"Oh. There are far too many of those." She laughed, careless once more. "I can't say I remember him at all."
"I see," I said. I would have pushed, but her puzzlement and surprise had been so obvious I didn't think she knew him. "I'll take the name of that priest of Quetzalcoatl, if you please. The one Ocome swore an oath before."
"Of course." She gave me a name, telling me he officiated at the Wind Tower, the same place I had gone to pray for Ceyaxochitl's sake. "Will that be all?"
The food sat between us. I had not touched it, and all she had taken were the tomatoes and a newt. Her teeth, when she smiled at me, were the red of spilt blood; and her eyes shone with the light of the moon, of the stars which belonged to She of the Silver Bells, now and forever. A light which grew stronger and stronger, starting from the pupils and slowly consuming the irises and the whites, a great sea of light in which I drowned.
"That will be all," I said, forcing the words between my teeth. I could hear footsteps in the distance; the slaves, coming to escort me out. All I had to do was to get up; to put myself outside of her influence…
"Ah, my dear," Xahuia said, from far away. She turned away from me; and, in that moment, broke the eye contact between us, and whatever spell she had been weaving. "What a pleasure to see you."
Shaking, I pulled myself to my feet, and met the curious gaze of a youth. He looked to be even younger than Teomitl, with a round, open face reminiscent of a rabbit, with the soft folds of flesh of one who had never had to work a day of his life.
But it was his companion who caught my gaze, and held it. He was much taller, as rake-thin as a pole, his face crossed by a single black stripe. His right foot trailed slightly behind him, to a rhythm as erratic as a dying man's heartbeat.
"You haven't met my son, Zamayan," Xahuia said, but I was barely listening.
The stripe and the foot were enough clues of the god the man served. Even without those I could not have mistaken him for a mere slave, for magic hung thick and strong around him, an angry, pulsing network of grey and black as deep as night, and the smell of blood wafted from him, as strong as that of an altar.
He was a servant of the Smoking Mirror, the lame god of sorcerers and dark magic, He who delighted in souring men's fates.
And not just any servant, but someone so wreathed in power that summoning a star-demon would have been a trifle.
SEVEN
The High Priests
I must have said something – even if I had no memory of anything besides standing frozen in the courtyard – for Xahuia's son moved away from me, leaving me facing the sorcerer.
He inclined his head. "The High Priest for the Dead. I have heard much about you."
"I, on the other hand, have heard nothing about you." His hands shimmered in the heat, shifting colours between dark brown and red. The strong tang of blood wafted from his clothes, as if even washing could not remove it anymore.
He bowed, as he would before a king. "My name is Nettoni. I am but a humble servant of My Lady."
I did not need to look behind me to know Xahuia would be smiling. "I have no doubt that you serve well." Sweat was running down the nape of my neck. Nettoni meant nothing more than "mirror", and it was what he had fashioned himself into, the living image of his god in the Fifth World, a vessel most suited for receiving His powers. The blood that hung around him would be that of a hundred sacrifices and, unhampered by any of our scruples, he would use pieces of human corpses for curses, raid the tombs of women that died in childbirth for their nails and the locks of their hair, and breathe in the power of those touched by the gods.
"I take it you are from Texcoco as well."
"It is my honour." Nettoni smiled. His teeth were black, shining like polished obsidian. "Now, if you will excuse me, My Lady and I have business."
I did not need to be told twice. I made my exit as fast as I could without seeming churlish, and I could feel his eyes – and hers – following me all the way out of the women's quarters.
Ceyaxochitl might have been able to fight him; I could not. Even rested and refreshed, and even with the whole of my order behind me, I would not be able to even dent his protection. Nettoni had accrued enough power to leave us looking like ineffectual fools.
And, if Ceyaxochitl, agent of the Duality on earth and vessel for Their power, was his only adversary, wouldn't he want to remove her from the board?
I'd said it to Teomitl already, but now I really hoped that Xahuia was not the culprit. Together with Nettoni, they made a formidable team, one it would take all our forces to defeat.
And, so far, for forces, we had two high priests more obsessed with placing their own pawns than with the approaching star-demons and a distant She-Snake, whose guards could barely maintain the order in the palace.
Not to mention a dying Guardian.
The day felt markedly darker as I made my way deeper into the palace.
Palli's messenger found me in the kitchens, where I was examining some of the maize porridge Ceyaxochitl had consumed.
"Acatl-tzin?" It was Ezamahual, a lean, dour-faced novice priest, a son of peasants who moved through the vast rooms as though he trespassed.
"Here," I said.
The porridge was set in a beautiful blue-and-black ceramic bowl, with golden trimmings. Clearly, Quenami had spared no expense. A brief invocation to Xolotl, Bearer of the Dead, had confirmed that, sadly, it was as innocuous as it was beautiful. Whatever Ceyaxochitl had been poisoned with, it wasn't that.
Ezamahual bowed. "Palli sent me to tell you the ritual is almost complete."
I looked up from the courtyard. The sky was still the brilliant blue of late afternoon. "Tonight, then," I said. Passages into the underworld took place at sunset or at night, when the Fifth Sun itself was underground. "Tell him I'll be there. I have a few things to take care of first."
The first thing I took care of was dinner. I'd had a sparse lunch, but given how long the night was going to be, I didn't hesitate to ask the kitchen slaves for the best they had. I consumed a whole fish with crushed calabash-seeds, and a handful of maize cakes.
Then I went back to the council room, where I found Manatzpa in discussion with the old man Echichilli, the magician of the council. Their servants lounged nearby on a stone bench, watching the courtyard, bored.
"Ah, Acatl-tzin," Manatzpa said. "We have taken the security measures you asked for."
I stilled the shaking of my hands. "I fear it's too late for that."
"Oh?" His eyebrows rose.
"We have no Guardian at present." I thought I could say this with the same calm I'd pronounced the previous sentence; that Xahuia and Nettoni together would have drained me of all fears. But my voice still shook.
Manatzpa's face darkened. "What happened?"
"Poison," I said, curtly.
"Is she…" He paused, letting me fill in the rest.
"Not dead," I said. "But very ill."