It’s been days, and every day has seen the same routine, and the same result.
“Nothing to report,” the young warrior, Iachaqe, says at our meeting spot around the corner from the palace. Then he puffs out his chest and strides over to the gates to begin his day’s duty as a sentry posted at the entrance. Pomaqli and I continue to stand at the same place just out of sight of the gates, with the hopes of finally having a breakthrough moment, yet our efforts, up until now, have been fruitless.
“I grow tired of this, Paxilche,” Pomaqli grumbles. Each day after our encounter with Iachaqe, he says this. But I pay him no mind. Certainly, the trite daily contact leaves much to be desired, and I’d be speaking untruths if I said I wasn’t bored with this procedural interaction.
“We need to stay vigilant,” I remind Pomaqli. “There could be a break in the monotony at any moment. But if we deviate from the plan, we may miss a vital opportunity. After all, the finest blade is not forged in haste, but from the patience of the flame.”
Pomaqli rolls his eyes and groans at my recital of the cliche Qiapu saying. “The plan that involves deceiving a young Qiapu palace guard into believing he’s assisting us in a just cause regarding palace politics,” he says dryly. “That plan, you mean?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Yes, there may be a little deception involved, but it’s going to get us access to the information we seek. We must be patient, Pomaqli.”
I ask for patience more so from myself than Pomaqli. Pressing Iachaqe to expedite the process, I believe, will either raise his suspicions as to our true motives or cause him to conduct himself sloppily and bring suspicion unto himself, or both. Our plan is already risky to begin with; adding more risk feels like taking the matter a bit too far.
Pomaqli restlessly paces about the street like a caged puma, shaking his head and mumbling to himself out of frustration. This situation is a tremendous test for the proactive warrior, and I have no doubt that he’s formulating an alternative plan while we wait. If such an achievement is possible, I find myself becoming frustrated at Pomaqli’s frustration, fighting the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shout at him to relax. Realizing that taking such measures would be counterproductive, I instead bide my time by delving into a woven sack I’m holding in one hand, fingers brushing against the plump, cool mora. I pluck a berry, its dark skin glossy under the low highland sun, and toss it into my mouth, savoring the burst of sweet, tart juice that follows.
There’s a sudden commotion at the palace gate that draws my attention. In their bright white-and-red tunics and gleaming bronze helmets, the guards shout down to the four men approaching them. The guards’ halberds and swords are drawn, the archers’ bows taut. However, the strangers walk casually up to the gates with a confident swagger, no regard for the commands being shouted down at them. Their garments, while not in the standard deep sea blue and bronze, certainly possess many of the similar traits to Sanqo attire: the unkempt and disheveled appearance, accessories made of sea glass and shells, outfits designed to appear as fish scales with their oily, rainbow sheen.
“Is this how you welcome all your guests?” a Sanqo warrior asks mockingly.
Another one of the Sanqo warriors announces above the shouts from the young and nervous palace guards, “We’ve been informed by your esteemed general, Qumuna, that our Sanqo princess, Walumaq, can be found beyond these gates. Allow us to retrieve the princess so that we can return her to Haqiliqa, and she may be reunited with her father, Siunqi. After we’ve been granted this, we will be on our way.”
“We’ve been ordered to not allow any outsider through these gates,” one of the more decorated guards yells.
“Then let your leader step out here and meet with us,” says the first of the four warriors. “We promise not to bite.”
The guards don’t find any humor in his request, maintaining their defensive stances and pointing the blades of their weapons toward the four outsiders present at the gates. The Sanqo warriors remain nonplused, and the more diplomatic and straightforward of them steps forward, addressing the Qiapu more directly.
“All we seek is the return of our Sanqo princess,” his booming voice states. “I see no need for hostilities here. We do not seek a confrontation, and would like to complete the mission assigned to us without any harm coming to anyone. Why you continue to resist the diplomatic option baffles me, yet I will dismiss this slight if you can give us what we seek.”
For some reason, I whisper to Pomaqli, “They speak of Walumaq,” as if the people we’re watching could hear us from where we’re positioned. “But she’s not inside the palace, and I doubt these inexperienced children have any insight regarding the matter.”
“But what if these men wish to harm Walumaq? They could be the robbers we encountered before and seek retaliation and a ransom.” Pomaqli suggests, which is a thought that had crossed my mind.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I say, keeping my attention on the exchange still taking place. “We’ll need to find a way to confront them and learn what their genuine motive is. If they get turned away from the palace, we can–“
Before I can finish my thought, the tense confrontation at the palace gates suddenly becomes more cordial. Two high-ranking officials of the Pichaqta palace appear and, with swollen chests and loud clanking from their numerous piercings and decorations, stride up to the four Sanqo men. Speaking in relatively lowered voices, their discussion is difficult to discern from where Pomaqli and I stand. However, judging by the body language, the Sanqo warriors appear receptive to the officials’ remarks, and eventually, they all begin walking toward the entry to the palace.
“We must find a way into the palace,” I say with urgency.
Pomaqli appears confused. “You recall we’re not to enter the threshold of the palace grounds, correct? We will be stopped and confronted—if not, killed—immediately upon showing our faces.”
“Not without a little help,” I say, looking back toward the gate. I search our area and find a row of carts along the path that are waiting for this interaction to be resolved to enter the palace. The tradesmen’s carts contain various wares: fruits and root vegetables, colorful clothing, wooden utensils and tools, and the like. What catches my eye—and what I hope will do the same to Iachaqe—are a series of ornamental figurines and headdresses on the cart belonging to a metalworker.
I signal to Pomaqli that I’ll return swiftly. Before he can protest, I sneak my way up to the cart and crouch down low. I find a large, copper headdress, elaborately decorated with multiple dangling pieces, fashioned to represent Aqxilapu, and snatch it while the tradesman is talking to another nearby. Angling the headdress to catch the rays of the sun, I attempt to flash the light into Iachaqe’s stupefied face, his mouth agape as he watches the encounter between the Sanqo men and the two Qiapu officials. Inadvertently, the brownish reflection hits the eyes of a few unwitting guards. They wince, then turn to identify the source of the blinding light. I quickly duck behind the cart, hoping not to have been caught, and occasionally peek from behind the wooden vessel to check if I’ve been made. To my good fortune, the guards grumpily return to their stationary positions, focusing forward attentively.
My next attempt connects with Iachaqe, who looks about the area with much confusion. I give him an abrupt wave, then point toward the palace. His eyebrows furrow, appearing to not understand my meaning. I make my gestures larger and more exaggerated, as though repeating my indecipherable signals will work in this manner. Somehow, by the grace of the Eleven, they do, and Iachaqe nervously looks upon the gate entrance.
