significance because of its association with the celestial gods. Mirrors of all kinds were also said to possess mystical importance in revealing hidden truths, such as ghosts and spirits.

How could I push this relationship? I smelled an opportunity. Power to exploit.

Once I finished blowing on the shells, Lahun consulted me on my birthdate and then wrote down her observations in a codex that she kept in her bag. I saw that she had already recorded the position of last night’s stars in them.

“Questioning the stars gives more accurate prophecies when they concern the fate of nations, the world’s ages, or incoming calamities,” Lahun explained. “Gauging a person’s Tonalli, Ihiyotl, and Teyolia yields better results when I try to read the fate of individuals. I then cross-examine my findings with sacred numbers ”

“Can you tell me more about those?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” My curiosity caused Lahun to relax a bit. She probably enjoyed the position of the teacher. “Certain numbers possess great mystical significance. Two is water, three is fire, so two-and-three means conflict. War. Four represents balance, and five, instability and chaos.”

Four Nightlords in balance to keep the fifth suppressed. And Smoke Mountain erupted when the number fell to three; fire’s number. Was that a coincidence or the result of an occult backlash? I was almost certain that my Haunt would have triggered the New Fire Ceremony’s collapse on its own, but it might have been a case of a dam breaking from too many small cracks.

Lahun continued her explanation as she organized the stars by group and noted their number. “Seven is the earthbound number, nine is associated with death and the underworld, thirteen with the thirteen heavens and the sky, twenty with the passage of time, four-hundred with multitude. The more one of them appears in a pattern, the stronger its pull on destiny.”

From what I could read of her notes, the numbers nine and thirteen appeared quite often. Lahun assembled them, added them, multiplied them by the times her corn grains landed in one position or another, and then associated them with words. Her calculations appeared exceedingly complex and near-nonsensical to me, but a pattern of sentences began to appear.

“Death,” Lahun read my fortune with professional focus and poise. “Corruption. Destruction. Owl-man with bloodstained talons flies over mountains of corpses. Year of the skulls. Lies meet temptations in a house of nightmares. Curses, ruin, end of an age.”

Quite ominous. The fact she mentioned the house of nightmares—Xibalba—at least suggested that her prophecy was vaguely accurate. I listened attentively in case I could glean anything.

“Son of chaos becomes father of terror. Demons dance under the earth, gods laugh in the sky.” Then Lahun added, almost absentmindedly. “Murder in the family.”

My heart skipped a beat at the last one, though my expression remained colder than ancient stone.

“Betrayal with a friend’s face, snake shedding skin,” Lahun continued, a scowl spreading on her face. “Forbidden unions beget abominations. War of the puppeteers burns the stage. Battle of the three wings. Golden city answers the tide of sorrow. To the banquet of blood the dark one triumphs. New skull on the pile weeps in night eternal.”

Most people would probably have decried her report as a nonsensical string of words, but I quickly identified how a few of them applied to my situation. The snake shedding its skin obviously referred to Iztacoatl somehow; the golden city, to the Sapa; and the house of nightmares to Xibalba. The betrayal with a friend’s face echoed the Yaotzin’s earlier warning.

And the last sentence’s meaning couldn’t be any clearer.

As it currently stood, my fortune was the one that the Nightlords decided for me: to end as yet another skull in the Reliquary. Killing Yoloxochitl put a hurdle on fate’s wheel, but my efforts failed to fully throw it off course.

Yet.

At least it would assuage the Nightlords’ suspicions for now. Learning that another expert soothsayer confirmed that my head would end up in the Reliquary would likely reassure them. Why would they bother to prevent my inquiries into magic, since my efforts would come to naught in the end?

Murder in the family... Lahun didn’t specify whether it was mine, nor who would commit the crime. For all I knew it could refer to Ingrid and her sister, Eztli and Necahual, or the death of a future unborn child of mine at the Nightlords’ hands. Or it could refer to Mother and Father.

I banished these thoughts from my mind. Lahun had a point, prophecies were a dangerous snare. I intended to spit in destiny’s face either way.

The gods alone write their own fates. I pondered that lesson for a moment. The path of salvation remained the same as it always was: to obtain the four dead suns’ embers and achieve ultimate power. Only then will I escape my upcoming death’s grasp.

I would deal with whatever betrayal, cruelty, or surprise fate kept in store for me, and I would overcome them all.

“I won’t lie, these are ominous signs,” Lahun said, though she remained eerily calm nonetheless. “Your Majesty shouldn’t let gloom conquer his heart. There are betrayals and betrayals. It can be as small as a harmless lie or secret–”

“Or as devastating as a knife to the back,” I replied before I decided to test another area of her knowledge. “I’ve had a nightmare where a beast came to me under the guise of a friend. Chikal mentioned that it could describe a skinwalker.”

“It could be,” Lahun confirmed. “Sleep is the little death, when the living mind wanders through the Underworld’s mists. I would suggest that you pay close attention to your dreams. As a Nahualli, the gods will send you messages through them.”

If only she knew I had met a few as I slept. Lahun’s insight into supernatural matters astonished me, but her knowledge was clearly limited by her lack of Nahualli powers. She didn’t know that Tlacatecolotl could fully travel to the Underworld in their sleep for example.

