Blood & Fur

Chapter Fifty-Three: The Emperor's Children

Father returned with a leather blanket and put it over my shoulders to help warm me up.

I tried not to think too much about the Parliament’s words. My predecessors gathered a great treasure trove of experience and wisdom over the centuries, but part of me hoped their skepticism was unwarranted and born of cynicism.

Can people change for the better? They could certainly change for the worst—I had crossed lines I considered sacred once—but even Necahual had found a measure of inner strength in her hardship. If she could improve as a person, then anyone should be able to do the same. If they want to change at least.

Was Mother willing to become a better person? I doubted it. Neither did I believe that Yohuachanca’s people would rise against their oppressors.

I couldn’t help but ponder Father’s own words. All along I hoped that my people submitted to the Nightlords out of fear of reprisal. I believed that a well of courage was dwelled buried in their hearts, and that it would rise to the surface once the vampires’ grip weakened.

Now… Now I realized that Father had a point. People only took arms against their leaders when personally threatened, and obedience carried its own meager rewards. I would have been spared many torments had I simply given into despair and embraced the Nightlords’ golden birdcage.

“How many people would surrender their freedom for a year of luxury?” I wondered out loud.

“Many of us did, our successor,” the Parliament confessed to their sorrow. “It is easy to forget a bargain’s cost until the time to pay comes. Only in death did we truly understand the price we paid for our indolence.”

“I apologize for what I said earlier, my son,” Father said kindly as he sat next to me once more. “I didn’t mean to sadden you.”

“You did not,” I reassured Father. “Truthfully, I was never fighting for Yohuachanca’s people in the first place. I only hoped that they would try to break their own chains the way I did.”

I had sacrificed thousands of lives when I woke up Smoke Mountain for a tactical advantage. I would gladly do it again if it meant saving Eztli or Nenetl from certain death.

“The sad truth is that most do not care much about others beyond their friends and family,” Father said as he looked into the fire. “It is easy to fight when one has nothing to lose but their life, and much harder when their loved ones may pay the price of defiance.”

“I know.” I’d learned that to my sorrow when the Nightlords murdered Lady Sigrun. “There’s only a handful of people I wish to preserve, like my consorts.”

“Oh? Yes, it is true that you have four wives now.” Father observed me with a flicker of amusement in his empty eyes. “I pity you, my son. It is extraordinarily difficult to make a single woman happy, let alone four.”

In spite of my previous emotional outburst and sorrow, his comment drew a chuckle from me. “I try to do my best.”

“Tell me more about them,” Father insisted with parental curiosity. I found his interest in my romantic life quite endearing. “What are they like?”

“I love Eztli,” I said proudly. “The Nightlords made a vampire out of her, but I’m sure we’ll find a way to undo her curse. After we lift it, I’ll marry her properly.”

It didn’t surprise Father. “Call it fatherly instinct, but I always had the intuition that something would happen between the two of you. You were always thick as thieves as children.”

“We were.” I missed those times when I could simply hang out with Eztli in the capital without anyone watching over us. “She lost most of herself the night Yoloxochitl claimed her.”

“Honestly, I am astonished that the poor girl kept her sanity. To be forced to kill her own sire…” Father shook his head in sorrow and disgust. “I was never close to Guatemoc, but he didn’t deserve such a gruesome fate either. This must have shattered Necahual too.”

The subject of Necahual made me shift uncomfortably in my seat, which my Father immediately noticed. “My son?”

“I’ve… taken Necahual as a concubine,” I said. I kept it to myself at first since I had no idea how Father would react, but he had already listened to me confessing almost all of my other sins. I might as well tell him about this one. “She’s my current favorite.”

Father stared at me for a moment in gobsmacked silence. He studied my face as if expecting me to unveil a prank; and when he realized that I was telling the truth, he clearly struggled to make sense of it.

“Did you…” Father hesitated. “Do the two of you…”

“Yes, we did. More than once.” I avoided his gaze. “Yoloxochitl would have tortured her otherwise.”

