Revolutions

60 - Haesan

My heart hammers against my chest, a rapid, unsteady rhythm that seems too loud in my ears. Chalqo's mention of me 'finding other offerings within the camp to be more enlightening' is unsettling, as if he's attempting to expose secrets I'm desperate to keep hidden. How do I answer him? I know I can't hesitate for much longer, or else I will appear suspicious. Though my mouth is dry, words sticking in my throat as I scramble for a response, I must say something. But what?

Before I have a chance to reply, he says with a mischievous grin, "My dear ladies, have you been off courting suitors under the guise of moonlight? Qelantu Loh is abuzz with whispers of your enchanting escapades."

I respond to his comment with nothing more than an embarrassed laugh, in the hopes of throwing him off our tracks from what actually transpired this evening. Yachaman joins me, playfully covering her mouth as she giggles while we exchange knowing glances. This appears to appease Chalqo well enough, as he nods and winks at us.

"I see," Chalqo remarks with a chuckle of his own before stepping out into the night air. "Well, it should come as no surprise that the two most charming and evocative people present in Qelantu Loh would be very much sought after. Perhaps when young Qane is finished entertaining the seamstress' daughter, we can have him posted outside the tent to ensure your protection from such prowling predators."

"He's still swooning over her?" I say exasperatedly along with the roll of my eyes.

"Oh, Lady Haesan," Chalqo teases, "never underestimate the power of young love! Iuqamaq's ways are both mysterious and wondrous."

I find it intriguing that Chalqo of the Atima would invoke the name of a member from the Eleven, specifically one belonging to the now-extinct Mahuincha faction, whose existence was in the southern-most point on the continent—the exact opposite location of Atima territory. The person of whom he speaks was the one responsible for psychological warfare, manipulating the emotions of the Timuaq and causing internal power struggles. Her actions resulted in splitting the titans into multiple, rival groups, weakening their collective strength and creating a rift for the other members to exploit. Since her passing from the sacrifice, she has been revered as a goddess of love, hearth, and home by the devout followers of the Eleven, who honor them as deities. Perhaps I'm looking too much into his mention of a demigod, but it raises suspicions, to say the least.

"I would be speaking false if I said that tonight's escapades didn't bring me to the brink of exhaustion," I say, hoping to cut this conversation short to avoid a slip of the tongue and revealing too much unwittingly. "I hope you will allow us to reside in your tent for a restful night's sleep."

"My tent is always available to you and Lady Yachaman," he says, followed by a deep and flamboyant bow. "As long as we're not entertaining any suitors inside of it, of course."

With my own exaggerated expression of offense, I reply, "We would never cause such disrespect!" To this, Chalqo casts a suspicious glance our way, leaving me uncertain whether his skepticism is genuine or if he's merely continuing his playful charade.

"I must be on my way," Chalqo says. "I was resting for a brief moment before finishing tonight's performance with the grand finale. It's a shame you're too tired to witness it—it's quite a spectacle!"

"We're disappointed to miss it," Yachaman says, and if I didn't know better, I'd believe she was being sincere.

As we part ways with Chalqo and enter the darkened tent, we collectively exhale a sigh of relief. As my eyes gradually adapt to the dimness, the faint silhouette of Yachaman becomes discernible, moving ghostlike through the space. She eventually settles herself onto a bedroll positioned at the farthest end, away from the tent's entrance.