Just as I’m about to signal to Pomaqli and maneuver toward the gate, the merchant begins yelling at me. He demands that I get away from his cart, calling me a thief and shouting to the palace guards. The heavily-tattooed Pomaqli steps in, pointing to his Qiapu warrior outfit, and whisks me away, appeasing the merchant by telling him I will be dealt with by the Tempered. He scolds me as we depart the merchant’s cart, and I get the feeling his comments are not an act.
“You are the most foolish person I have ever been around,” he growls. I’m about to make a sarcastic remark when I notice Pomaqli keeping his head low, his helmet shielding his face from the onlooking guards. Is this part of his improvised plan? “You have an aversion to success, I’m convinced of this.”
Before I know it, we’re met by Iachaqe, who says something I can’t quite make out, then assists Pomaqli in apprehending me and escorting us into the palace grounds.
“We’re taking him to the holding grounds,” I hear Iachaqe squeak as he attempts to muster up resolve in his voice. “He was caught attempting to steal from a noble merchant. The Tempered will resolve the matter.”
With indifference from his fellow guards, we walk right through the gates, past the officials and Sanqo warriors on their way to the main palace building.
“Thanks for the cover,” I say to Iachaqe, but the expression on his face is wooden and serious.
“I am taking you to the holding grounds,” he charges. “Both of you, in fact.”
Confused, Pomaqli and I attempt to stop our progress deeper into the grounds and confront the young guard, but he pulls on my arm, dragging me against my will.
“I was informed of your deceit,” he says. “There is no discussion to improve the lives of the guards! You’re trying to manipulate your way into the palace. I heard about the Tempered’s command to not allow you two inside. This is manipulation of a palace guard to commit an act of treason!”
“Now listen here, boy,” Pomaqli begins to threaten, but I place my one free hand on his chest in an effort to halt whatever intimidating statement he might regret saying.
“Iachaqe,” I begin, lacing my voice with honey, “Your loyalty to your duty is admirable. It’s rare to find such dedication! However, the situation within the palace is more complex than it appears. We’re not mere thieves. We’re trying to uncover a grave threat that endangers not just the palace, but all of Qiapu, and potentially Pachil.”
Before the young guard can take exception, I continue, "As a guardian of this palace, your role is to protect it from all threats, seen and unseen, correct? We have reason to believe that a conspiracy is brewing within these walls, one that could compromise the safety of everyone, including the Tempered himself, hence our initial and unfortunate use of deception; we simply were unable to determine if there were any honorable servants to Qiapu in these palace grounds. Our intentions are to safeguard the palace, much like yours."
I can see that Iachaqe does not believe me, so I attempt a different tactic. “Let us prove our intentions. Allow us into the palace under your supervision—your presence will guarantee that our intentions are honorable. You’ll be doing your duty by protecting the Tempered from potential threats, including us, if you see fit.”
Pomaqli is alarmed by my attempt at appeasement and glares at me, his look of disapproval burns into the side of my face. But I pay him no mind and keep my gaze locked onto the young man, as if my stare will sway him to our cause. I desire a direct interaction with Saxina, to get the truth out of him that he seems so desperate to sidestep when confronted. Based on whether or not I’m successful in achieving this, I anticipate we either walk away unscathed or are executed on the spot; whether or not this young guard trusts me after my engagement at the palace today, maintaining a long-term friendship with Iachaqe is of no concern to me, viewing him merely as a means to an end.
Iachaqe internally wrestles with this dilemma, fighting between his urge to be noble and considering the possibility of truth in my statement. I keep my mouth closed while he deliberates, not wanting to influence him toward preventing us from getting access to the main building. Pomaqli possesses enough impatience for the both of us, so I focus on steadying my breath and calming my nerves, hoping I’ve told just enough truth regarding my intentions to convince him.
“You better not be deceiving me again,” Iachaqe says with reluctance and a sigh. I restrain myself from celebrating, cooly nodding with confidence. I feel like saying more, but thankfully Pomaqli stops me from blurting something that could change our fortunes.
“We must act quickly,” Pomaqli grunts. “We don’t know how much time we have before things escalate.”
We’re fleet of foot as we take a route past the servants’ quarters, which are still under repair. We avoid the holding ground and loop around to a rear entrance into the main building containing the throne room. There’s a commotion at the front of the building that draws the guards toward it, likely due to the news of outsiders seeking a word with Saxina.
I mutter to Pomaqli out of Iachaqe’s earshot, “We need to find a way to isolate these Sanqo warriors so I can confront Saxina alone.”
With another annoyed grunt, Pomaqli swivels his head to and fro, then leans over so only I can hear his response. “I have a plan. Try not to do anything stupid to ruin it. And when the moment presents itself, don’t be around.”
I’m confused, but Pomaqli’s intentions soon become evident. The Sanqo warriors, along with the two officials, come into view. Pomaqli picks up his pace and darts around the corner, down another hallway. There’s a loud crash, followed by a few shouts, and then Pomaqli reemerges. Heavy footsteps pound the dense stone walkways, growing louder as a couple palace guards sprint past us.
“What on Pachil did you do?” I whisper to him.
Ignoring me, Pomaqli grabs Iachaqe and points. “There’s an urgent matter that concerns those two officials in the ritual chamber. Lead them there so they can resolve the issue.” Baffled, Iachaqe looks hesitant to heed the command, but, recognizing this, Pomaqli says, “We will be right here—we have nowhere else we must be beyond the throne room. As Paxilche said, if we disappear, you will be within your rights to detain us.”
The young guard is still ambivalent, uncertain whether we can be trusted. However, the sound of more desperate shouting makes his decision clear: Iachaqe hurries over to the two officials and expresses the urgent need of their presence. The two officials exchange perplexed glances, then say a word to the Sanqo warriors before rushing off to see what has caused such a raucous.
“You have your distraction,” he says, sounding frustrated at his use of deception. “Now, hurry. I won’t be able to afford us much time.”
I express my gratitude with a quick nod, then scramble to get inside the throne room before anyone notices me. The air is stale and cool, and the hollow chamber appears lifeless, lacking any color besides the cold gray of the smooth stones. Footsteps quickly approach, and my heart leaps into my throat, worried that I may be apprehended by Iachaqe or another guard aware of my deceit.
“This matter better be important,” the voice of Saxina says, sounding entirely annoyed for being summoned. “You’ve taken me away from my–“
He stops mid-thought at the sight of me standing in the middle of the throne room, arms crossed and my cold expression greeting him.
“Let’s have a chat,” I say, my voice trembling as I try to restrain myself from vitriolically shouting at him. Amidst Saxina’s yells for the guards to seize me, I interpolate, “My companions and I will have everyone made aware of your alliance with the Eye in the Flame and that you’re responsible for the assault on the palace!”