“That… that must have been difficult for the both of you.” The subject clearly disturbed Father, as I expected it to. “Did you… force yourself on her? For revenge?”

I shook my head. “Our relationship is consensual.”

“Because you both want to lift her daughter’s curse?” Father guessed. The explanation appeared to alleviate some of his worries, though not by much. “That’s… good, I suppose. You are both willing to put the past behind you for her sake.”

I scoffed. “We don’t. I enjoy her body as much as I loathe her personality.”

“That… that is wrong.” Father searched for appropriate words and found none. “My son, you understand how unhealthy that sounds? You are bedding your wife’s mother out of spite. Nothing good will come out of this warped situation.”

“I know,” I replied with a sigh. “I know, Father, but I do not wish to stop.”

I wanted Necahual to savor her humiliation whenever she sent her daughter away before giving herself to me. I wanted to see the anxiety in her eyes when I spilled my seed on her thighs. I wanted to own her, body and soul.

I knew it was a sick obsession that clouded my judgment, but I couldn’t shake it off.

“What’s more…” Father joined his hands, his fingers awkwardly fidgeting. “I must warn you that… how to put it…”

I sank in my chair and awaited my Father’s judgment. Had he sensed my true feelings and finally found something he couldn’t condone? I expected a gentle reproach from him, one that never came.

Instead, he tried to give me the talk.

“When a man and a woman… if certain body parts interact often enough…” The more Father spoke, the more awkward he became. “If a seed finds fertile enough soil… a flower might take root and…”

I stared at him in disbelief. “I know how babies are made, Father.”

I once had an unborn child too. The Nightlords murdered them before they could enter the world when they fed Sigrun to the sulfur flame. The fact Iztacoatl dared to mock that tragedy forever earned her my undying hatred.

“Of course you would,” Father said, though he remained slightly disturbed. “Then you understand what will happen if you do not take the proper precautions.”

“Necahual is an experienced apothecary,” I replied with a scoff. She would rather wither her womb and become barren than bear my child. “She takes the right herbs.”

“I see,” Father replied. He studied my expression for a while before shaking his head in relief. “That is for the best, for everyone involved.”

“I do plan to sire a child with Chikal, one of my consorts,” I informed Father, though mostly to change the subject. “Our dalliance is purely political, but I’m sure you will become a grandfather before the end of the year.”

The news filled Father with joy. “My congratulations, my son,” he said with genuine pride. “Having a child will change you in ways you cannot fathom, Iztac. You will see. Your mother and I did things for you that we would never have considered doing for anyone else.”

Somehow, I doubted Mother would assist me in any way that could cost her. But Father had a point. Necahual sacrificed a lot of herself for the chance of seeing Eztli returned to her safe and sound.

“I hope I will live long enough to see that child grow,” I told Father. The possibility appeared so remote for now, but I hoped to become a better parent to my descendants than Mother ever was to me. “Free from the Nightlords.”

“You will, our successor,” my predecessors reassured me. “One way or another, we shall see that this cycle of death comes to an end.”

“I hope to see that day for myself,” Father said. “You should tell your mother about it too, Iztac. It will delight her.”

“Why would she care?” I replied. “She hardly bothered to check on me before I became a Nahualli, why would she show interest in her grandchildren?”

“Because they are her descendants as much as you are mine,” Father replied with a warm laugh. “I will never forget the face she made when she first gave you her breast. She looked so blissfully happy in a way I thought she could never be.”

I crossed my arms, trying to imagine Mother smiling at my baby self the same way she smiled at Father. My own mind couldn’t picture the scene itself.

“My apologies, Father,” I said, “But sometimes, I wonder if the person you are describing and the mother I’ve known are truly the same person.”

“Your Mother enjoyed her time in Acampa, make no mistake about it. I had high hopes that she would come to befriend our neighbors, but when the Nightlords’ men came for her…” Father shook his head in sorrow. “It reminded her of her own fragility and hardened her heart.”

