She wants us to bring her in? Fine, we’ll bring her.
“Bring the general in,” I wheeze out, my throat already raw from my consecutive speech.
No one outright disagrees, but I see the apprehension in their eyes. I don’t have enough energy to defend myself. All I can do is face them head-on and hope it’s enough.
It is. Pucaru brings in the Apukispay, a middle-aged woman with more white streaks in her hair than I expected for the Inka’s right-hand man.
It surprises me. Everyone around the Inka always looks like pristine, spoiled dolls, even her veiled children. But now, the Panaka are all blood, exposed bones, and dead eyes. The Apukispay is sullied divinity and misplaced ego.
She holds her head high when we rip off her blindfold.
Her eyes immediately zone in on the Inka, but her expression doesn’t change. They stare at each other for only one second before Pucaru forces the Apukispay onto her knees, but that must have been long enough.
When we try to get the Apukispay to talk, using all the force we have without killing her, she stays quiet. The Inka, too. All that roundabout begging to bring her here for what? I sigh, the sound quiet but impactful enough to stop Tutay from breaking another of the Apukispay’s bones.
Everyone looks at me, and I give a sad smile, nodding my head toward the door. We didn’t want it to get to this point, but what choice do we have?
“You heard her, bring in the kids.” Qajay, the last one I expect to speak up, says.
This is all too much effort for something that should have been simple and quick. They just need to give us a clear vision of the missing princess, and their people would handle the rest. It’s already a witch-hunt out there, everyone desperate to get in our good graces as if we have any desire to rule over their pathetic empire.
Tutay sighs and nods. Even she finds this a little messy. Normally, Pucaru deals with hostages, but she’d never agree towhat we’re going to do to these kids. I look around and see she already left.
There are six kids total, ranging from ages four to twelve. All children of nobility whose own parents gave them up for momentary protection. It makes my stomach lurch with the reminder that this is how the world works. Sacrifices aren’t based on who deserves what.
Or that’s how the world used to work, before the precious Inka at my feet gained the blessing of the Guardians.
I kick the Inka to attention. Even that small action takes my breath away. Every day, I get more tired, and Cashan gets further away from my reach. I’m not the one healing him, but the exhaustion of communicating alone weighs down my bones. I won’t make it much longer.
The Inka blinks her crusted eyes up at me. She was healed recently, and she must be feeling the delayed pain of it now. Serpent healing may cure all wounds, but the sped-up healing process causes pain like no other. Good. Her pet guard dog kneels beside her, in much worse shape. The Apukispay has to have seen the princess at some point, or she could at least give away the face of a tutor or guard who would be easier to break.
I open my mouth to speak, but my throat seizes up. I end up in a coughing fit. I reach out a hand to lean on Qajay, who leads me to a wall. I’m helped to the floor where I sit and rest my head on the cool palace rock.
I wish I could delve into their minds after we knock them unconscious, but I just don’t have the samay left for it. I’d need to stop reaching Cashan for a few days to muster up the energy. It has to be the slaughter of children that gets us what we need.
May the Serpent forgive me, because I simply don’t have it in me to wait any longer. I won’t let a debt like this follow me to my grave. I won’t let him die for us, for nothing.
“I propose a sacrifice for the Inka who ended sacrifices,” Tutay says, nasty like she only gets when she speaks to them. She grabs a child from the lineup and pushes them to their knees. They start crying before the Inka and Apukispay.
Neither woman flinches.
Their expressions, or lack thereof, are what give me the energy to talk. Out of spite, anger, or sheer disbelief, I don’t know.
“You are the Inka who ended sacrifices, are you not? Yet you don’t even blink at their fear?” I say. I am shocked to hear yearning in my own voice, yearning for an answer that will make this all worth it.
"You are killing them, I am not. When the stories are told, my hands will be clean,” the Inka says.
“And that’s all that matters? The stories?” I ask.
She doesn’t grace me with a response. She simply tilts her head back so she can look down at the child instead of meeting their eyes. The stories. She’s the Inka who defeated the False King. She’s the Inka who saved the empire. She’s nothing more than stories.
She’s nothing more than a coward. I can tell that’s what’s going through Tutay’s mind too, as she scoffs and shakes her head.
“Fine. You could be bluffing, but I couldn’t care less. We’ll just move along the line,” Tutay says.
Those are the last words the child hears before Tutay pulls their head back by their hair and slashes their throat. I see the blood pour out in slow motion. It splatters on the Inka’s face. It should be impossible to differentiate between her blood and the child’s, but I swear I can. I swear I can tell whose is innocent and whose isn’t.
This time, the Inka’s expression does change, but it just fills me with more revulsion. She scrunches her nose and tries to spitout some of the blood that touched her lips, right onto the child’s waiting corpse.
