Beautiful Salvation

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Kirill waved a hand, brushing away Adonis’ assertion. “That’s ridiculous. You are not only a god, you are the creator of this world. Your strength is the kingdom’s strength, and it is the king’s sworn duty to protect his land at all costs. If giving you their daughter’s hand in marriage accomplished that goal, then the manner in which you approached the betrothal is irrelevant.”

  “Not when she’s their only child.” Adonis wagged a finger at Kirill. “And who’s to say Aiyana is willing to give up her life—and body—to a complete stranger just because that’s what’s good for the land?”

  “Part and parcel with being a princess,” Kirill countered. “Let them abdicate if they can’t fulfill their obligations.”

  “I’m telling Irina you said that.” Adonis smirked.

  For a second, a fraction of a heartbeat, Kirill froze. His eyes widened ever so slightly and Saamal was shocked to see a flicker of…unease? It was gone before he could even be certain it was there and Kirill’s face was once again the impenetrable mask he wore so well.

  “The point you both seem to be missing,” he said evenly, “is that the king and queen did something very out of character for them, something that was to the detriment of you, them, and the land.”

  Saamal shifted in his chair, mind working to follow the vampire’s train of thought. “You think there was a reason behind their decision that I’m not seeing?”

  “I’m certain of it.”

  A wisp of smoke curled past Saamal and Adonis moved beside him.

  “Saamal, did Aiyana say anything to you in the Dreamworld that would give you an idea of why her parents acted as they did?” the demon asked.

  “My mother and father used to be under the thrall of the Black God. They allowed the priests to lead the sacrifice every year, allowed a young man to have his heart torn out of his chest for the sake of the land. It wasn’t until the Black God possessed me, tried to take me against their will, that they realized he didn’t care for the land. He only cares for himself, and following him would drive our kingdom to ruin, leave us a people who care for nothing but blood and war.”

  Aiyana’s words echoed in his head. “She told me that they did not want the violence that I brought.”

  “The question to be asking yourself, Saamal, is who would benefit from the king and queen ceasing the sacrifices.” Kirill’s voice was cool, calm. He leaned forward. “Think of who benefits, and you will have your traitor.”

  “No one benefits,” Saamal insisted. “Destroying the land would weaken me, yes, but I wouldn’t die. If this land were destroyed—”

  Saamal stopped, lips parting. He stared at Kirill and the vampire’s eyes sharpened.

  “You have thought of something.”

  “If this land were destroyed…it would be the end of the fifth sun, the end of my time as ruler. It would mark the beginning of the sixth sun and…my brother’s rule.” “We worship the White God. We celebrate life, justice, and mercy.” “According to Aiyana, the king and queen now worship the White God—my brother. He has no power now, but if they were to worship him, he could become stronger.” He stopped and shook his head. “But no. My brother may wish to rule because he thinks he is better suited than I, but it is not in his nature to cause harm to the land for his own gain. He does not believe the ends justify the means. He will not help me save this world, but he would not do anything to hasten its destruction.”

  “Is there anyone else who would benefit from weakening you or destroying the land?” Kirill leaned back in the chair, looking for all the world like he belonged there. He tapped one pale, slender finger on the armrest. “The king and queen have been asleep for over a century. Why did the sacrifices not continue?” He squinted down at the parchments. “From what I have read, the sacrifices were done willingly, the people wanted them, honored them. Even if you did not initiate the return of the sacrifice, why didn’t the people?”

  Saamal eased himself into a chair, too distracted to waste energy standing. “I don’t know.”

  “I do.” Kirill steepled his hands. “Apparently, your former lover, Chumana, forbade the sacrifices to continue after the king and queen fell into their unending sleep. Anyone who attempts to feed Cipactli is soon swarmed by her minions the cihuateteo and die a most unpleasant death—absent of sacrificial honor and with their bodies consumed so that there is nothing for Cipactli to feed on, of course.”

  Saamal gaped at Kirill, anger feeding the pulse in his temples until a headache spread over the base of his skull. “Kirill…if you knew this, why didn’t you say so?” He slowly eased forward in his chair, resisting the urge to let his jaguar features show, to bare his teeth at the infuriating undead prince before him. “Aiyana’s life is at stake, Kirill, this is no time for games.”

  The last words were growled more than spoken, but Kirill didn’t bat an eye.

  “I did not lead with my information because I did not want to influence what you would offer up yourself.” Kirill brushed at a spot of lint on his cloak. “I assumed that you would know more about your enemies than I do.”

  He let the ‘but I guess I was wrong’ remain unspoken, but Saamal heard it just the same. He ground his teeth together, an image of dragging his claws down the side of Kirill’s face dancing behind his eyes.

  “Aiyana must have had quite an influence on you,” Adonis observed.

  Saamal tilted his head, but didn’t take his eyes off Kirill. “What?”

  Adonis came to stand beside Kirill so he could see Saamal’s face. “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve always been so reserved. This is the most emotion I’ve seen you express.”

  “If Cipactli has not eaten in over a century,” Kirill broke in, steering them back to the subject at hand with his usual single-mindedness, “I am amazed your land is not completely dead.”