Mother had dared to give happiness and humanity a chance, only for the Nightlords to squash her hopes when they tried to add her to their breeding program. I sympathized with her plea.

No one likes to feel powerless. It took years for Father to convince his wife to settle down in Acampa and a single whim for the Nightlords to ruin his hard work. Vampires corrupt everything they touch.

“What about your other wives?” Father pushed me. “Have you been treating them well?”

“I’ve befriended Ingrid.” Though it cost her her mother’s life. “As for Nenetl…” A smile stretched on my face. “She’s… a lot like you, Father. Very kind and earnest.”

Father let out a chuckle. “You like her?”

“I do. When I’m with her, I feel… blissfully warm.” Those words sounded too weak, but I couldn’t find better ones. Nenetl had more of an effect on me than anyone not named Eztli. “I haven’t touched her however. Not that way. Not like the others.”

“Because of the tattoo?” Father guessed upon recalling my confession. “You feel guilty about it.”

I nodded slowly. “I do not deserve her, so I’ve kept her at arm’s length.”

“Why?” Father asked with sudden concern. “With luck, you will never have to cast that spell.”

Couldn’t he see the issue? “The mere fact I made it possible to use it–”

“Does not make you a monster, Iztac.” Father scratched his skull. “Did you tell her the truth?”

“I couldn’t,” I replied with a heavy heart. “She sensed my turmoil, but the Nightlords have eyes and ears everywhere in the palace. Even if I could tell her… I don’t want her to hate me.”

“From the way you describe her, I do not get the feeling that this girl will hold a grudge,” Father argued. “Maybe she would have granted you her permission to trigger the transformation if you had simply asked.”

The Parliament said out loud what I was thinking. “Why would she?”

Father shrugged his shoulders. “Because she trusts my son.”

“She only trusts me because I keep things hidden from her,” I pointed out.

“I am not so certain, my son. Wishing to focus on the light does not mean being blind to shadows.” Father joined his hands and began to look at the ceiling, as if to catch a glimpse of his lost life in the world above. “From my experience, women catch hints that fly over our foolish heads. I understand that you cannot speak your mind in that cursed palace, my son, but you should try to give this Nenetl a few clues if you can. I do not think she’s as naive as you believe her to be. She did sense your inner turmoil after all.”

The Parliament of Skulls immediately objected. “Do not tell her anything, our successor. There are secrets best kept to oneself.”

I had to agree with them. However kind Nenetl might be, I had exploited her pain and scars for my own benefit; I marked her very flesh with my betrayal. Few would forgive such a crime. I knew that I wouldn’t.

“I understand your concerns, Your Majesties,” Father replied with a respectful, measured tone. “But let us assume that this Nenetl will inevitably learn the truth one day. It is better that she hears it from my son’s mouth than his enemies.”

Inevitable? The word rang in my head like a bell. Part of me hoped that Nenetl would never find out about the tattoo, or better yet, that I would never have to exploit the power within it. Yet if the Nightlords found out about the sabotage, or if Nenetl learned of it by any other means, then she would no doubt never trust me again. Telling her myself would at least soften the blow and show her my goodwill.

It is so difficult to trust one another, I thought. Because when you open your heart, you leave it open for betrayal and disappointment.

“Follow your feelings and live your life to the fullest, my son, since you can never tell when it will end.” Father suddenly shifted in his seat. “Well, uh… you do have a deadline, but… you get what I mean…”

“I do, Father.” I hoped to live far longer than a year, but I understood his point. Not even the gods knew what the future held for us. “But I don’t want to alienate Nenetl.”

“Is fear truly a reason to deny each other a chance for happiness?” Father let out a sigh as he turned to face the fire. “If the worst comes to pass, this poor girl will die screaming on the Nightlords’ altar. If you can fill her remaining time with joy rather than fear and shame, then you should. For both of your sakes.”