“Skinwalkers are Nahualli who have committed the ultimate crime: slaying their closest kin,” Lahun explained. “A father who killed his daughter, a sister who slew her sibling, the son who murdered his mother... This crime stains their totem forever and invites evil power into their heart. It grants them the awful power to steal another’s skin by consuming their heart, alongside a grim form of immortality.”

Immortality? “What kind?”

“A skinwalker’s evil spirit will endure almost any wound,” Lahun replied. Was that a dash of fear I detected in her voice? “They can only be slain through decapitation, since the act of beheading severs the head from the heart; the Teyolia from the Tonalli.”

Wait, was that why the Nightlords insisted on beheading the emperors and piling up their skulls? To symbolically split the First Emperor’s maddened mind from his dark lifeforce?

“You sound as if you have encountered a skinwalker in the past,” I noted. “Enough to fear them.”

“I have.” Lahun paled slightly and averted my gaze. “This memory I do not relish. Your Majesty will be thankful to the gods should they not encounter those abominations.”

That sounded like an interesting tale, but I did not push Lahun any further. The encounter clearly left its marks. “Can any Nahualli become a skinwalker?”

“Any totem can be corrupted.” Lahun’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I would not recommend that Your Majesty follow that path. Skinwalkers live a cursed existence of pain and misery. Their state is not a reward, but a punishment.”

The thought never crossed my mind. Whatever grievances I had towards Mother, I didn’t wish her dead.

“I would never stain my office with such a heinous crime,” I replied, quite sincerely. I had no respect for the position of emperor, but I would shun the sin of kinslaying at all costs. “I simply wish to understand how these creatures work. How can one identify them?”

My only interest was how to subvert and identify Iztacoatl’s shapeshifting magic. Whatever wicked spell allowed her pet snakes to impersonate the late Lady Sigrun sounded very similar to these skinwalkers’ skin-stealing sorcery. If they followed the same principles, then a method used to deal with one might be effective against the other.

“The only way to identify a skinwalker... is to look into their eyes,” Lahun replied with a gulp. Her expression darkened, as if she recalled a particularly cruel memory. “Those are the windows of the soul. They cannot hide the evil within them. But beware, Your Majesty, for the weak-willed fall under a Skinwalker’s sway when they meet their gaze.”

“Then I’m overqualified to resist them,” I replied while failing to hide my disappointment. “I expected a more efficient method.”

“If skinwalkers were so easy to identify, Your Majesty, they would not be so dangerous.”

True. My own Gaze spell could see through any illusion, but not a physical change. Then again, perhaps the right tool had yet to be found or invented. My predecessors developed the Legion spell on their own, which means we have yet to reach the boundaries of magic. There is always more to learn.

And Lahun had taught me a valuable lesson about sorcery today: that elements as inconsequential as numbers could gain occult power through the symbolism humans assigned to them. I already saw a few ways to exploit that phenomenon to my advantage by incorporating them into my spells.

If the number three is associated with fire, then it should help strengthen the Blaze, I thought. Nine would mesh well with the Tomb. Mayhaps I ought to inscribe numbers in the Legion’s skulls too to increase their precision.

So many possibilities to explore.

“You have impressed me, Lahun,” I said with the utmost sincerity. “Tell me now: what is it that you desire most?”

Lahun straightened up with dignity. “My only wish is to serve Your Majesty and Queen Chikal.”

“A diplomatic answer, albeit a false one,” I replied with a smile. I had been fed enough lies these past few moons to smell one. “I forgive you this time, but I must ask the truth of you. Answer me now.”

“Your Majesty is sharp.” Lahun studied my face. She probably weighed whether she should keep her true thoughts to herself, but the slightest flicker of ambition in her eyes prevailed over her caution. “My true desire is to gaze deeper into the abyss of magic than any seer before or after me. Nothing less.”

She is like Necahual: grasping for a power that will never be her own. This explained Lahun’s interest in my lifelines and my true nature as a sorcerer. I represented the ideal that she sought to reach. A true master of magic. And like Necahual before her, I could lend her some of mine.

“If you serve me dutifully in all things, Lahun, I will see that your wish comes true. For while you implore the gods for life’s answers...” I chuckled to myself, for I alone saw the cosmic joke at play. “I speak for them.”

This woman was no Nahualli, but she might make an excellent Seidr partner and a good candidate to undergo the witch ritual I planned to put Necahual through. I would introduce these two at the first opportunity.

“Your Majesty is kind and generous. I swear to serve him with the utmost loyalty.” Lahun marked a short pause, a smile forming at the edge of her lips. “In any way that he chooses.”

“We shall see about that,” I replied while returning her smile with one of my own. “What other duties did you practice in Chilam?”

“I practiced the rain dance, warded away the hail, and petitioned the gods for favor.” Lahun let out a small chuckle. “I confess that these rituals did not always work.”

“They will work with me,” I promised her. The Nightlords had seen to that.

I would defeat the vampires by using their own tricks against them: turning the lie into the truth. For the more miracles I performed, the more my divine image would reinforce itself.

And the gods alone decided their own destiny.