There was silence, in the wake of her words. "You can't mean…" I started, and then stopped. My sister might be young, might be slightly untrained, and not as well-versed in the subtleties of the Duality's magic as her predecessor had been. But her own magic was strong, and she wouldn't advance such a monstrous hypothesis unless she was sure of it.
"Mistress Mihmatini isn't mistaken," Yaotl said in the silence.
"Then…" I spoke the words as they came to me, desperately trying to piece them into some kind of coherence. "Then this isn't about Eptli as a man. This isn't about personal revenge." Gods, I had been wrong; I had expected this to be small and personal. But it wasn't. It had never been.
One of my priests, Ezamahual, a tall, dour son of peasants, spoke up. "This is about the warrior," he said. For once, he wasn't stammering, or ill at ease, but, like my sister, utterly certain of the truth of his words. "This is about the man who was distinguished in the coronation war, and the sacrifice that should have been made to Huitzilpochtli. This is about making us weak."
I left Mihmatini deep in conversation with Acamapichtli and my clergy – they were discussing the technicalities of the ritual, unpacking everything they had done in order to convince Acamapichtli. I went out into the courtyard, breathing in the cold air of the night, hoping it might steady me.
It didn't.
A deliberate epidemic. This was bad. It had been bad enough when it had just been a side-effect of a spell gone wrong, but if someone was actively opposing us…
No, not us.
As Neutemoc had said, this was all about Tizoc-tzin – his coronation war, his confirmation as Revered Speaker. Someone, somewhere, didn't want this to happen. It could have been a foreigner – and the gods knew there would be enough of those in the city, because of the upcoming confirmation. It could be Yayauhqui – his protestations had rung true, but perhaps he was a better liar than I'd thought.
Or it could be someone in the palace. Tizoc-tzin was hardly popular, and he had ascended to the Revered Speaker's mat over many rivals. Some of those were now dead, but some were still here: the She-Snake, who professed to believe in order; the noblemen and officials who had supported another candidate…
Gods, more politics. I really didn't want to have to deal with this.
But, in the end, it didn't change much. It was my duty – the one the previous Guardian had given me over my protestations – what I had always done, what I always do. Keep the boundaries, protect the Fifth World and the Mexica Empire – what kind of a man would I be, if I let the epidemic rage within the city?
We had to find out how it had started – what the spell was – in order to counter it.
I stared at the stars – the distant, reassuring patterns fixed in their courses, the demons that couldn't fall into the Fifth World anymore – until they seemed to become the only thing in the world.
A tinkle of bells, and my sister came to stand by my side. "Obstinate man," she said.
"Did he believe you?"
"For now, I guess." She looked tired. "We'll go back and cast one of the lesser spells of protection. It won't work as well–"
"–but it will buy us a little more time?"
She nodded. "Acamapichtli said he'd look into the precise nature of the sickness, which should help us guard against it. But you–"
I spread my hands. "I know, I know. I need to find out who is behind this, and how they're doing it."
Mihmatini grimaced. "It might still be someone with a grudge against Eptli – they might be plucking two limes in one swoop: causing the disease, and getting back at him."
I bit my lip. "It might. But Ezamahual was right: it might simply be that he was a successful warrior, part of Tizoc-tzin's successes."
"All I'm saying is that you shouldn't discount the possibility out of hand." I must have looked dubious, for she laughed, and made as if to punch me. "Don't be so serious, Acatl!"
"This is serious."
"Oh, Acatl, for the gods' sake. We've already had this talk. Better laugh, and smile at the flowers and jade. Life is too short to be spent grieving. You, of all people, should know this."
I shook my head. It wasn't about enjoying life, but rather about my responsibilities, and what I needed to do.
And needed to do fast. For, if the primary motive wasn't Eptli's death, but the epidemic – if someone wanted deaths, many deaths, then what prevented them from directly contaminating someone else? It could all go fast – very fast – with us defenceless against it.
Though the evening was well-advanced, I headed straight to Teomitl's quarters hoping to catch my wayward student before he went to bed, and apprise him of events. If there was something going on against his brother and the empire he was heir to, I felt he ought to know sooner rather than later.
And I wanted to see him, too: with the campaign, he'd been absent for four months, and I couldn't help but feel he was drawing away from me – a thought that pinched my heart. He'd grown up immeasurably since becoming my student, but he wasn't an adult yet – too impulsive, too careless to take his place as Revered Speaker.
His quarters were on the ground floor near Tizoc-tzin's own private quarters: his elevation to Master of the House of Darts had, it seemed, changed little. The entrance-curtain fluttering in the evening's balmy breeze had gone from orange to red and white with a huge butterfly – the colour and pattern reserved for warriors who had captured three or more enemies.
"Teomitl?" I pushed open the entrance-curtain – the bells sewn into it tinkled, a familiar, high-pitched sound – and stepped inside.
The room was as bare as it had always been, the only concession to wealth being the frescoes representing our ancestors in Aztlan, the mythical heartland of Huitzilpochtli the Southern Hummingbird.
I'd expected to catch Teomitl; what I hadn't expected was to find him with someone else.
"Acatl," the visitor said, rising. "What a pleasant surprise."
I found myself wishing I'd removed my sandals, after all. "My Lord," I said, bowing as low as I could.
Nezahual-tzin, Revered Speaker of our ally Texcoco, was a youth of barely sixteen years of age, with a smooth face that could have belonged to a child. The easy, graceful way he wore his feather re galia and turquoise cape, however, served as a useful reminder: Nezahual-tzin was a canny player of politics, who had grown up fighting for his Turquoise and Gold Crown, and he was blessed with the wisdom of Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent. A dangerous opponent, should he ever set himself against us…
A horrible thought crossed my mind. What if he was the one behind it all? The gods knew he didn't like Tizoc-tzin; the man had all but accused Nezahual-tzin of wanting to break the Triple Alliance, four months past. And Nezahual-tzin certainly had the knowledge and the craft to make any spell he wished to – even one calling on the power of Tlalocan, though Tlaloc wasn't his preferred god to call upon.
But no; he was a smart and canny man, and, like me, he had seen the heavy cost we had paid during the change of Revered Speaker. He might have disliked Tizoc-tzin, but he had helped us crown him all the same. No, it couldn't possibly be him.