“We understand that you seek your son’s happiness, Lord Itzili,” the Parliament said. “However, survival and victory both call for certain sacrifices. Keeping secrets from loved ones is a heavy burden, but one that he must bear. The risks are too great otherwise.”

“I simply want my son and that girl to enjoy their lives to the fullest,” Father replied. “Is that so much to ask? The gods know that our time always comes sooner than we would like.”

I suddenly noticed how Father and the Parliament of Skulls both sat on my left and right sides. Two voices giving me radically opposed advice. My own flesh and blood, who wanted to give trust a chance and that I try to grow closer to others; and my hardened predecessors, who favored caution, distrust, and secrecy in the name of our secret war.

Stolen story; please report.

I didn’t think either was necessarily wrong. Trusting Necahual, Ingrid, Chikal, and Eztli got me far, and my caution let me cover my tracks time and time again. It was up to me to decide how to best apply their advice.

I sensed a jolt at the edge of my consciousness. A hand shaking my sleeping body in the world of the living. Someone was trying to wake me up before the night was done.

That could only mean one thing.

My prophecy had been fulfilled.

For the first time in many days, I awoke from a good dream.

Nonetheless, I had awoken to more pleasant sights than a group of red-eyed priests standing at my bedside. Their scowls and worried frowns did improve my mood though. I noticed that Eztli was already up, her mother and handmaiden helping her put on a hooded cloak.

“Apologies for waking you up so early, Your Majesty,” Tayatzin said. Though my advisor remained as calm as ever, I did notice the slightest glimmer of unease in his eyes. “The goddesses have requested your and Lady Eztli’s presence.”

Most would have asked ‘what happened,’ but instead of surprise I faked the deep certainty of a prophet whose vision had come to pass.

“It happened, hasn’t it?” I asked with a deep voice full of solemnity. I was starting to nail that voice. “The sinful dead have risen from their graves.”

Tayatzin’s short silence confirmed my hypothesis. “It is best that you do not make the goddesses wait.”

Of course not. I hoped the news filled my captors with as much dread as their thralls.

The priests helped me put on some clothes and then escorted Eztli and I outside her quarters. I caught a glimpse of Necahual looking at us with concern as we left. Nightlords summons only ever brought her pain, but her daughter reassured her with a single smile.

“Someone had a pleasant dream,” Eztli mused. She must have picked on my relaxed demeanor. “Was it my company that let you sleep so soundly?”

“The gods granted me a respite tonight,” I replied with a smile. A true statement, in a way. “Though you contributed.”

I hadn’t made any progress on Xibalba’s trials, but I did not regret talking with Father. Reuniting with my family after so many harrowing days filled me with a renewed sense of purpose. I had kin who would support me in this world and the other.

The Parliament insisted that I quickly reincorporate their skull into my body before I woke up though, much to Father’s disappointment. He would have liked some company, but my predecessors didn’t trust my mother enough to stay in her home without my supervision.

To my surprise, the priests didn’t take us down the secret passages and instead led us to the palace’s pleasure den on the ground floor. I never spent much time there since I had more important matters to deal with than rolling dice. I knew that this area included all kinds of facilities meant to help an emperor indulge in mankind’s worst vices: gambling, drugs, drunken revelry, and even violence.

It seemed to be the latter that interested the Nightlords tonight, for the priests led me into a private arena in the depths of my prison. It was a great rectangular battleground that was bordered by enough stone stands to house hundreds of spectators that reminded me of a ballgame court. Tunnels dug into the structure allowed fighters to enter from different areas of the palace, and frescos of heroic warriors from across Yohuachanca’s history covered the walls. The arena had no ceiling: the dark sky opened above my head, with the crimson glow of the moon providing clear light.

Something’s wrong, I immediately realized. The wind does not blow tonight.

A special lounge with five obsidian thrones oversaw the arena. Here I could have watched people fight and die in my name alongside my consorts. Unlike the training grounds outside, this floor wasn’t meant to spill sweat, but blood. Tellingly, the layout indicated that one of the barred tunnels connecting the battleground to the rest of my palace—the largest of them all—led straight to my menagerie. This path allowed my staff to introduce hungry beasts into the ring at any given time.

