Page 105 of The Lost Guardian

Alliyma and Nayaraq, Santiago thought. Both Quechua names.

“I’ve never longed for kids of my own.” Ali shrugged. “I feel like I already raised one.”

Santiago nodded thoughtfully. It made sense to him.

“How about you?” she asked.

It was Santiago’s turn to be surprised, though he realized he should have been prepared to answer the question himself.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he hedged, but he felt it was only fair to provide some sort of answer, since she had. “Trish always wanted lots of kids,” he mused. “She was a few years older than me, so she was already planning a life after our studies. A white picket fence and a bunch of babies.”

The look Ali flashed him was scathing. “I didn’t ask about what Trish wanted. What about you?”

Santiago thought about it. He was pretty sure that he knew the answer, in his heart of hearts, but it felt wrong to speak the words out loud. Like he betrayed his family.

Santiago slowly shook his head.

“Why do you look like you just confessed to murder?” She laughed. “It’s perfectly all right to not want children. You just heard me say I don’t, either.”

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “It’s just…my parents moved to the United States to give me a better life. They sacrificed a lot for that future.”

He chuckled softly.

“They never said so explicitly, but I could tell they wanted a bigger family,” he said. “I think that they tried and couldn’t. So, it was just us three. But they always talked about how much better off my children would be. Carrying that imaginary future a generation further, you know?”

Ali nodded.

“My mom always manages to sneak the topic into conversation, too, no matter what we’re talking about. So it feels like a betrayal somehow. Like I’m wasting their sacrifice by not wanting children of my own. It feels selfish.”

“It’s not selfish,” Ali said. “Or, if it is, it’s the healthy kind. You can’t live your life constantly trying to please others. You need to live for yourself.”

“But even if I wanted to, I can’t now, can I?” The truth was bitter on his tongue.

“What do you mean?” Ali asked.

“According to my grandfather’s note, I’m the last of the Guardianes de la Tumba. What happens when I die?” he said. “When it’s my turn to be laid to rest? Who will do it if I’m the last in my line?”

He didn’t know when the thought had first emerged, but the words tumbled out of him now, stepping from the darkest corners of his mind into the light.

“And if no one’s there to bring me to the tomb, what then? Will the curse be unleashed? Will we have worked this hard to prevent it now, only for the threat to return decades later?” he asked, feeling utterly defeated.

“Maybe it’ll know that you are the last,” Ali suggested. “That the bloodline ends with you.”

“Who will know? Atahualpa? The Guardianes? The curse itself?” He ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t want to be forced to have a kid just so they can fulfill some sort of predetermined destiny. I hate that.”

Ali shook her head furiously. “No,” she said firmly. “No, it won’t come to that. You aren’t going to have a child against your will, and you won’t be punished for things that happened centuries before your birth.”

She placed a hand on his leg. It rested gently above his knee, but Santiago felt the burn of it everywhere.

“The first thing we’re going to do is lay your grandfather to rest and stop the curse,” she promised him. “Then, once we’re safe, we’ll figure out the rest.”

Santiago looked into Ali’s eyes. Their darkness rivaled the night sky, bottomless and wonderful.

“What?” she asked him, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Nothing,” he said, looking away. “You have a good face, too.”

Ali brought her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. He missed the warmth of her hand immediately. Together, they sat quietly for a long moment.