  The fight abruptly drained from Saamal, leaving him tired. He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. His body responded more quickly this time, but his limbs still felt too heavy, too sluggish. He gestured for Kirill to follow him as he shuffled his way to the large window across the room. He released the panes of glass and threw them open, revealing the ravaged land that had once been his proud kingdom. Forcing himself to ignore the dying vegetation and the wicked wall of briars a few meters from the castle wall, he pointed down at the ground.

  A large pit yawned up at them from the ground between the castle and the briars. Ten feet across, it was big enough for a grown man to fall in without hitting his head on the way down—too big to offer any who fell in a prayer of stopping their fall in time to avoid the jagged black rocks shining at the bottom. Kirill leaned out, eyeing the pit.

  “Cipactli has been eating,” Saamal said quietly. “When she was alive, she was a creature of gigantic proportions, part crocodile, part amphibian. Her hunger knew no bounds, and she had a mouth at every joint on her body, each one lined with sharp teeth that would consume anything that came close enough.” He stared down at the pit, a terrifying mark of his failure, as well as an accusation. “I discovered pits like these all over the kingdom upon my return. As the sacrifices ceased, Cipactli’s hunger grew. She must have begun to doubt that I would ever come back, that I would ever be in a position to honor our bargain again. If what you say is true, Chumana herself may have mocked Cipactli, may have told her that I’d abandoned her, that she would starve to death.”

  “You’re saying this is Cipactli’s method of…feeding herself?” Kirill ran a hand over his chin and retreated back into the room. “Interesting.”

  “I don’t understand,” Adonis objected. “If Cipactli is feeding, then why aren’t you benefiting from that energy? Why is the land still dying?”

  “The sacrifice is not only about the body and the blood, Adonis. It is the faith of the people, the offering. It is the spirit in which the food is offered, the gratitude that goes with it. There is a reason for all the ceremony, all the ritual.” He set his jaw and tightened his grip on the window ledge with his right han
d. “We are not barbarians slinging meat to appease monstrous gods, throwing our people into the hungry maws of a beast with no sense, no dignity. Our ways are about symbiosis and respect, about not taking without giving. We offer thanks to the spirits of the animals we eat, thank them for their sacrifice. We use everything we can, without waste, so that we do not insult their sacrifice. Cipactli gave the greatest sacrifice she could make, and in exchange we give her the greatest sacrifice we can make—and we do it with honor and respect.”

  Adonis nodded, but his eyes remained clouded with doubt. Saamal turned away from him. The demon came from a different world, a different culture. Nothing Saamal could say would make the incubus understand his people, his world. It was a waste of breath to try.

  He strode across the room, grim determination straightening his spine, giving him precious little energy.

  “Where are you going?” Adonis asked.

  “I do not have the power to take Chumana on so that the people may resume the ritual. I have tried everything I know to wake Aiyana, with no success.” He paused and glanced back at Kirill. “Unless you have a solution that you have not shared with me yet…?”

  Kirill pressed his lips into a thin line, then nodded once, slowly. “I believe you may have to revisit the interpretation of the prophecy. The kiss of death may not refer to a kiss from you.” His pale blue eyes locked onto Saamal’s gaze, holding it as if the vampire could will Saamal to listen. “Aiyana may need to die.”

  Reality blurred around Saamal. One minute he was standing near the door, prepared to leave. The next he had Kirill pressed against the wall, one hand full of the vampire’s cloak, the other wrapped tight around his throat. Kirill’s eyes glowed a hellish crimson as he pressed his dagger farther into Saamal’s stomach, piercing the skin deep enough to send a thick trickle of blood down the blade and over his hand.

  “Leave,” Saamal whispered, unable to speak any louder through his rage. He tightened his grip on the vampire’s throat, barely resisting the urge to tear the undead prince’s head from his shoulders. “Leave this castle. You are no longer welcome.”

  “Saamal, let him go.” Adonis showed up beside Kirill, but he didn’t try to touch Saamal, didn’t try to stop him. “You asked him for help, you asked him if he knew how to wake her up. He only told you the truth.”

  “He threatened Aiyana.” Saamal’s voice echoed into the room, the tone sounding inhuman, more monster than man.

  “He didn’t threaten her, he only told you that you may have interpreted the prophecy wrong.” Adonis raised a hand slowly, but still didn’t move to touch Saamal. “No one is going to hurt Aiyana.”

  The pulse thundering in Saamal’s head settled enough for his thoughts to clear. He glanced at Adonis. “I—”

  Pain erupted in hot agony deep in the pit of his stomach, fiery tendrils spreading out like the limbs of a great sea monster, grasping at his organs and tearing apart his skin. Saamal roared, his grip momentarily loosening on Kirill’s neck. A second later the vampire was gone.

  The skin on Saamal’s stomach started to knit back together as soon as it had been torn. The dagger Kirill had used had been metal, no magic, no blessing or curse. A mortal weapon did little lasting damage to a god, even one as weak as Saamal was, but the pain…the pain was impressive. It had been a long time since Saamal had been hurt in such a…mundane way. He hovered there for a moment, sucking in deep breaths, trying to cool the rage still boiling inside him.