Saxina immediately freezes as he’s overwhelmed by shock.
“What did you just accuse me of doing, you diabolical fiend?” he says, pure hatred and disdain dripping from each carefully spoken word.
“I thought that would get your attention,” I remark. “But I am correct, aren’t I? That you’re involved with the Eye in the Flame who attacked hundreds of innocent civilians and murdered my brother? I find it humorous that you, of all people, would call me a ‘diabolical fiend’, all things considered.”
Saxina’s eyes narrow, the initial shock giving way to a calculated calmness. He takes a step forward, his voice a blend of feigned surprise and controlled aggression.
“You weave quite the tale, Paxilche” he says, his tone laced with contempt. “It’s almost impressive, the way you string together lies and half-truths. But let’s not pretend you’re here for justice or moral righteousness. You’re here because you refuse to see the truth. We’ve already discussed this. The findings of Limaqumtlia’s death are not to your liking, and now you seek someone to blame.”
He pauses, studying my reaction, his gaze sharp and probing. “Now you accuse me of siding with the Eye in the Flame? You must be out of your mind! Have you forgotten that I have consistently held the Ulxa responsible for our recent tragedies?”
“But the Eye in the Flame are separate from–“
“The Eye in the Flame, the Ulxa—they’re branches of the same rotten tree,” he interrupts, “threats to the stability of Qiapu and all of Pachil.”
Saxina’s voice takes on a tone of righteous indignation. “I have been at the forefront, warning our people about these threats. On the other hand, here you come hurling conspiracies and trying to undermine the very fabric of our society. Where is your evidence? Without it, you’re nothing but a disgruntled spirit looking for someone to blame for your personal losses.”
He’s sure to put extra emphasis on the last of those words, then begins to circle me slowly, maintaining his composed demeanor. “Let’s not dress this up as anything more than it is, Paxilche. You’re here seeking different answers for your brother’s death, driven by grief and rage. Understandable, as the wound has not had enough time to heal. But directing your anger at me, once again? That’s misguided. My only goal has been the safety and prosperity of Qiapu, which I have repeatedly told you. Whether you choose to hear me or not, that falls on you.”
His words are smooth, but they carry a menacing undertone. I’m well aware that Saxina is a master of political games, adept at twisting narratives to suit his needs. Yet beneath his calm exterior, I sense a flicker of concern. He knows the truth of his actions, and however unproven my accusations, they have hit closer to home than he cares to admit.
“Deflect all you wish” I say, ignoring his pomposity, “but the truth is, you’ve allied with the Eye in the Flame. I saw your shock and alarm after you realized they betrayed your trust, when they attacked the palace. You thought you were untouchable. On good terms with those lunatics. So how surprised were you when you saw their zealots storm the palace gates?”
Saxina scoffs at my statement, rolling his eyes and turning away from me. I don’t let him evade the confrontation, maintaining my persistence. “You insist the Eye in the Flame and the Ulxa are the same, declaring them responsible for my brother’s assassination. Was that an attempt at throwing everyone off the scent? Did you expect everyone to go along with your deception? A surprising candidate for Tempered… Who were those men who nominated you? Followers of the Eye in the Flame?”
“You question the credibility of my claim to the throne?” he asks, seemingly incensed and offended. “Aqxilapu has deemed me worthy of leading the Qiapu and returning us to our former glory. How dare–“
“Save your feigned outrage for someone naïve enough to believe it,” I charge. “You may have been able to avoid confronting me before, but not any longer, Saxina.”
He goes to walk away, but I grab his shoulders to halt him. His eyes grow large and wide, mouth agape as I accost him, stunned that someone he views as inferior dares to touch him. I try my best to control my anger, yet as he attempts to wriggle away, my grip on his shoulder clamps down tighter. My jaw tightens, my nostrils flare. My fury won’t allow him to escape that easily. Before I speak again, however, I take one strained breath.
“Where did you learn such foolery, Saxina? You’ve spent too much time in Qapauma among those Achope and Tapeu liars. You’ve mastered their theatrics well. Is that how you think a ruler acts?”
“I will not be insulted–“
“Hold yourself accountable for the assault on Pichaqta, Saxina! Don’t bother denying it! Your actions have spoken louder than any reassurance you might offer. You are responsible for murdering my brother!”
After a moment of flustered silence, Saxina regains his composure. There’s a serenity to his appearance, his shoulders rolled back as he holds his chin high. “You think you have everything figured out, don’t you, Paxilche?” he begins, his eyes narrowed into slits, his voice laced with an eerie calm. “Your simplistic view of the world is almost admirable, though misguided. It shows you know nothing of what leadership truly is. Leadership requires making difficult decisions for the greater good. Decisions that someone like you could never comprehend.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me on these difficult decisions, Saxina,” I say, flicking my wrist and flinging his shoulder, which causes him to spin around and face me. “But speak slowly and meticulously so that someone as lowly as myself could understand.”
“Your brother, for all his noble intentions, lacked the foresight and strength required to lead Qiapu in these tumultuous times,” Saxina says, his voice tinged with a feigned sense of regret. “He was a dreamer, a visionary perhaps, but not a leader. Limaqumtlia’s vision for Qiapu was myopic at best. He saw independence as hiding from the world, content with toiling away in obscurity. This, while the rest of Pachil strides forward. He mistook isolation for freedom, a rock for a fortress. Under his rule, Qiapu would have remained insignificant.
“I see a different future for Qiapu—one where we do not just rebuild, but ascend. We have the potential to be more than just craftsmen or miners; we can be conquerors, rulers. Pachil is ripe for the taking. Anyone with eyes can see that Achutli is not fit to possess that throne. Why should we limit ourselves to the humble aspirations of a craftsman when we could hold the reins of power?
"Yes, I have made alliances, formed pacts, and navigated treacherous political waters. It was all for the security and prosperity of Qiapu. If that means making decisions that are unpalatable to some, so be it.
“You call it murder, I call it sacrifice,” Saxina continues with a steely tone. “The world is not black and white, Paxilche. Limaqumtlia’s death was regrettable—on that, I will agree. But it was ultimately necessary. His passive stance would have left us vulnerable, weak in the eyes of our enemies. I am the ruler Qiapu needs, one who is willing to make the hard decisions, to take the actions required for our survival and supremacy."
His gaze locks with mine, defiant and unyielding. “So go ahead, accuse me, denounce me if you must. But know this: I do what I do for Qiapu, for its people. And I will continue to do so, with or without your approval.”
“Your ambition blinds you, Saxina. You seek to leap before learning to crawl. The Qiapu understand that the strongest steel is forged through patience and precision, qualities you sorely lack. No, in your haste to forge the sharpest blade, you neglect the fire’s heat and the metal’s temper. In your rush for power, you’ve plunged Qiapu into cold water, shocking and fracturing what could have been our strongest asset.”
