Blood of the Gods

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 thepututus—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... Howinteresting...”

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

His brother’s comment almost made him stay in his room that night. Almost. Eventually, he convinced himself it meant nothing, and he couldn’t let his boyfriend wait all night simply because he was afraid. That was the last thing he wanted to be. He wanted to be as brave as Iliyan.

So he slipped out from under his blanket and pulled on a woolen cloak. The carpet softened his steps as he walked to the window and climbed out. His hands and feet easily found the footholds he had used so many times before to descend. Between the tall shrubs and the walls of the godhouse ran a narrow passage where the plants were kept from growing against the stone. The leaves rustled softly against his shoulder.

Ramún knew exactly where the guards stood. He had done this often enough to walk the route with his eyes closed. He reached the edge of the garden, slipped through a hedge, and quickened his pace toward the lake. Night birds screeched in the darkness; bats skimmed above the water hunting insects; a splash echoed in the distance. With every step, the chorus of crickets and cicadas grew louder.

He adored these sounds—faithful companions on his way to his lover. He walked even faster, until he reached the small cluster of trees that kept them hidden from sight. Tutayaq would be the only witness.

“Iliyan!” Ramún called when he spotted him beneath their tree. At last he could throw his arms around him.

Iliyan grinned. “There’s my handsome god-son.”

Ramún clung to him and closed his eyes.Finally. He breathed in deeply, drinking in his scent.

Iliyan’s fingers slid through his hair. They always gave Ramún goosebumps when his nails grazed his scalp. That alone made wearing his headdress unbearable.

Ramún looked up. Iliyan was much taller—athletic, one of the tallest men of their people. Ramún, on the other hand, was short for his age; they differed by more than a head. Although Iliyan was three Marches older, Ramún doubted he’d ever catch up to him.

“I missed you, little one.” A teasing smile tugged at Iliyan’s lips—Ramún always claimed to hate that nickname. In truth, he didn’t mind it when it came from Iliyan.

Ramún’s hands roamed up and down Iliyan’s back. The fabric of his garment was thinner than Ramún’s own, and he felt the strong muscles beneath. He flushed. “I missed you too.”

Iliyan slid his hand from Ramún’s hair to his cheek, tracing his thumb along his skin. Then he leaned in and brushed their lips together.

Heat flooded Ramún from head to toe. His fingers clenched in Iliyan’s clothing, his knees threatening to buckle.

He kissed him back. His heart fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings—just like during their first kiss, more than half a March ago. Every time was thrilling, every time he briefly forgot there would never be a real future for them.

Their lips parted, and his tongue met Iliyan’s. What began tenderly soon deepened into something more urgent—inevitable for lovers forced to live in secrecy.

When Ramún started to grow breathless, Iliyan pulled back and tapped the tip of his nose with a playful kiss. “Come on, let’s go up.”

One after the other, they climbed to the platform Ramún had sat on earlier that day. Once their bond had grown into something more, and they needed a hidden place to be together, they had built this.

Iliyan sat with his back against the low wooden railing, and Ramún nestled between his raised knees, leaning into him. A pleasant shiver ran through him as Iliyan’s strong arms wrapped around him. Ramún turned slightly so he could see him. “Tell me about the hunt!”

“Patience, oh noble son of the gods,” Iliyan teased. He kissed his jaw and pulled him closer.

Ramún laid his hand over his and leaned against him again, his ear just above Iliyan’s heartbeat.

Iliyan didn’t disappoint. He described how he crept through the trees, how Bacyan tried to steal his prey, how he leapt over streams and climbed rocks to claim the largest deer. Ramún pictured the fallen animal clearly and even felt a pang of sorrow for such a magnificent creature.

“I hope I can join next time,” he said. “We could run through the forest together, looking for the finest offering.”

He looked up when Iliyan fell silent. His eyes looked sad.

Ramún straightened. “What’s wrong?”

Iliyan placed a finger beneath his chin and kissed him softly. “I love you, my little condor. With your bronze skin and golden eyes. I remember it like yesterday—you telling me so confidently that you could beat me in a spar.”

Ramún’s cheeks warmed.

It had taken Iliyan only a few blows to bring him to his knees.

Iliyan had never let him win, unlike so many others. Ramún had just turned twelve Marches; even then, Iliyan had caught his attention—with his quick smile and quicker reflexes. Ramún had always appreciated his honesty. Despite the divine blood in Ramún’s veins, Iliyan never flattered him.

Instead of telling Ramún he was a great warrior and then deliberately losing, Iliyan had said he could teach him a thing or two. That had marked the beginning of their nocturnal meetings. First, Iliyan had been his teacher, then his friend, and eventually his beloved.

And now his beloved was worried. Although he’d said “I love you” before, this time sounded different.

“I love you too,” Ramún replied simply. “Nothing will ever change that. No matter what they think.”

Iliyan stroked his cheek. “You’re brave. You always have been. And that’s why you must be brave now as well.”

Confusion rose inside him. Ramún frowned. “What do you mean? What do I have to do?”

“Let me go.” Tears gathered along Iliyan’s lashes. “This between us—it should never have happened. I should’ve ended it long ago, but I couldn’t. I was too weak.”

Ramún shook his head. Iliyan was not weak. He couldn’t be. “Why?” he whispered.

