Iliyan walked naked across the sacred ground. His hair was still dripping with water from the lake he had just swum across. He lowered himself into the grass with his back against the enormous tree where the Great Condor had once built its nest. Iliyan no longer knew whether he believed in the god's existence after everything he'd heard these past few weeks.

Through the trees on the far side of the river, he could see tiny lights flickering. Other than that, it was dark, though not completely. Tutuyaq had almost completed her transformation, and her pale light revealed the outline of the structure built into the great tree on the opposite bank.

The last time he'd looked out over this lake, he had been sitting in that tree, in Iliyan's arms, looking at this little island—the one he never would've dared set foot on back then. Now he wanted nothing more than to piss against the tree's trunk and provoke the Great Condor's wrath. It would be nice if the god wiped out the entire valley in a single instant. If he even existed, though, Iliyan figured the odds were much higher that the judgment would fall on him alone, so he settled for defiling the sacred ground the way he was doing now.

He had simply needed to see it. Their place. The place where he'd known the rarest moments of happiness in his life. He'd hoped it would bring warm memories to the surface, or maybe unbearable grief... instead, he felt nothing. There was only a gaping emptiness.

Still.

They're just a few pieces of wood.

Iliyan pulled his knees up and rested his arms on them. It was chilly; the night's cold bit into his skin.

He was here.

Back in the Valley of the Condor.

Almost five Marches ago, he'd sworn to wipe this valley off the map, and now he'd returned to make good on that promise.

On the way here, he'd thought through his options. This was the last place still resisting the Muchika. Getting inside wouldn't be easy, and even if he did manage to enter the valley—which, from this side, had turned out to be less complicated than he'd feared—he still had to reach his family.

Simply slitting their throats sounded too easy. He wanted them to suffer the way he had. He wanted fear to tear them apart, betrayal to run so deep they would never trust their own thoughts again. That was his highest priority, which meant he had to make sure no one could interfere.

And once they'd finally died...

Then he could make the rest of the valley pay.

It wouldn't be that difficult to flood the streets with blood.

The Muchika were desperate to crush the last pocket of resistance.

All Iliyan had to do was show them a way in.

He reached for the war club lying beside him and pressed his thumb into the imprint of his friend's.

An image forced its way into his mind.

He saw Ilyian's little sister's tear-stained face again as she handed him the weapon. There was someone who had suffered just as much as he had.

Alva.

He would get her out. Together with her parents. Alva's family would be spared.

He turned the club in his hands, balancing it across his raised knees. The stages of his plan lined themselves up one after another.

First, make his parents and little brother beg to die.

Then get Alva, her father, and her mother somewhere safe.

Finally, reclaim his place as the son of the gods and hand the valley over to a monster.

A monster who's now become Emilio's husband.

The unwanted thought of Emilio made his chest tighten.

Iliyan got to his feet so quickly he almost stumbled. Just as he'd done every day since leaving the Valley of the Jaguar, he shoved every thought of the man he'd believed was his friend back into the darkest corner of his mind. The man he'd loved—only to discover he believed people like Iliyan deserved to be miserable.

To die.

His jaw clenched as he waded back into the water.

If His Holiness doesn't make him utterly miserable, I will.

Phase four.

The more phases his plan had, the better, because by the gods, he had no idea what he was supposed to do after that.

Planning his revenge took time.

Carrying it out would take even longer.

In the days that followed, Iliyan kept moving farther east, towards the high mountains. In the desert surrounding the valley, he stood out too much. Once he reached the shelter of the wooded slopes, he built himself a hideout where he intended to stay for a while.

Every time he found a large branch—or snapped one off—and carried it to the sheltered space between two rocks, it felt as though his skin scraped against his bones. Every single time he'd built a hut like this before, Emilio had been there with him. Sometimes he could almost hear him swearing because a branch refused to give way, or because their alpaca—Rocket—was getting in the way. Or he could feel Emilio's arm draped over his shoulders while he said something with that ridiculous grin on his face. He could barely remember what he'd said anymore. Only his last, condemning words kept echoing through his head.