I step in closer, my gaze piercing. “You speak of leadership as if it were a prize to be snatched, not a responsibility to be shouldered. But you’ve got it wrong. True leadership isn’t about the throne. It’s about the people and the land. Limaqumtlia—my brother—understood this. His vision for Qiapu wasn’t about hiding from the world. No, it was about strengthening our foundation, about dignity and independence. And you? You see our heritage as nothing but a rung on the ladder to power.
“Greatness is built, not seized. Your haste to ascend the throne, to have Qiapu reach heights it is not prepared for, will only lead to our downfall. You mistake arrogance for vision, and it will be the undoing of everything Limaqumtlia hoped to achieve. You sacrificed more than a leader; you sacrificed the very essence of Qiapu for your ambitions. And for what? A fleeting grasp at power in a rapidly changing world?”
I hear my tense voice echoing throughout the cold, stone chamber. “You stand there, cloaked in your justifications, but the truth is clear. You betrayed not just Limaqumtlia, not just me, but every person in Qiapu who believed in a future—a future you snuffed out for your own gains.”
Saxina’s lips purse into a tight scowl. He doesn’t respond with words, yet the fire in his eyes says it all. I return the stare, confident that I know what he’s done. He may have not said so in direct terms, but it’s clear that he is aligned with the Eye in the Flame. He’s made a pact with an evil force for his own benefit.
One item still persists in my mind, however. “And yet, despite your lofty ambitions and alliances, you seemed utterly bewildered when the Eye in the Flame turned on Pichaqta, storming the palace you claim to protect. A curious reaction for someone supposedly in league with them, wouldn’t you say?”
Saxina’s expression tightens—I did not know it could be any tighter—as a brief touch of unease crosses his features. “You think me ignorant enough to blindly trust those zealots? I am no fool, Paxilche. I knew the risks, but sometimes, one must navigate treacherous waters to reach a safer shore.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Navigate treacherous waters? You steered the very storm into our harbor! And Amalu—what of him? Sacrificed like a lamb on an altar? Was his death just another offering in your quest for power?”
“Amalu served his purpose, and although it was regrettable, his death was a necessity,” Saxina says, his eyes glint with a mix of irritation and resignation. “A tree sometimes needs pruning for the rest to thrive.”
The manner in which he describes Amalu’s death is strangely similar to how he discussed Limaqumtlia’s, a coincidence not lost on me. His casual dismissal of Amalu’s life ignites a fire within me. “You speak of necessity and strength, yet all I see is a man willing to sacrifice anything or anyone for power. You’ve lost sight of what makes the Qiapu truly strong—our unity, our resilience. You’ve traded our values for a throne, and in doing so, you’ve betrayed everything we stand for.”
Saxina’s posture stiffens, and his jaw clenches. “You’ve said your piece, and I have been more than merciful. Now, leave before you overstep your bounds further.”
At this, I can only shake my head in disbelief, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. As I turn to leave, the enormity of the task ahead is at the forefront of my mind. Saxina may have stood firm today, but the battle for Qiapu’s heart has only just begun. With each step away from the throne room, the resolve within me hardens. More than ever, I am determined to unravel Saxina’s web of deceit and reclaim the dignity our people have lost. Although it was enlightening, this confrontation is merely the opening gambit in a much larger scheme. My quest to avenge Limaqumtlia and redeem Qiapu has taken on a new, more calculated direction. The journey to seek justice for my brother—and for our people—is far from over, and I am prepared to fight until the truth prevails.
I return to the hall outside the throne room to see Pomaqli speaking jovially to the four Sanqo warriors. Nervous, I search the area for any indication of the palace guards or officials, yet none are to be found. I make eye contact with Pomaqli, who is cordially speaking to the men. He waves me over and greets me with a quick nod.
“I was discussing with these warriors about Princess Walumaq’s bravery in protecting and saving the palace,” Pomaqli says, speaking with admiration and respect in his tone. “I have been regaling them with stories, and they are fascinated by the news of her capabilities.”
Upon hearing this, a pit forms in my stomach. Why would Pomaqli inform them of Walumaq’s gift, one that caused her isolation among her own people? Then again, how could he not—the feat was a vision to behold. How will they treat her, now that they know of her supernatural abilities, if they hadn’t known before? Do they appreciate what she’s capable of, or do they dismiss her as a spirit speaker? Walumaq spoke of being called to a greater purpose. Will these men stymie her efforts in accomplishing what fate has planned for her?
I’m not sure I can allow that. I grow concerned that, if these men seek Walumaq and return her to their isolated island by Haqu Suquinoq, she may never fulfill her destiny, and the continent will be left unprotected. We need her capabilities to defend ourselves from this evil that is determined to destroy the factions of the continent.
I only partially listen to Pomaqli’s words, his voice arriving to my ears like a faint echo that traveled the long valley. My attention is distracted, gazing upon the gathered Sanqo warriors. Their disciplined stance and keen interest in their eyes speak of a deeper purpose, one that seems to extend beyond mere curiosity. It strikes me that their journey may not solely be about retrieving Walumaq. When we first met, she had mentioned her people had traveled to Chalaqta for diplomatic purposes, summoned by the Arbiter to discuss utilizing Sanqo ships for a royal fleet. Even to someone unversed in political maneuvering, this sounds like an attempt by the Sanqo to rehabilitate their tarnished reputation. Could their ambition and our needs align? And now, with their newfound awareness of Walumaq’s extraordinary abilities, might they view her as a key to restoring their standing on the continent?
Like a bright spark birthed from the union of flint and pyrite, an idea suddenly ignites in my mind. If Saxina clings to his throne through deception and refuses to confess, perhaps only deception and betrayal can unseat him. Knowing the Sanqo history, this might be a way for both parties to achieve what they desire: the Qiapu rids itself of a selfish ruler, the Sanqo can begin to restore their standing among the continent’s factions by removing a tyrant. If we can utilize our connections between Pomaqli and the esteemed general, Qumuna, along with Walumaq’s gifts, we may have enough in forces to combat the loyalists to Saxina and the Eye in the Flame, restoring Qiapu to its former glory.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve long despised the underhanded tactics of palace politics, yet here I am, contemplating a ploy that mirrors those I condemn. But unlike Saxina, my intentions are for the greater good of Qiapu, not personal gain. In the murky waters of politics, perhaps the ends do justify the means.
“Warriors of the Sanqo,” I say with the most charming grin I can muster, “before you depart to Qespina to retrieve Lady Walumaq—may Aqxilapu forge your path—may I have a word with you regarding Qiapu, to which I would like to have passed along to your esteemed leader?”