A challenger was already there, silently standing in the middle of the arena with dead black eyes.

The very sight of it turned my blood to ice and caused Eztli to recoil in horror. I had mistaken the creature for a human at first glance, only for the truth to become clearer to me once the moonlight unveiled its pallid face.

Its flesh looked dried and desiccated, though it possessed a strange and otherworldly gray sheen. The corpse had shed all of its hair to the point that I could hardly tell that it used to be a man. Its veins ran dry with dust rather than blood and a thick rope tightly held its waist attached to a circular stone too heavy for any man to carry.

It was its face that I found most disturbing, however. Its teeth had fallen out, leaving only taunt lips twisted into an empty, sinister smile. As for the eyes, they were gone too. Darkness wept from empty sockets filled with shadows so thick that no light could pierce it. They stared at the priests behind me with the same bottomless hunger I’d once glimpsed inside the Nightlords’ sulfur flame. From the way the rope holding it by the waist strained, it was leaning forward with all of its strength.

That… that thing was no vampire. The Nightkin and their mistresses still retained a spark of their lost soul and humanity. They could speak, laugh, hate, and love. They had goals and desires, however cruel.

The creature before me lacked even that shadow of humanity. I detected no intelligence in its baleful glare, no vestige of the human it used to be. This corpse had a void for a soul; a hungry emptiness that knew neither cruelty nor sorrow. It was a bottomless pit with teeth, a primordial darkness with a face devoid of fear or love. This doll moved entirely on instinct, unable to think or feel.

A single drive determined all of its action: to devour life.

“Are they as frightening as in your visions?” a familiar voice whispered in my ear. “Puppet emperor?”

When I found the strength to look away from the moving corpse in front of me, I saw another leaning behind my back. Iztacoatl had appeared out of nowhere, with her cold hands grabbing my shoulders with a strong grip. Her sisters watched us on the obsidian thrones, their priests kneeling in abject submission.

“Sit, Iztac Ce Ehecatl,” the Jaguar Woman ordered, her cold eyes lingering on me and then Eztli. “You too, child.”

I obeyed without a word, sitting on the central throne with Eztli and Iztacoatl on one side and the other Nightlords on the other. Sugey clapped her strong hands and masked guards soon entered the arena through one of the tunnels. They escorted a gaunt man bearing warpaint, a wolf pelt, and a sword of wood. I recognized the man as a member of the Sapa delegation from the day of my coronation. The Nightlords hadn’t killed them all... yet.

I immediately recognized the set-up. I was about to witness a gladiatorial sacrifice.

Sugey was especially fond of this particular brand of human suffering. I witnessed one dedicated to her during city celebrations once. The victim—a warrior for some pacified tribe—had been bound to a rounded stone too heavy for five men to carry by a white rope, given enough pulque to forget his fear, and then forced to fight members of the four warrior fraternities in short order. Though he had been given a mere feathered wooden sword and a meager shield to defend himself with, the prisoner managed to last a few minutes against the Eagle Warrior sent to claim his life; even though his enemy had fought with an obsidian weapon. It had seemed so unfair to me back then, and it still was today.

In the rare cases where a prisoner managed to repel their opponent, they would then fight champions of the other warrior fraternities one after the other. If none of them claimed the sacrifice’s head, a red-eyed priest was sent to finish the job. Should the victim somehow survive the fifth and final fight, Sugey would ‘honor’ their fighting spirit by granting them their freedom.

Only five people earned that privilege in all of Yohuachanca’s centuries-long history. Did the Nightlords intend to put that record to the test tonight?

The Sapa diplomat was no trained warrior, however. His pose was clumsy, his drug-addled eyes filled with fear. The masked guards had to threaten him with their obsidian spears to force him to take a step forward, and I caught a glimpse of scars on his legs as he did. The Nightlords must have grabbed him straight out of the torture chamber.

