in the morning, she is to die.
she was brought with her head lowered and crowned in flowers of the jungle, scintillating with the beauty of the foreigners of the east and solemn with the pride of the defeated; her body trembles, but her exotic eyes are unwavering.
she was brought after the battle by two slaves on a platform of gold like the kings and the noblemen; and now, with the sun bleeding behind the green peaks in the distance and the thick cloudy rainforest around the city; with the quetzal singing and the peoples bustling about down by the streets, now, she sits like a goddess and waits.
The temple is empty except for the high priest. He kneels by the great statue of Kukulkán and breathes in the scents of incense and flowers, and prays for the rain to come, and the war to come to an end.
The number of steps that lead from the temple down to the city is sacred and as thus it is secret, but the chambers rise so high above the houses that sometimes the air is foggy with clo