The irony of that union made him feel like he was on the verge of losing his mind. He wanted to scream, to cry, maybe even to laugh, because the whole thing was so unbelievably absurd. His Iliyan had been killed because of their love. Father had claimed they had blasphemed the gods, that their Sacred Kiss was an obscenity.

And what did the Muchika ruler—the living god himself—do?

Without the slightest hesitation, he took a man into his harem. A grand celebration had been held, and the entire people had been forced to watch as the two of them bound themselves together forever. Anyone who objected wouldn't have been heard. Worse, men like his father would probably be put to death for saying a single bad word about it.

"I wish we'd been able to leave together," Iliyan whispered into the empty night. "To the Valley of the Jaguar... maybe we could've been together there. In the Warriors' Quarters."

It had been a long time since he'd spoken to his beloved out loud, and saying the words sent a sharp pain straight through his chest.

Would it never get any easier?

Over the last few Transformations, the pain had dulled. It had buried itself somewhere deep inside him. Emilio had been there, slowly putting down roots in his heart without Iliyan even noticing.

Now those roots had been ripped out.

It felt as though he was bleeding twice as much.

"Enough," he told himself.

He knew that darkness stalking him like a hungry predator all too well. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged back into that black whirlpool where every last light seemed to go out.

Time to catch some more fish.

Spear in hand, he walked towards the little river he'd heard nearby. As he searched the water, he occasionally kicked aside a rock to see if anything edible was hiding underneath—maybe a lizard, or the burrow of a rodent.

He had followed the river quite a long way and caught one fish when a scorpion suddenly darted out from beneath a stone.

Iliyan froze.

He watched the creature scuttle away on its tiny legs.

A scream echoed through his mind.

In a flash, he saw Emilio's face again, twisted in pain. A heartbeat later, pain gave way to fear.

Panic.

Iliyan shook the memory away before it could get a grip on him.

Emotions Emilio didn't deserve.

He forced his attention back to the water and left the rocks alone. Eventually, he returned to his shelter with two fish. Just before darkness fell completely, he managed to get a fire going. He roasted the fish over the flames, then ate them cross-legged on the ground.

But the memory refused to leave him alone.

As the flames grew smaller and smaller, more images surfaced.

"Iliyan?" Emilio's voice had sounded shrill.

"I'm here." Iliyan turned onto his side, but Emilio was lying with his back to him. "I was trying to get some sleep too."

Emilio was breathing fast.

"Can you still not see anything?"

"N-no." His voice cracked. "Man... I'm so scared," he whispered. "What if I'm blind forever? What if... what if more of my organs stop working? What if I die?"

He'd started crying.

Helplessness had washed over Iliyan. He'd moved closer, wrapped an arm around Emilio's waist and pulled himself against him, holding him. "You're not going to die."

"I wish you had died," Iliyan muttered.

He didn't mean it.

Right now, he wouldn't lift a finger if Emilio's life were in danger.

But back then?

If Emilio really had died then, it probably would've destroyed him too. For the second time, someone he loved would've been taken away from him.

Now it was different.

Now Emilio had shown his true colours, and Iliyan couldn't feel anything but disgust.

He set the fish bones down beside him. Emilio's lifeless, terrified expression flashed through his mind again.

"What if I'm blind forever? What if more of my organs stop working?"

Could that really have happened?

Poisons were capable of all kinds of things.

Wouldn't that be a beautiful way to punish his parents and little brother?

He could look for scorpions. Spiders. Poisonous plants.

Feed them the poison. Let them be bitten. Let them be stung.

See what happened.

Feel their despair.

Taste their fear.

Yes. That would be satisfying.

Watching them slowly waste away while every new poison brought another surprise. And who knew what happened when different poisons mixed together?

It was undeniably an interesting process.

The corners of his mouth curled upward, and the emptiness he'd carried ever since Emilio's betrayal filled with something cold.

Something dark.

He'd wanted to become a warrior, just like his friend. Maybe even a war master one day.

But a poison master...

That sounded good too.

Listening to their useless pleas for mercy.

Breathing in their despair.

Playing with the strength that kept them alive.