Maybe the dungeons would have been better after all.

Then he wouldn’t have had to figure out how to act around Iliyan’s family, who welcomed him so warmly that it made him sick. They don’t even know me, and they immediately set people to work preparing a feast for me. And their own son… He clenched his jaw at the thought of how they had simply sent Iliyan out of the valley when he was fifteen. They had probably believed he would starve to death.

Emilio hadn’t spent much time in the ruler’s palace—though palace was perhaps a generous term, because you couldn’t exactly call a prehistoric rich man’s house a real palace—but this place was much smaller. The rooms he had passed through were smaller, the ceilings lower, there was only one floor, and there were fewer people standing guard. The outer walls were painted here too, though, and the inside was covered with colourful rugs.

Emilio and his companions had been inside for about ten minutes now, and a meal was being hurriedly prepared for them and placed on a small raised platform. Emilio had settled down on the rug. He hadn’t had to say much yet; news that His Holiness had been killed by his new spouse had already reached the entire valley. As had the news that he had killed a mythical creature.

Iliyan’s father, who had introduced himself as Wakuntur, regarded him with profound awe, and it twisted Emilio’s stomach into a knot. If only you knew that your son helped me do it… The words burned on his tongue. He would have loved to rub it in their faces that Iliyan had managed perfectly well after they had cold-bloodedly banished him.

Yet he didn’t say a word about it. He didn’t know whether he was afraid of losing their favour or if it was something deeper than that. Talking to them about Iliyan… Talking about Iliyan at all… Just the thought that he had sat on this very rug for years while eating—perhaps even in this exact spot—was enough to make his heart ache.

Emilio’s gaze shot towards the doorway when someone appeared in it. One of the first things he had made clear to the people here was that he wanted to see Juan, and someone had immediately gone to fetch him.

It wasn’t Juan who stepped inside, however, but a boy of about seventeen. He wore a headdress adorned with a condor’s head and brown-and-gold feathers, colours that were repeated in his tunic. For one second, Emilio thought it was Iliyan, because of the curve of his lips and the shape of his nose. His eyebrows were broader, though, and he radiated an arrogance entirely different from Iliyan’s confidence.

His little brother.

The one who had betrayed him and taken his place.

It had already been difficult enough tolerating Iliyan’s father in this room. Now that this little shit had joined them too, anger tore through Emilio’s body.

As though the boy could sense his hatred, he looked straight at him. His eyes lacked the golden sheen that had always seemed to hover over Iliyan’s. They were a dull brown. Like shit.

The corner of Emilio’s mouth curled slightly as he raised his eyebrows at the boy before turning to Mateo.

“That asshole betrayed his own brother. His friend was killed because of him. Can you imagine doing something like that to Juan?”

Of course he couldn’t. Mateo had travelled across Peru alone to find his little brother, even though the rest of the world believed he was dead. He probably hadn’t hesitated for a second before stepping into that time machine.

“I wouldn’t. But there are dogs like that everywhere.”

There was a bitterness in his voice that surprised Emilio. This wasn’t the place or the time to ask about it—not to mention that Mateo wasn’t exactly someone you could pry information out of. If he didn’t want to talk about something, he didn’t.

“Gentlemen,” Wakuntur said. “This is my son, Santui.”

The boy had come to stand beside him, and Wakuntur placed a hand on his shoulder.

Emilio snorted disdainfully. It was probably stupid to make it so obvious that he couldn’t stand the kid, but he couldn’t hide it.

“Is he your only child?”

A brief silence followed as the couple exchanged a glance.

“Unfortunately.”

And that was all they said about it. Emilio couldn’t wait until they were standing face-to-face with the son they had kept hidden and had no choice but to acknowledge his existence. Hopefully everyone would be there to witness it. If public executions were commonplace here, they deserved the same fate.

“So he’s the one?” From where he stood, Santui looked down at Emilio. He had expected a contemptuous expression, but there was more curiosity shining in the boy’s eyes. “The Godslayer?”

Emilio didn’t quite know what to make of that interest. Snapping at people was more his style when he disliked them. Yet it was almost as though the universe were giving him a little push in the right direction.

He couldn’t screw this up. He had to survive here until he found Iliyan and they figured out how to get back to their own world. And that would certainly be easier if the local royalties liked him. So he forced a smile and nodded at Santui.

“Killer of both mythical creatures and gods.” He added a wink.

Beside him, Mateo gave a quiet snort of laughter. “Ooh, we’re not flirting with little brother now, are we? Love triangles aren’t really my thing, and we already have enough drama.”

For a moment, Emilio went rigid at his friend saying something like that in front of a pair of homophobes who would probably be more than happy to use it as an excuse to murder someone—then he remembered that no one else here understood English. Even so, he shot Mateo a dark look.

Mateo, however, was distracted, staring past him.

Emilio turned his head to the right as well.

Juan stepped into the room, accompanied by a veiled figure.

“Ah, so there is my destined one,” Santui said. “Your… friend has brought her here safely.”

Emilio scrambled to his feet. Mateo had already slipped past him and pulled his brother into a hug. Emilio’s throat tightened; seeing the tears in their eyes brought a watery sheen to his own.