Valley of the Condor
693 A.D.

Shimmers danced across the gently lapping water, cast there by the fierce light Kancha shone high above.

Ramún placed his hands behind him on the wooden platform and leaned back, his feet dangling far above the ground. He loved sitting here. Preferably with Iliyan, though he enjoyed it just as much on his own. It was always peaceful, and being this far out of sight made him feel free.

On the little island in the center of the lake towered a massive tree, the place where his divine ancestor had built the very first nest. Because Ramún's own favorite hideout was also nestled in a tree, he felt more connected to the Great Condor here than he ever did in the godhouse—the place where he lived with his family, founded by the Condor after hatching his eggs. Between those cheerfully painted walls, Iliyan always felt trapped, longing for what could never be, his secret burning deep inside him and always fearing someone would see the signs.

A long, low note tore Ramún from his thoughts and sent the hairs on his neck rising. He drew his feet up onto the platform and stood. Someone was blowing the pututus—there was only one thing that could mean.

He turned and peered through the branches toward the mountains, searching for any sign of the hunters. He already knew they were expected; the cook and her attendants had been busy all day preparing the feast. Ever since he'd heard they were on their way, nerves had buzzed through his body. That was why he had come here—to try to steady himself. But the unrest returned now, sharp and insistent.

Ramún lifted his face and closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his heart. I beg you, mighty ancestor, Great Condor. And you, radiant Kancha, bringer of light. Let him return safely. Please. He considered repeating the prayer, but the gods were surely busy enough—he didn't want to irritate them.

He gripped the branches and shuffled sideways, seeking a better view. Still no glimpse of the approaching group. The group he himself had longed to join. Not only to avoid missing Iliyan for so long, but because he was ready.

Since his birth, Kachi had marched the sky fifteen times, and Ramún had fully expected to finally join the ceremonial hunt. He wanted to feel blood thrumming through his veins as he slipped silently through the undergrowth, searching for a worthy offering. How many times had he dreamt of dragging home the largest deer? Perhaps even a jaguar!

But no—his father had forbidden it. According to Weaponsmaster Gyrun, he wasn't ready.

Ramún huffed. If only he knew. No one was aware that Ramún regularly snuck out at night to cross weapons with Iliyan. Master Gyrun's victories might be legendary—he had even taught Ramún's father once—but he was old now, and every exercise felt stiff and rehearsed. Iliyan was the opposite—quick in his movements, playful in his gaze, teasing in his smile. He moved with such grace that Ramún sometimes felt spellbound. In Tutayaq's silvery glow, he could watch him for hours as he swung his war club and struck imaginary foes with pinpoint precision.

Ramún never dared to show others the skills Iliyan had taught him. It would raise too many questions, and he feared the consequences too much.

Still no hunters. Perhaps the signal had sounded when they entered the city. He brushed his fingers along one of the two knotted cords Iliyan had hung ages ago from a horizontal branch, as if he might find an omen there—a sign telling him his friend had returned unharmed.

Nothing. No chilling dread, no comforting warmth. He would have to wait until his own eyes revealed the truth. He let go of the cords—the same ones both he and Iliyan had knotted countless times, trying to challenge each other with the most frustrating patterns and then racing to untie them. Maybe we'll never do that again.

With trembling hands, Ramún climbed down. Stop worrying, he scolded himself as he hurried toward the ceremonial square before the godhouse. If anyone can fend off a beast, it's him.

Ramún ran up the steps and pushed his way through the crowd. People muttered under their breath until they realized who was shoving past—they quickly murmured apologies. Once he reached the front row, he stopped. Fifteen warriors stood in three lines, their hunting trophies laid out before them.

Ramún had no interest whatsoever in the animals. His gaze shot past the warriors until he found Iliyan in the second line, all the way on the opposite side.

Relief burst warm and overwhelming through Ramún's chest. He's all right.

Iliyan's expression was as solemn as the rest, but his eyes softened the moment they met Ramún's. A smile tugged at Ramún's lips. He wanted to run to him and wrap his arms around him, but that was far from appropriate—especially for a son of the gods.

A lavish feast followed, to which the warriors were invited. It was one of the rare occasions Iliyan was allowed to join the banquet. The raised platform, no taller than Ramún's thumb, was covered with a pink-and-purple carpet and laden with golden plates and pottery shaped like condor heads or decorated with winglike protrusions. The guests—Ramún, his parents, his younger brother, and the honored warriors—sat around it on embroidered cushions.

Though Iliyan sat only a few places away, Ramún tried not to look at him too often. Instead, he focused on the venison on his plate. It wasn't from the hunt; that meat would be offered to the gods during the ceremony.

He ate in small bites, lacking appetite—like always on nights he planned to sneak out. Usually, he could control his nerves well enough. But when he hadn't seen Iliyan for a long time, excitement made it harder.

Through all the noises around him, Ramún could easily pick out his friend's voice. It always brimmed with energy, no matter how long he talked. He was a natural storyteller. Ramún could listen to him for hours, hearing tales of adventures he himself could only dream of.

His own trips beyond the Valley of the Condor could be counted on one hand. Occasionally, he had accompanied his father on visits to other valleys, but even that had grown rare. A large army was rising in the south, conquering valley after valley. People preferred to stay on familiar ground.

As his thoughts drifted, so did his eyes. They settled on Iliyan. His black hair fell over his shoulders, two strands above his ears braided back. Unlike Ramún, Iliyan didn't cover his hair, so it gleamed in the slanting light from the windows.

Ramún wore a golden headdress shaped like a condor's head. Compared to his father's, it was nothing—his father's was enormous, not just the bird's head but its wings spread wide as well.

Iliyan wore no gold at all, not even in his ears. It emphasized his low class, yet Ramún found it beautiful. He often felt smothered beneath jewels and extravagant clothing. He hated it—being treated like an ornament, something to be admired.

He was as free as a bird in a cage. He wasn't allowed to join the Hunt, couldn't leave the godhouse without escort, and could not be with the person he wanted to be with most.

As if sensing his thoughts, Iliyan turned slightly and caught his gaze. He gave him a quick wink, as if to tell him not to worry. Ramún's cheeks heated; he quickly looked down at his plate before anyone noticed. But he couldn't stop smiling.

"What's wrong, Ramún?" came a voice right next to his ear. "Why are you eating so little?"

Ramún turned. The calculating look in Santui's eyes tied a knot in his stomach. Though his younger brother was only fourteen Tutayaq transformations younger, he often acted as if he were the older one, convinced he possessed all the wisdom in the world. Any chance to comment on something Ramún did—or didn't do—he seized eagerly.

Jealous, Iliyan always said. Don't let him get to you.

But it was hard to ignore that sly grin, those taunting eyes that always made him fear Santui knew more than he should.

"Nothing," Ramún murmured. "Just a bit of a stomachache."

"Oh..." Santui said, feigning surprise. "On this day of all days... How interesting..."

Ramún didn't answer. For the rest of the banquet, he didn't dare look in Iliyan's direction again.