It’s been days, and every day has seen the same routine, and the same result.
“Nothing to report,” the young warrior, Iachaqe, says at our meeting spot around the corner from the palace. Then he puffs out his chest and strides over to the gates to begin his day’s duty as a sentry posted at the entrance. Pomaqli and I continue to stand at the same place just out of sight of the gates, with the hopes of finally having a breakthrough moment, yet our efforts, up until now, have been fruitless.
“I grow tired of this, Paxilche,” Pomaqli grumbles. Each day after our encounter with Iachaqe, he says this. But I pay him no mind. Certainly, the trite daily contact leaves much to be desired, and I’d be speaking untruths if I said I wasn’t bored with this procedural interaction.
“We need to stay vigilant,” I remind Pomaqli. “There could be a break in the monotony at any moment. But if we deviate from the plan, we may miss a vital opportunity. After all, the finest blade is not forged in haste, but from the patience of the flame.”
Pomaqli rolls his eyes and groans at my recital of the cliche Qiapu saying. “The plan that involves deceiving a young Qiapu palace guard into believing he’s assisting us in a just cause regarding palace politics,” he says dryly. “That plan, you mean?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Yes, there may be a little deception involved, but it’s going to get us access to the information we seek. We must be patient, Pomaqli.”
I ask for patience more so from myself than Pomaqli. Pressing Iachaqe to expedite the process, I believe, will either raise his suspicions as to our true motives or cause him to conduct himself sloppily and bring suspicion unto himself, or both. Our plan is already risky to begin with; adding more risk feels like taking the matter a bit too far.
Pomaqli restlessly paces about the street like a caged puma, shaking his head and mumbling to himself out of frustration. This situation is a tremendous test for the proactive warrior, and I have no doubt that he’s formulating an alternative plan while we wait. If such an achievement is possible, I find myself becoming frustrated at Pomaqli’s frustration, fighting the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shout at him to relax. Realizing that taking such measures would be counterproductive, I instead bide my time by delving into a woven sack I’m holding in one hand, fingers brushing against the plump, cool mora. I pluck a berry, its dark skin glossy under the low highland sun, and toss it into my mouth, savoring the burst of sweet, tart juice that follows.
There’s a sudden commotion at the palace gate that draws my attention. In their bright white-and-red tunics and gleaming bronze helmets, the guards shout down to the four men approaching them. The guards’ halberds and swords are drawn, the archers’ bows taut. However, the strangers walk casually up to the gates with a confident swagger, no regard for the commands being shouted down at them. Their garments, while not in the standard deep sea blue and bronze, certainly possess many of the similar traits to Sanqo attire: the unkempt and disheveled appearance, accessories made of sea glass and shells, outfits designed to appear as fish scales with their oily, rainbow sheen.
“Is this how you welcome all your guests?” a Sanqo warrior asks mockingly.
Another one of the Sanqo warriors announces above the shouts from the young and nervous palace guards, “We’ve been informed by your esteemed general, Qumuna, that our Sanqo princess, Walumaq, can be found beyond these gates. Allow us to retrieve the princess so that we can return her to Haqiliqa, and she may be reunited with her father, Siunqi. After we’ve been granted this, we will be on our way.”
“We’ve been ordered to not allow any outsider through these gates,” one of the more decorated guards yells.
“Then let your leader step out here and meet with us,” says the first of the four warriors. “We promise not to bite.”
The guards don’t find any humor in his request, maintaining their defensive stances and pointing the blades of their weapons toward the four outsiders present at the gates. The Sanqo warriors remain nonplused, and the more diplomatic and straightforward of them steps forward, addressing the Qiapu more directly.
“All we seek is the return of our Sanqo princess,” his booming voice states. “I see no need for hostilities here. We do not seek a confrontation, and would like to complete the mission assigned to us without any harm coming to anyone. Why you continue to resist the diplomatic option baffles me, yet I will dismiss this slight if you can give us what we seek.”
For some reason, I whisper to Pomaqli, “They speak of Walumaq,” as if the people we’re watching could hear us from where we’re positioned. “But she’s not inside the palace, and I doubt these inexperienced children have any insight regarding the matter.”
“But what if these men wish to harm Walumaq? They could be the robbers we encountered before and seek retaliation and a ransom.” Pomaqli suggests, which is a thought that had crossed my mind.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I say, keeping my attention on the exchange still taking place. “We’ll need to find a way to confront them and learn what their genuine motive is. If they get turned away from the palace, we can–“
Before I can finish my thought, the tense confrontation at the palace gates suddenly becomes more cordial. Two high-ranking officials of the Pichaqta palace appear and, with swollen chests and loud clanking from their numerous piercings and decorations, stride up to the four Sanqo men. Speaking in relatively lowered voices, their discussion is difficult to discern from where Pomaqli and I stand. However, judging by the body language, the Sanqo warriors appear receptive to the officials’ remarks, and eventually, they all begin walking toward the entry to the palace.
“We must find a way into the palace,” I say with urgency.
Pomaqli appears confused. “You recall we’re not to enter the threshold of the palace grounds, correct? We will be stopped and confronted—if not, killed—immediately upon showing our faces.”
“Not without a little help,” I say, looking back toward the gate. I search our area and find a row of carts along the path that are waiting for this interaction to be resolved to enter the palace. The tradesmen’s carts contain various wares: fruits and root vegetables, colorful clothing, wooden utensils and tools, and the like. What catches my eye—and what I hope will do the same to Iachaqe—are a series of ornamental figurines and headdresses on the cart belonging to a metalworker.
I signal to Pomaqli that I’ll return swiftly. Before he can protest, I sneak my way up to the cart and crouch down low. I find a large, copper headdress, elaborately decorated with multiple dangling pieces, fashioned to represent Aqxilapu, and snatch it while the tradesman is talking to another nearby. Angling the headdress to catch the rays of the sun, I attempt to flash the light into Iachaqe’s stupefied face, his mouth agape as he watches the encounter between the Sanqo men and the two Qiapu officials. Inadvertently, the brownish reflection hits the eyes of a few unwitting guards. They wince, then turn to identify the source of the blinding light. I quickly duck behind the cart, hoping not to have been caught, and occasionally peek from behind the wooden vessel to check if I’ve been made. To my good fortune, the guards grumpily return to their stationary positions, focusing forward attentively.
My next attempt connects with Iachaqe, who looks about the area with much confusion. I give him an abrupt wave, then point toward the palace. His eyebrows furrow, appearing to not understand my meaning. I make my gestures larger and more exaggerated, as though repeating my indecipherable signals will work in this manner. Somehow, by the grace of the Eleven, they do, and Iachaqe nervously looks upon the gate entrance.