“Because it isn’t right. You and me.”

“But I love you. And you love me.” He drew a shaky breath. “How can that be wrong? We’re not hurting anyone.”

“No.” Iliyan bit his lip. “We aren’t hurting anyone. Buttheywon’t understand. They’ll hurt us, Ramún. They’ll hurtyou.”

Ramún wasn’t afraid. Not ofthatpain, at least. Only of losing Iliyan’s arms around him forever. “We can leave,” he said, meeting his friend’s eyes with renewed determination. “There must be a place where people understand—where they don’t care. There has to be.”

“My love...” Iliyan sighed, the sound striking Ramún like a dagger. “You’re a son of the gods. You can’t simply leave.”

“Santui can take my place. He’s dying to wear the ruler’s headdress. I don’t want it.” He grasped Iliyan’s hands, turning fully toward him. “I just want to be with you. Those meetings bore me anyway. They only scold me for daydreaming—and always I’m dreaming about you, Iliyan, about a world where we don’t have to hide in the dead of night just to see each other.”

Iliyan fell silent. His fingers traced the edges of Ramún’s face. It gave Ramún a sickening feeling, as if Iliyan were committing every detail to memory, preparing to say goodbye.

“You’re not leaving, right?” Ramún’s voice cracked. “Iliyan, you’re not abandoning me? I love you. I love you more than anything.”

“You’re fifteen, Ramún. You have your whole life ahead of you—a life blessed by the gods. I won’t make you a banished outcast because of me.”

“You make me happy,” Ramún whispered. “I want to stay with you. I don’t care where. I meant what I said. I don’t want to be a ruler. I never have.” He cupped Iliyan’s jaw and kissed him again, harder than ever before. Tears slipped down his cheeks. He shifted so their bodies faced each other fully, cradled Iliyan’s face with both hands, and kissed him with desperate fire.

For a moment Iliyan resisted, then his fingers slid into Ramún’s hair and he kissed him back.

After the kiss, they rested their foreheads together. Their eyes met—seeing things no outsider would ever understand.

“All right,” Iliyan whispered. “Then we’ll leave.”

Ramún wanted to breathe in relief—until a shout rang out below.

“Young master Ramún! Come down immediately!”

He jerked his head toward the voice. Between the tree and the lake stood at least ten warriors, each holding a war club in one hand and a torch in the other.

He froze.

Jump and run.That was Ramún’s first thought. Maybe they could lose them in the dark. But his legs felt like mud. He looked helplessly at Iliyan.

Iliyan’s expression was steely. His shoulders didn’t sag like Ramún’s, nor did he tremble. He simply rose slowly, exhaling.

“I’ll distract them,” Ramún whispered. “You run.”

Iliyan said nothing, but his hands tightened on Ramún’s shoulders. That said enough. Iliyan would not run—would not flee like hunted prey.

A violent fear took hold of Ramún’s heart. What would happen now? Tears pricked behind his eyes, and his throat ached as he swallowed. “I’ve done nothing wrong!” he shouted back. “I only wanted some fresh air—there’s nothing going on!”

“Lord Wakuntur has ordered to return you to the godhouse,” said Tayta, head of the guard. “Both of you.”

Both of you.

Air vanished from Ramún’s lungs. Father knew he had arranged to meet Iliyan tonight. There was no excuse he could give. Especially not after they’d kissed—maybe that had been visible from afar.

His chest tightened. The world seemed to grow darker, the familiar night sounds fading into nothing. He blinked away tears.

If only he had stayed in his room—this would’ve been just a nightmare.

Iliyan shifted beside him, knelt, and met his gaze. “Be strong, love. If they can’t accept our love, then they don’t deserve your tears. But perhaps your father will grant us mercy. You are his son, after all—a son of the gods.” He smiled, though his mouth trembled. “It’ll be all right.”

Ramún tried to swallow the lump in his throat.Be strong. Be strong.He straightened his shoulders. He was a son of the gods. Divine blood flowed through him. Didn’t that place him above tradition?

They climbed down. The moment Ramún felt the sandy ground beneath his feet, he grabbed Iliyan’s hand. He nodded at Tayta. Two warriors led the way, the rest formed a circle around them.

Holding Iliyan’s hand in front of others gave him strength. Soon they would understand it was love that bound them. He would give up his position if they asked—but he would not give up Iliyan. Never.

Iliyan’s thumb brushed his. He said nothing, but Ramún felt his pride—pride that he held back his tears.

When they reached the godhouse, they were torn apart. His fingers slipped from Iliyan’s, and it felt as if something hollowed out his chest. He instantly twisted around. “Iliyan!” What if this was the last time he saw him? Warriors gripped both Ramún’s arms; he couldn’t break free. “Iliyan!”

Iliyan turned as well, but the moment he opened his mouth, a guard slammed an elbow into his face.

“Hey!” Ramún screamed, struggling uselessly. “Stop that!”

They dragged his lover down the corridor and away from him. Two warriors shoved Iliyan into his sleeping chamber; one stood guard at the window, the other at the door.

No one spoke.

Ramún collapsed onto his sleeping mat, rolled onto his side, and curled into himself. But his eyes stayed dry. Instead of fear, a cold anger began to grow—slowly, steadily, expanding through every corner of his chest.