The undead thing didn’t care though. Even the stealthiest jaguars made a tiny bit of noise even when standing still, from short breaths to the sound of their feet touching the floor. The monster remained eerily silent when it turned to face its new opponent. It moved in a blur of speed, the strained rope alone preventing it from reaching its prey. Its arms extended towards the ambassador in a vain attempt to grab his throat. That monster was no shambling corpse struggling to take a step.

It could run.

The drugs proved stronger than the Sapa sacrifice’s fears. The sight of the undead caused the man to madly scream in a mix of fear and addled rage. He charged while swinging his wooden blade wildly.

It shattered upon hitting the undead’s skull. The monster’s cold gray hands grabbed the sacrifice by the throat in return, and his screams died out in an instant. Such was the undead’s hunger that it consumed even sound. I saw the man’s breath escape his lungs and flow into his killer’s ghastly smile. His eyes sunk into his eye sockets, his final expression one of agonizing dread.

Vampires drank blood, but the First Emperor’s true servants didn’t bother with such a slow and intimate process. The corpse drank its victim’s soul. It drained the life out of the sacrifice within seconds, feasting on his breath and heart-fire both. So complete was the process that the husk’s flesh and skin turned to dust in an instant. When the monster finished feasting, only a pile of dusty bones remained of their grim meal.

I briefly glanced around, both to avert my eyes from this hideous spectacle and to gauge the others’ reactions. Eztli was as disturbed as I was, her eyes wide open, her fingers trembling on her obsidian throne’s armrests. Iztacoatl observed the scene with a hint of fear in her eyes, while Sugey appeared both spooked and slightly disappointed at the lack of a decent fight.

As for the Jaguar Woman…

“Was this like in your vision, our Godspeaker?” The Jaguar Woman asked with calculating coldness. She alone among the sisters appeared unbothered by this gruesome show of sorcery. “Did the dead show the same hunger?”

“I only caught a glimpse, oh goddess,” I lied through my teeth.

“Or you made an educated guess based on what you learned and took the credit,” Iztacoatl said sharply. “I suspect that you faked that vision of yours in order to seem more important to us than you are.”

She was entirely right, of course. Her insight continued to prove an obstacle to my goal. Nevertheless, I quickly improvised.

“I understand your skepticism, goddess, and apologize for the trouble I have caused you,” I replied with false servility. “If you believe my visions are unreliable, then I shall keep them to myself from now on.”

“You shall do no such things,” the Jaguar Woman said sharply before rebuking her sister. “Your caution is appreciated in these trying times, Iztacoatl, but the threat is too great for us to doubt now.”

Iztacoatl scowled in annoyance, her hand briefly brushing against her cheeks. The gesture lasted less than a second and yet told me much. The Jaguar Woman would have shared her skepticism should she have learned about our last encounter, but Iztacoatl couldn’t admit that she let a human slap her twice for fear of losing face.

The Nightlords’ united front wasn’t so unshakable. I could see cracks to exploit.

“Mark my word, sisters,” Iztacoatl warned the other Nightlords, her crimson eyes glaring at me with venom born of her wounded pride. “This viper will bite us.”

“He won’t,” the Jaguar Woman replied without sparing me a glance. “He has learned his lesson and the cost of disobedience.”

My scowl was in no way faked. “I did,” I replied, my head low in false submission. “I shall not disappoint the heavens ever again.”

“Very wise.” The Jaguar Woman joined her fingers without sparing me a glance. All her attention focused on the battle stage. “Summon the next sacrifice.”

I watched and held my tongue as the guards brought forth another victim to the undead creature: a trihorn this time. The beast, although bred for war and more than capable of impaling the monster on its horns, screeched in fear the moment it lay eyes on it. The animal understood instinctually that this thing was an abomination hungering for life.

The undead monster cared for nothing, whether its victims were men or beasts. It tried to reach for the trihorn with the same fervor that it showed to its last meal.