Just as I’m about to signal to Pomaqli and maneuver toward the gate, the merchant begins yelling at me. He demands that I get away from his cart, calling me a thief and shouting to the palace guards. The heavily-tattooed Pomaqli steps in, pointing to his Qiapu warrior outfit, and whisks me away, appeasing the merchant by telling him I will be dealt with by the Tempered. He scolds me as we depart the merchant’s cart, and I get the feeling his comments are not an act.
“You are the most foolish person I have ever been around,” he growls. I’m about to make a sarcastic remark when I notice Pomaqli keeping his head low, his helmet shielding his face from the onlooking guards. Is this part of his improvised plan? “You have an aversion to success, I’m convinced of this.”
Before I know it, we’re met by Iachaqe, who says something I can’t quite make out, then assists Pomaqli in apprehending me and escorting us into the palace grounds.
“We’re taking him to the holding grounds,” I hear Iachaqe squeak as he attempts to muster up resolve in his voice. “He was caught attempting to steal from a noble merchant. The Tempered will resolve the matter.”
With indifference from his fellow guards, we walk right through the gates, past the officials and Sanqo warriors on their way to the main palace building.
“Thanks for the cover,” I say to Iachaqe, but the expression on his face is wooden and serious.
“I am taking you to the holding grounds,” he charges. “Both of you, in fact.”
Confused, Pomaqli and I attempt to stop our progress deeper into the grounds and confront the young guard, but he pulls on my arm, dragging me against my will.
“I was informed of your deceit,” he says. “There is no discussion to improve the lives of the guards! You’re trying to manipulate your way into the palace. I heard about the Tempered’s command to not allow you two inside. This is manipulation of a palace guard to commit an act of treason!”
“Now listen here, boy,” Pomaqli begins to threaten, but I place my one free hand on his chest in an effort to halt whatever intimidating statement he might regret saying.
“Iachaqe,” I begin, lacing my voice with honey, “Your loyalty to your duty is admirable. It’s rare to find such dedication! However, the situation within the palace is more complex than it appears. We’re not mere thieves. We’re trying to uncover a grave threat that endangers not just the palace, but all of Qiapu, and potentially Pachil.”
Before the young guard can take exception, I continue, "As a guardian of this palace, your role is to protect it from all threats, seen and unseen, correct? We have reason to believe that a conspiracy is brewing within these walls, one that could compromise the safety of everyone, including the Tempered himself, hence our initial and unfortunate use of deception; we simply were unable to determine if there were any honorable servants to Qiapu in these palace grounds. Our intentions are to safeguard the palace, much like yours."
I can see that Iachaqe does not believe me, so I attempt a different tactic. “Let us prove our intentions. Allow us into the palace under your supervision—your presence will guarantee that our intentions are honorable. You’ll be doing your duty by protecting the Tempered from potential threats, including us, if you see fit.”
Pomaqli is alarmed by my attempt at appeasement and glares at me, his look of disapproval burns into the side of my face. But I pay him no mind and keep my gaze locked onto the young man, as if my stare will sway him to our cause. I desire a direct interaction with Saxina, to get the truth out of him that he seems so desperate to sidestep when confronted. Based on whether or not I’m successful in achieving this, I anticipate we either walk away unscathed or are executed on the spot; whether or not this young guard trusts me after my engagement at the palace today, maintaining a long-term friendship with Iachaqe is of no concern to me, viewing him merely as a means to an end.
Iachaqe internally wrestles with this dilemma, fighting between his urge to be noble and considering the possibility of truth in my statement. I keep my mouth closed while he deliberates, not wanting to influence him toward preventing us from getting access to the main building. Pomaqli possesses enough impatience for the both of us, so I focus on steadying my breath and calming my nerves, hoping I’ve told just enough truth regarding my intentions to convince him.
“You better not be deceiving me again,” Iachaqe says with reluctance and a sigh. I restrain myself from celebrating, cooly nodding with confidence. I feel like saying more, but thankfully Pomaqli stops me from blurting something that could change our fortunes.
“We must act quickly,” Pomaqli grunts. “We don’t know how much time we have before things escalate.”
We’re fleet of foot as we take a route past the servants’ quarters, which are still under repair. We avoid the holding ground and loop around to a rear entrance into the main building containing the throne room. There’s a commotion at the front of the building that draws the guards toward it, likely due to the news of outsiders seeking a word with Saxina.
I mutter to Pomaqli out of Iachaqe’s earshot, “We need to find a way to isolate these Sanqo warriors so I can confront Saxina alone.”
With another annoyed grunt, Pomaqli swivels his head to and fro, then leans over so only I can hear his response. “I have a plan. Try not to do anything stupid to ruin it. And when the moment presents itself, don’t be around.”
I’m confused, but Pomaqli’s intentions soon become evident. The Sanqo warriors, along with the two officials, come into view. Pomaqli picks up his pace and darts around the corner, down another hallway. There’s a loud crash, followed by a few shouts, and then Pomaqli reemerges. Heavy footsteps pound the dense stone walkways, growing louder as a couple palace guards sprint past us.
“What on Pachil did you do?” I whisper to him.
Ignoring me, Pomaqli grabs Iachaqe and points. “There’s an urgent matter that concerns those two officials in the ritual chamber. Lead them there so they can resolve the issue.” Baffled, Iachaqe looks hesitant to heed the command, but, recognizing this, Pomaqli says, “We will be right here—we have nowhere else we must be beyond the throne room. As Paxilche said, if we disappear, you will be within your rights to detain us.”
The young guard is still ambivalent, uncertain whether we can be trusted. However, the sound of more desperate shouting makes his decision clear: Iachaqe hurries over to the two officials and expresses the urgent need of their presence. The two officials exchange perplexed glances, then say a word to the Sanqo warriors before rushing off to see what has caused such a raucous.
“You have your distraction,” he says, sounding frustrated at his use of deception. “Now, hurry. I won’t be able to afford us much time.”
I express my gratitude with a quick nod, then scramble to get inside the throne room before anyone notices me. The air is stale and cool, and the hollow chamber appears lifeless, lacking any color besides the cold gray of the smooth stones. Footsteps quickly approach, and my heart leaps into my throat, worried that I may be apprehended by Iachaqe or another guard aware of my deceit.
“This matter better be important,” the voice of Saxina says, sounding entirely annoyed for being summoned. “You’ve taken me away from my–“
He stops mid-thought at the sight of me standing in the middle of the throne room, arms crossed and my cold expression greeting him.
“Let’s have a chat,” I say, my voice trembling as I try to restrain myself from vitriolically shouting at him. Amidst Saxina’s yells for the guards to seize me, I interpolate, “My companions and I will have everyone made aware of your alliance with the Eye in the Flame and that you’re responsible for the assault on the palace!”
