Gods & Thieves ✔

11. Crown and Stab

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Escorted by two brawny guards, I follow the Great Temple's hall leading to, as I presume, the throne chamber where my life should end.

I've spent almost two hours explaining what I've seen--a dead body, nothing else--to these guards who ran into the Postulant House after I screamed in horror, but they don't seem to care for my words. Nobody has seen or heard anything, nobody could confirm my words, so my escort simply made a wild guess by the blood I smudged over my shirt in the dark before noticing the body. I wonder if my lies can save me this time. But what lies? This time, I've done nothing. I'm not guilty!

I hated Valto for all the things he's said, yet now I feel bad for him. Feel bad for hating him. Almost guilty for wanting him out of my life, but...killing him for that? I would never.

Yet someone would.

As the guards drag me upstairs, another terrible thought crawls into my head: and what if the killer came to my room for me, not Valto? Valto probably returned and was snoring in my bed in the dark after I'd left again, so whoever did it might have mistaken him for me. But I haven't crossed anyone, who would want me dead?

When we arrive at the giant ornamental door at the end of a long hall, the guard on my left nods to his colleague. She knocks on the door, enters to tell whoever's inside something, then quickly returns, and shoves me in without a word.

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Toppling over the threshold, I look up as I catch my balance. And stop. Stunned.

The room is lit with numerous aura lanterns, so it's bright as day here, illuminating over a dozen shamans seated at a big round table, whose heads snap in unison toward me. The empress's council, all of them. I swallow hard, forgetting everything for a moment under their heavy gazes. The door bangs shut behind my back, echoing within the walls in silence fallen abruptly when I entered. After the first moment of shock, I notice that Loretto is also here, but faer face is a blank mask, and my mentor doesn't even glance at me.

The good news is, I guess, it's not the throne chamber, barely some conference hall.

But there is a throne here.

A compact yet richly carved armchair, bigger than all the others nevertheless, indicating the status of its owner, stands at the head of the table, right opposite the door I stand by. The empress sits idly, with her back leaning against one arm of the chair and her legs thrown over the other. I don't know if I'm allowed to, but my eyes do slide toward Empress Ixchel's face and meet her gaze before I can stop myself. It takes a long moment for me to comprehend what I'm seeing, and a tremendous amount of will not to gape as another wave of shock overtakes me.

Maricela.

The head councilor's niece is...

...Empress Ixchel.

What the--

Fuck.

My legs go numb as if I've been stabbed in the back, and for a brief second, I truly believe they might betray me and give way, but I manage somehow. But how's that possible? Before, I've only seen the empress from afar, on the main city square, during the celebrations and her formal speeches. On the square, just as in every picture of her that exists, she is always in heavily-laced robes, with her hair up in a complicated style, and with makeup. She always looks around thirty, imposing and all dressed up as though to hide the first wrinkles.

Tonight, though, she's in her plain red robe thrown over her shirt and pants I've seen her in like a coat, no makeup, her hair loose. She looks young. Here, in front of me, is...a girl. Maricela, not Empress Ixchel. Perhaps that's the point of dressing up--to make it seem like hiding wrinkles, to appear older, trustworthy. Because a powerful shaman or not, who would trust an immature-looking girl? Who would believe that this girl has masterminded a coup once, poisoned my ancestor, and took the crown? That this girl can stand against hundreds of armed soldiers alone, turning dozens to ashes with a snap of her fingers?