The guards eventually forced the trihorn to advance within reach of the undead by poking its tail with their spears. The beast roared and impaled the monster through the chest in a mad dash, but the corpse bled black smoke rather than blood. The animal perished within seconds of the undead touching its scales, though it took longer for its killer to drain it of lifeforce compared to the Sapa sacrifice.

The undead didn’t remove the horn stuck in its chest. Pain did not bother it. It turned to glare at the red-eyed priests the moment it finished its meal with mindless focus. The movement caused the horn stuck in its chest to tear out part of its calcified flesh as it fell down, but the undead didn’t appear to notice.

My true children will feast under the glow of the Scarlet Moon. So did the First Emperor speak through my lips. This creature is his true spawn. The kind that will not rebel against its creator.

This thing was a disease. The First Emperor’s vengeful curse upon the world that imprisoned him.

“Father is spiteful,” Iztacoatl commented. “These wicked dead will spoil the food.”

“At least their victims do not rise from the grave as well,” Sugey said. “We were wise to follow through on our hunch. Only the corpses slain by the bats have risen from the grave, and we’ve contained those.”

“Father has sent back this world’s sinners to suffer on earth and punish his flock for their lack of faith,” the Jaguar Woman said. A bold lie to tell the masses. “Ensure that we destroy those that we can find.”

“Conventional weapons will not keep these shambling corpses down, but we’ve had success burning them,” Sugey replied before waving a hand at the one in the arena. “We will keep this one in the courtyard until the sun rises to see if it crumbles to dust at dawn.”

I hoped it would. The First Emperor’s bats had spread far and wide. If all of their victims turned into these abominations, then I shuddered to imagine the death toll. When Iztacoatl’s scowl turned into a smile, I knew that the same thought had crossed her mind.

“We should send messages to the Three-Rivers Federation and the Sapa Empire,” she said. “They must be suffering from the same infestation as we are, yet they do not possess a wise Godspeaker to warn them.”

Sugey scoffed. “To tell them what?”

“That we have the cure,” Iztacoatl replied. “That if they wish for the dead to stay in their tombs, the living only have to bow.”

I hid my fury under a veil of calmness and indifference. This bitch unleashed a magical disaster on the world because of her and her sisters’ arrogance, then had the gall to promise a false cure to the problem that she started.

Eztli smiled at Iztacoatl with barely hidden disdain. “And what will happen if they submit and the dead continue to rise?”

“Then their faith was lacking and their submission faked.” Iztacoatl let out a cruel laughter. “Worry not, my young new sister. When their hearts and courage falter, humans will do anything to banish away the fear.”

I feared that she might be right.

I doubted that the Sapa would fold. They possessed powerful magic of their own and a centralized government that could subjugate the undead plague. But I didn’t feel so confident about the Three-Rivers Federation and the lesser tribes. It was one thing to muster one’s courage when faced with invading armies, but any warrior would grow faint of heart at the sight of their countrymen rising from the dead to feast on the living.

There has to be a way to sabotage that plan. I studied the undead corpse, who stood in silence in spite of the gaping hole in its chest. If only I could turn you against your cousins, life-eater.

The corpse ignored my glare, its attention fully focused on the priests in the stands.

That bothered me slightly. The corpse’s lack of interest in vampires made sense since they had no lifeforce to draw upon, yet my heart continued to beat in my chest. Why didn’t it spare me a single glance?

The answer soon became obvious to me. I was the First Emperor’s spokesperson, his divine representative on Earth, the voice of hunger itself. His spawn had no interest in devouring me.

Perhaps I could exploit this somehow.

I rose from my throne without a word to the surprise of everyone. Eztli immediately looked at me in concern. “Iztac?”

“Where are you flying, songbird?” Iztacoatl asked sharply, her eyes squinting at me with suspicion.

“To fulfill my destiny, oh goddess,” I replied evasively. I walked down the stairs towards the battleground, ignoring the gazes the Nightlords sent at me. I had to sweep them off their feet and throw them off their game.