Saxina immediately freezes as he’s overwhelmed by shock.
“What did you just accuse me of doing, you diabolical fiend?” he says, pure hatred and disdain dripping from each carefully spoken word.
“I thought that would get your attention,” I remark. “But I am correct, aren’t I? That you’re involved with the Eye in the Flame who attacked hundreds of innocent civilians and murdered my brother? I find it humorous that you, of all people, would call me a ‘diabolical fiend’, all things considered.”
Saxina’s eyes narrow, the initial shock giving way to a calculated calmness. He takes a step forward, his voice a blend of feigned surprise and controlled aggression.
“You weave quite the tale, Paxilche” he says, his tone laced with contempt. “It’s almost impressive, the way you string together lies and half-truths. But let’s not pretend you’re here for justice or moral righteousness. You’re here because you refuse to see the truth. We’ve already discussed this. The findings of Limaqumtlia’s death are not to your liking, and now you seek someone to blame.”
He pauses, studying my reaction, his gaze sharp and probing. “Now you accuse me of siding with the Eye in the Flame? You must be out of your mind! Have you forgotten that I have consistently held the Ulxa responsible for our recent tragedies?”
“But the Eye in the Flame are separate from–“
“The Eye in the Flame, the Ulxa—they’re branches of the same rotten tree,” he interrupts, “threats to the stability of Qiapu and all of Pachil.”
Saxina’s voice takes on a tone of righteous indignation. “I have been at the forefront, warning our people about these threats. On the other hand, here you come hurling conspiracies and trying to undermine the very fabric of our society. Where is your evidence? Without it, you’re nothing but a disgruntled spirit looking for someone to blame for your personal losses.”
He’s sure to put extra emphasis on the last of those words, then begins to circle me slowly, maintaining his composed demeanor. “Let’s not dress this up as anything more than it is, Paxilche. You’re here seeking different answers for your brother’s death, driven by grief and rage. Understandable, as the wound has not had enough time to heal. But directing your anger at me, once again? That’s misguided. My only goal has been the safety and prosperity of Qiapu, which I have repeatedly told you. Whether you choose to hear me or not, that falls on you.”
His words are smooth, but they carry a menacing undertone. I’m well aware that Saxina is a master of political games, adept at twisting narratives to suit his needs. Yet beneath his calm exterior, I sense a flicker of concern. He knows the truth of his actions, and however unproven my accusations, they have hit closer to home than he cares to admit.
“Deflect all you wish” I say, ignoring his pomposity, “but the truth is, you’ve allied with the Eye in the Flame. I saw your shock and alarm after you realized they betrayed your trust, when they attacked the palace. You thought you were untouchable. On good terms with those lunatics. So how surprised were you when you saw their zealots storm the palace gates?”
Saxina scoffs at my statement, rolling his eyes and turning away from me. I don’t let him evade the confrontation, maintaining my persistence. “You insist the Eye in the Flame and the Ulxa are the same, declaring them responsible for my brother’s assassination. Was that an attempt at throwing everyone off the scent? Did you expect everyone to go along with your deception? A surprising candidate for Tempered… Who were those men who nominated you? Followers of the Eye in the Flame?”
“You question the credibility of my claim to the throne?” he asks, seemingly incensed and offended. “Aqxilapu has deemed me worthy of leading the Qiapu and returning us to our former glory. How dare–“
“Save your feigned outrage for someone naïve enough to believe it,” I charge. “You may have been able to avoid confronting me before, but not any longer, Saxina.”
He goes to walk away, but I grab his shoulders to halt him. His eyes grow large and wide, mouth agape as I accost him, stunned that someone he views as inferior dares to touch him. I try my best to control my anger, yet as he attempts to wriggle away, my grip on his shoulder clamps down tighter. My jaw tightens, my nostrils flare. My fury won’t allow him to escape that easily. Before I speak again, however, I take one strained breath.
“Where did you learn such foolery, Saxina? You’ve spent too much time in Qapauma among those Achope and Tapeu liars. You’ve mastered their theatrics well. Is that how you think a ruler acts?”
“I will not be insulted–“
“Hold yourself accountable for the assault on Pichaqta, Saxina! Don’t bother denying it! Your actions have spoken louder than any reassurance you might offer. You are responsible for murdering my brother!”
After a moment of flustered silence, Saxina regains his composure. There’s a serenity to his appearance, his shoulders rolled back as he holds his chin high. “You think you have everything figured out, don’t you, Paxilche?” he begins, his eyes narrowed into slits, his voice laced with an eerie calm. “Your simplistic view of the world is almost admirable, though misguided. It shows you know nothing of what leadership truly is. Leadership requires making difficult decisions for the greater good. Decisions that someone like you could never comprehend.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me on these difficult decisions, Saxina,” I say, flicking my wrist and flinging his shoulder, which causes him to spin around and face me. “But speak slowly and meticulously so that someone as lowly as myself could understand.”
“Your brother, for all his noble intentions, lacked the foresight and strength required to lead Qiapu in these tumultuous times,” Saxina says, his voice tinged with a feigned sense of regret. “He was a dreamer, a visionary perhaps, but not a leader. Limaqumtlia’s vision for Qiapu was myopic at best. He saw independence as hiding from the world, content with toiling away in obscurity. This, while the rest of Pachil strides forward. He mistook isolation for freedom, a rock for a fortress. Under his rule, Qiapu would have remained insignificant.
“I see a different future for Qiapu—one where we do not just rebuild, but ascend. We have the potential to be more than just craftsmen or miners; we can be conquerors, rulers. Pachil is ripe for the taking. Anyone with eyes can see that Achutli is not fit to possess that throne. Why should we limit ourselves to the humble aspirations of a craftsman when we could hold the reins of power?
"Yes, I have made alliances, formed pacts, and navigated treacherous political waters. It was all for the security and prosperity of Qiapu. If that means making decisions that are unpalatable to some, so be it.
“You call it murder, I call it sacrifice,” Saxina continues with a steely tone. “The world is not black and white, Paxilche. Limaqumtlia’s death was regrettable—on that, I will agree. But it was ultimately necessary. His passive stance would have left us vulnerable, weak in the eyes of our enemies. I am the ruler Qiapu needs, one who is willing to make the hard decisions, to take the actions required for our survival and supremacy."
His gaze locks with mine, defiant and unyielding. “So go ahead, accuse me, denounce me if you must. But know this: I do what I do for Qiapu, for its people. And I will continue to do so, with or without your approval.”
“Your ambition blinds you, Saxina. You seek to leap before learning to crawl. The Qiapu understand that the strongest steel is forged through patience and precision, qualities you sorely lack. No, in your haste to forge the sharpest blade, you neglect the fire’s heat and the metal’s temper. In your rush for power, you’ve plunged Qiapu into cold water, shocking and fracturing what could have been our strongest asset.”
