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Mario and Leo came to rest on either side of Santiago and Ali. He wondered if those two were true Huáscaros, too, or if they were more like Ali. He didn’t ask.

The other guards traveled as a group farther into the room, then split off in different directions. They were stiff and intense, military-like, advancing with their weapons drawn as if anticipating a threat from every corner. Santiago watched them detachedly until Ali wobbled, and he caught her.

Tearing his eyes from the magnificent room, he encouraged her to sit for a moment on the cool stone floor. Mario hovered near them with a scowl. Leo was busy watching the others.

Ali’s face was flushed and her eyes looked glassy. Santiago pressed his forehead to hers and found her hot to the touch, the fever wreaking havoc on her body. He didn’t dare check her wound. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do for her now anyway. The knowledge of that ate at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me Torres threatened your sister?” he asked her quietly.

She looked at him with surprise.

“Would you have believed me?” she responded. “Or would you have thought I was still trying to manipulate you?”

She shook her head before Santiago could think of an answer.

“I didn’t want to bring her up anyway. I never wanted her involved in any of this. Besides, none of what you told me was wrong. I made the choices that led me here.” She sighed. “It was my choice to deceive you. It was a mistake, but one I made myself. It wasn’t Naya’s fault.”

Santiago didn’t know how to feel about Ali’s confession. He was still angry with her, but he worried for her as well. Her betrayal had seemed so cutting yesterday, but now… If someone had threatened his mother, what choices would he have made? He couldn’t be sure.

He was also deeply confused about their current situation. His emotions were erratic, not knowing where to land. He was exhausted to his core, body and mind. He was frightened, of course. He also knew that it was unlikely he would leave the Andes alive—which was a large source of his fear. But despite being dragged along against his will, with literal guns at his back, he couldn’t help but feel some excitement as well.

Are we really about to see Atahualpa’s final resting place?

“Up,” Mario barked at them, kicking Santiago’s back with his boot. He glared at him but rose to his feet, helping Ali stand. The guards returned, having found no obvious signs of danger. They surrounded their boss, then Santiago and Ali when they were shuffled forward toward him. In a tight formation, the group advanced deeper into the room.

The guards who had already examined the space had carefully neutral expressions on their faces.

Torres, on the other hand, scanned the room greedily. Likely calculating the price he would set for each of the priceless objects inside. Just one of those carved stone pillars would be the find of the century for archaeologists and historians, but Santiago doubted his community would ever get a chance to see them with Torres involved.

And he was quickly losing confidence in his ability to do something about that.

They neared the door, and Santiago’s emotions bounced between nervous apprehension and excitement.

His eyes flickered to Mario, who now stood guard over Ali. The man had Santiago’s backpack, and he itched to demand its return. To be in possession of his grandfather’s ashes once more. He looked up; the sun was climbing quickly in the sky. Santiago needed to be ready to lay his abuelo to rest at any moment.

He suspected that if he said so, Torres would only move Abuelo Manco farther out of reach.

They arrived at the door, shadows obscuring what lay ahead. Torres placed a proprietary hand over the stone frame, looking at the rest of them with smug satisfaction.

“Let’s find my treasure,” he said.

48

They crossed the archway into another section of temple. This new room wasn’t nearly as long as the last. It was narrow at the entrance but bulged out in a semicircle from there, like a thick mushroom.

Though the walls were stone, these ones were cut smaller and fashioned into a neatly tiled mosaic, different than the large slabs of the previous room. There were no windows, but enough sunlight filtered in from behind them to illuminate their surroundings.

Evenly spaced along the room’s curved back wall was a series of tunnels. Santiago counted five, one directly ahead of them and two on either side of it.

“A labyrinth of interconnected chambers,” Santiago said aloud.

Interconnected chambers weren’t unusual in Andean architecture, especially within important buildings and particularly those religious in nature. Santiago supposed the tomb—which was meant to hold the mummified remains of the last Incan emperor—fit the bill.

“Fascinating,” Torres said. Santiago noticed that he stuck close to the doorway and couldn’t say he blamed him. The tunnels were decidedly ominous. Just the thought of venturing farther made Santiago’s palms sweat.

Rodriguez took the lead as before, confidently striding into the center tunnel.

The result was instantaneous. There was a series of whooshing whistles, then a sound not unlike a handful of toothpicks spilling onto the ground. Rodriguez screamed.