I stepped onto the arena’s ground and basked in the faint moonlight. The undead continued to ignore me even as I came within arm’s reach. It didn’t even seem to register my presence.

I heard Eztli call out my name in alarm, far too late. “Iztac–”

I took the undead’s head into my hands and forced it to look at me. Its skin was cold, colder than the Rattling House’s snow.

No, not quite. This corpse sucked in all the heat around itself. Even the gasps I heard from priests and vampires alike grew muffled in its presence. Such was the strength of the First Emperor’s hunger that voices turned to silence in its presence.

The corpse did not turn me to dust. It could have tried to feed on my Teyolia as it did with the other sacrifices, yet lacked the willingness to try. So far so good.

“Bow,” I ordered after releasing my grip on the corpse. “Bow to your emperor.”

For a brief second, I thought the undead had failed to understand my words, or that whatever foul power animated it couldn’t understand human language. The creature finally focused on me, its black empty eyes staring at me without any emotion. I stared into the darkness of its eyes as I once gazed into the Sulfur Sun’s heart. I did not recoil.

The abyss no longer frightened me.

The corpse knelt in quiet obedience.

The deafening silence that followed sounded like triumph to me. I stared down at the undead, my back turned on the Nightlords. I turned around to savor the disbelief on their faces and the dread on that of their servants. I was delighted by the fear I sensed from Iztacoatl and Sugey’s shock. The Jaguar Woman alone observed the scene with calculating interest.

As for Eztli, her fear for my safety swiftly turned to joy. She covered her mouth, mostly to hide her smile. I found it a bit premature.

The show wasn’t over yet.

“Tayatzin,” I said, my voice sharper than an obsidian knife. “Cut the rope.”

Tayatzin froze in surprise and then immediately turned to look at the Nightlords. I couldn’t tell whether he was looking for their authorization or was silently begging them to belay my order.

“This slave shall not harm you,” I promised the priest.

The Jaguar Woman gave Tayatzin a sharp nod after a moment’s consideration. To his credit, the priest obeyed my command without complaint. He grabbed an obsidian dagger from his belt and then stepped onto the arena’s floor. The undead immediately glared at him with undisguised hunger.

“Stay put,” I ordered the corpse. “Your place is at my feet.”

The undead obeyed my command without a sound. It continued to mindlessly stare at Tayatzin with hunger, but made no move to choke the life out of the priest as he cleanly cut the rope. The priest waited for the undead to attack him by surprise.

It never did.

Tayatzin and the priests all knelt in true reverence to me, as they should. I had showcased my ‘divine’ power yet again. I was no longer a puppet in their eyes, but the Godspeaker. I was the emperor of the living and the dead, the ruler of Earth who answered to none other than the highest of heavens.

I faced the Nightlords with both Tayatzin and my undead thrall kneeling at my feet. The sound of Eztli’s claps shattered the solemn silence.

The Nightlords were nowhere near as enthusiastic. The Jaguar Woman observed me with a blank, unreadable expression. Her calculating eyes appraised me and the undead soldier. I could almost read her thoughts. Was her loathed father’s gift poisoned? Or was I cowed enough that she could turn this unexpected development into an asset?

Sugey appeared cautiously interested as well. No doubt the thought of gathering an undead army appealed to her military mind as much as her distrust made the prospect of a puppet emperor commanding one a dangerous one.

Iztacoatl alone fully understood the danger that I now represented for their social order. A pity her opinion would likely fall on deaf ears, for I would tell her sisters what they wanted to hear.

“It is as you said, goddesses,” I declared with a hand on my heart. “My reign shall be an age of darkness where Yohuachanca’s black sun will rule absolute over bloodsoaked lands. These sinners shall atone for their life of faithlessness by serving you in death.”

I offered the Nightlords a deep bow to better hide my cruel smile.

“And so long as the people of this land believe in their emperor,” I promised, “Yohuachanca’s reign shall never end.”