I step in closer, my gaze piercing. “You speak of leadership as if it were a prize to be snatched, not a responsibility to be shouldered. But you’ve got it wrong. True leadership isn’t about the throne. It’s about the people and the land. Limaqumtlia—my brother—understood this. His vision for Qiapu wasn’t about hiding from the world. No, it was about strengthening our foundation, about dignity and independence. And you? You see our heritage as nothing but a rung on the ladder to power.
“Greatness is built, not seized. Your haste to ascend the throne, to have Qiapu reach heights it is not prepared for, will only lead to our downfall. You mistake arrogance for vision, and it will be the undoing of everything Limaqumtlia hoped to achieve. You sacrificed more than a leader; you sacrificed the very essence of Qiapu for your ambitions. And for what? A fleeting grasp at power in a rapidly changing world?”
I hear my tense voice echoing throughout the cold, stone chamber. “You stand there, cloaked in your justifications, but the truth is clear. You betrayed not just Limaqumtlia, not just me, but every person in Qiapu who believed in a future—a future you snuffed out for your own gains.”
Saxina’s lips purse into a tight scowl. He doesn’t respond with words, yet the fire in his eyes says it all. I return the stare, confident that I know what he’s done. He may have not said so in direct terms, but it’s clear that he is aligned with the Eye in the Flame. He’s made a pact with an evil force for his own benefit.
One item still persists in my mind, however. “And yet, despite your lofty ambitions and alliances, you seemed utterly bewildered when the Eye in the Flame turned on Pichaqta, storming the palace you claim to protect. A curious reaction for someone supposedly in league with them, wouldn’t you say?”
Saxina’s expression tightens—I did not know it could be any tighter—as a brief touch of unease crosses his features. “You think me ignorant enough to blindly trust those zealots? I am no fool, Paxilche. I knew the risks, but sometimes, one must navigate treacherous waters to reach a safer shore.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Navigate treacherous waters? You steered the very storm into our harbor! And Amalu—what of him? Sacrificed like a lamb on an altar? Was his death just another offering in your quest for power?”
“Amalu served his purpose, and although it was regrettable, his death was a necessity,” Saxina says, his eyes glint with a mix of irritation and resignation. “A tree sometimes needs pruning for the rest to thrive.”
The manner in which he describes Amalu’s death is strangely similar to how he discussed Limaqumtlia’s, a coincidence not lost on me. His casual dismissal of Amalu’s life ignites a fire within me. “You speak of necessity and strength, yet all I see is a man willing to sacrifice anything or anyone for power. You’ve lost sight of what makes the Qiapu truly strong—our unity, our resilience. You’ve traded our values for a throne, and in doing so, you’ve betrayed everything we stand for.”
Saxina’s posture stiffens, and his jaw clenches. “You’ve said your piece, and I have been more than merciful. Now, leave before you overstep your bounds further.”
At this, I can only shake my head in disbelief, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. As I turn to leave, the enormity of the task ahead is at the forefront of my mind. Saxina may have stood firm today, but the battle for Qiapu’s heart has only just begun. With each step away from the throne room, the resolve within me hardens. More than ever, I am determined to unravel Saxina’s web of deceit and reclaim the dignity our people have lost. Although it was enlightening, this confrontation is merely the opening gambit in a much larger scheme. My quest to avenge Limaqumtlia and redeem Qiapu has taken on a new, more calculated direction. The journey to seek justice for my brother—and for our people—is far from over, and I am prepared to fight until the truth prevails.
I return to the hall outside the throne room to see Pomaqli speaking jovially to the four Sanqo warriors. Nervous, I search the area for any indication of the palace guards or officials, yet none are to be found. I make eye contact with Pomaqli, who is cordially speaking to the men. He waves me over and greets me with a quick nod.
“I was discussing with these warriors about Princess Walumaq’s bravery in protecting and saving the palace,” Pomaqli says, speaking with admiration and respect in his tone. “I have been regaling them with stories, and they are fascinated by the news of her capabilities.”
Upon hearing this, a pit forms in my stomach. Why would Pomaqli inform them of Walumaq’s gift, one that caused her isolation among her own people? Then again, how could he not—the feat was a vision to behold. How will they treat her, now that they know of her supernatural abilities, if they hadn’t known before? Do they appreciate what she’s capable of, or do they dismiss her as a spirit speaker? Walumaq spoke of being called to a greater purpose. Will these men stymie her efforts in accomplishing what fate has planned for her?
I’m not sure I can allow that. I grow concerned that, if these men seek Walumaq and return her to their isolated island by Haqu Suquinoq, she may never fulfill her destiny, and the continent will be left unprotected. We need her capabilities to defend ourselves from this evil that is determined to destroy the factions of the continent.
I only partially listen to Pomaqli’s words, his voice arriving to my ears like a faint echo that traveled the long valley. My attention is distracted, gazing upon the gathered Sanqo warriors. Their disciplined stance and keen interest in their eyes speak of a deeper purpose, one that seems to extend beyond mere curiosity. It strikes me that their journey may not solely be about retrieving Walumaq. When we first met, she had mentioned her people had traveled to Chalaqta for diplomatic purposes, summoned by the Arbiter to discuss utilizing Sanqo ships for a royal fleet. Even to someone unversed in political maneuvering, this sounds like an attempt by the Sanqo to rehabilitate their tarnished reputation. Could their ambition and our needs align? And now, with their newfound awareness of Walumaq’s extraordinary abilities, might they view her as a key to restoring their standing on the continent?
Like a bright spark birthed from the union of flint and pyrite, an idea suddenly ignites in my mind. If Saxina clings to his throne through deception and refuses to confess, perhaps only deception and betrayal can unseat him. Knowing the Sanqo history, this might be a way for both parties to achieve what they desire: the Qiapu rids itself of a selfish ruler, the Sanqo can begin to restore their standing among the continent’s factions by removing a tyrant. If we can utilize our connections between Pomaqli and the esteemed general, Qumuna, along with Walumaq’s gifts, we may have enough in forces to combat the loyalists to Saxina and the Eye in the Flame, restoring Qiapu to its former glory.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve long despised the underhanded tactics of palace politics, yet here I am, contemplating a ploy that mirrors those I condemn. But unlike Saxina, my intentions are for the greater good of Qiapu, not personal gain. In the murky waters of politics, perhaps the ends do justify the means.
“Warriors of the Sanqo,” I say with the most charming grin I can muster, “before you depart to Qespina to retrieve Lady Walumaq—may Aqxilapu forge your path—may I have a word with you regarding Qiapu, to which I would like to have passed along to your esteemed leader?”