  Images of Kirill plunging that dagger into Aiyana’s chest continued to torment him, swirling around his head no matter how hard he tried to shut it out. He couldn’t breathe.

  “I will not let her die,” he gasped, choking on the words. “She cannot die.”

  “No one is going to hurt her, Saamal,” Adonis said quietly. “We’re here to help, but we won’t do anything you don’t want us to do.”

  Saamal nodded, a little too quick, feeling as though his body didn’t belong to him. The effects of the sinicuichi were gone, burned away by pain and rage. He slowly straightened up, not bothering to glance around for the vampire. He strode for the door, his movements evening out as the wound closed.

  “Saamal?” Adonis asked.

  “If the sacrifices do not continue, the pits will not be the only danger to seize my kingdom. Those pits will only satisfy Cipactli’s hunger for so long. Eventually, her hunger will feed into fury, and she will seek to punish the people for abandoning her. The land will rebel. There will be earthquakes, volcanic eruptions. Thousands will die in the carnage.”

  “If Cipactli has not done that in the last hundred years, what makes you so certain that will be the outcome?” Adonis pressed.

  “A century is nothing to an immortal like Cipactli. Her patience has not shattered yet, but it will.” Saamal reached the door.

  “How are you going to stop that from happening?” Adonis followed behind him.

  “I’m going to go see Chumana.”

  “But you said yourself that you don’t have the power to challenge her,” Adonis protested.

  “What’s going on?” Etienne asked, appearing in the doorway in front of Saamal. The werewolf was back in human form, not a stitch of clothing on him.

  “Etienne, you’re worse than me,” Adonis joked. “Didn’t you have pants when we got here?”

  Etienne frowned. “I was on my way to get them when I heard Saamal say he’s going to see Chumana.”

  “Eavesdropping, Etienne? I never would have guessed it.” Saamal crossed his arms, impatient to get on with what he had to do and unwilling to waste anymore time standing here discussing it.

  Etienne shrugged. “I can’t help that I’ve got excellent hearing. Why are you going to see Chumana? You’ve said yourself you’re not very strong, seems like she’s the type to take advantage of that.”

  “Everyone would take advantage of that,” Kirill muttered. “He’s a fallen god.”

  Saamal stiffened at the sound of the vampire’s voice, but he didn’t turn around. He’d lost his temper—he was still angry—but Adonis was right. He’d asked the vampire for his opinion. Kirill hadn’t given any indication that he intended to harm Aiyana. Saamal took a deep breath and focused on Etienne. “Chumana has many faults, but even she would not condemn her people to death.”

  “You think she hasn’t noticed your kingdom becoming a wasteland?” Etienne crossed his arms. “She doesn’t seem to care.”

  Saamal clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “I will make her understand what will happen. Even Chumana wouldn’t want Cipactli to—”

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

  Saamal shot a glare over his shoulder at Adonis. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that. But we’re not talking about affairs of the heart now, Adonis. We’re talking about the survival of a kingdom, the land and its people.”

  “You decided to marry Aiyana because that would bring more power to your people,” Adonis pointed out. “Chumana didn’t care. She cursed your would-be bride. After the kingdom went to sleep, Chumana forbade the sacrifices from continuing. She knew that would hurt you and the land. She didn’t care. The people wanted to keep going, they tried to continue with the sacrifices to save themselves. Chumana sent her monsters after them. They were suffering, but she didn’t care.”

  The demon faced Saamal, his face absent of any joking, as serious as Saamal had ever seen him.

  “Trust me when I say that Chumana won’t care about anything until Aiyana is completely out of the picture and she once again has your undivided attention.” Adonis put his hand on Saamal’s shoulder. “If you go to see her, you’ll only be risking your life—and your kingdom’s last chance at salvation.”

  Saamal brushed Adonis’ hand from his shoulder, gently but firmly. “Adonis, with all due respect, of all of us, you are perhaps the least strategic, the least political—”

  “And when it comes to women, I’m smarter than all of you put together. Even Kirill doesn’t argue with me about dealings wit
h women.”

  “Indeed,” Kirill spoke up again, from somewhere behind Saamal. “The demon has many faults, but ignorance of women’s minds is not one of them. You would do well to listen to him.”

  “Yes, and what I’m saying is Chumana. Will. Not. Care. You want Aiyana, not her. That is all that will matter to her.”

  Frustration ate at Saamal’s nerves like gremlins gnawing the wheels off a carriage, making it difficult to stand still. “I cannot sit here and do nothing, I must try to reason with her.”

  “Isn’t sitting here doing nothing exactly what you’ve been doing for the last hundred years?” Etienne pointed out.

  Saamal growled, the stabbing sensation in his fingers letting him know how close to the surface his claws were. Humans. Mortals. None of them understood. None of them could understand, not when their lifetimes were so short.

  “Saamal,” Adonis said calmly, “if Chumana is the one who halted the sacrifices, and she’s seen what has happened to the land, what makes you think she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing?”