Teomitl wouldn't look at me. "Itamatl was very fond of his brother. But Acatl-tzin, you can't possibly think–"
"I don't think. I just follow what I see." Open hostility to Tizocztin, and a motive for wanting the Revered Speaker cast down, denied the Gold and Turquoise Crown Itamatl's brother had died for… "And I can't exempt anyone from suspicion."
Teomitl snorted. "You might as well suspect me."
"Of dubious loyalties to Tizoc-tzin?" The words were out of my mouth before I could think, but Teomitl said nothing. He merely watched his fried frog, as if he could order it out of his sight.
"You have to wait," I said, slowly. "Otherwise…"
"I know." He bit his lips. "I've seen the star-demons, remember. I know you made the right decision, Acatl-tzin. But, still…"
I said nothing. He needed time for things to sink in. He would see the truth of it soon enough.
Itamatl's quarters were not far from Pochtic's – in the same grand and ostentatious part of the palace. They looked much the same: a squat pyramid of limestone with more unfamiliar insignia – that of the Master of the Bowl of Fatigue, I presumed, and the lesser ones, the one with the coyote underneath the red sun, had to be for Itamatl's war prowess.
There were no slaves, no servants to block our way; and the antechamber was similarly devoid of people. From inside, beyond the simple black and red entrance curtain, came rustling noises, like someone turning the pages of a codex with great speed.
Teomitl pulled the curtain open with his customary energy, sending all the bells into a frenzy of ringing – but it was not enough advance warning for the man inside – who rose from his crouch near the brazier with wads of paper still in his hands, and an expression of anger slowly stealing across his face. "What is the meaning of this – oh, I might have known. Good afternoon, Teomitl." He still appeared angry.
"Burning papers?" Teomitl asked.
Itamatl shook his head. He wore nothing but a simple cotton loincloth – no warrior finery here, as if he were uncomfortable with it. But he addressed Teomitl as an equal. "Time to get rid of the old, I should think."
"The old order?" I asked.
Itamatl put the papers down. I caught a glimpse of elaborate drawings – warriors striking at each other, elaborate representations of army units, with their feather insignia and shields. "The remnants of our old wars. Might as well not keep them." He appeared utterly unashamed; at ease. "Especially given how they turned out."
"Be careful what you say," Teomitl said.
"You know what I'm going to say."
"Yes. And I'll listen as a friend, but I am also Master of the House of Darts."
Itamatl shrugged. "Fine." He turned to me, and bowed, brusquely, as if forced to acknowledge someone he didn't much care for. "And you'll listen as High Priest for the Dead."
"It's my role," I said, slowly. "You don't seem to care much for our wars."
Itamatl looked at Teomitl – who said nothing. At length, he said, "There will always be wars, and the Southern Hummingbird will always grant His favours as he sees fit."
"But, here and now, we are the ones holding His favours."
Itamatl's gaze was sardonic. "And this grants us the right to lie and dissemble?"
"If you approve so much of the truth," I said, "then be frank with us. Do you wish for this coronation war to be a success?"
That, if nothing else, caught him aback. At length he threw his head back, and laughed.
"Just like a priest, to wound with words." He was silent, for a while. "No. Just once, I would like Tizoc-tzin to be thwarted in his desires. To know what it is to lose." He smiled, bitterly, at Teomitl. "I might have tried to make him lose you, but I don't think he would care, either way."
Teomitl's face was a mask; for once, I couldn't read him, no matter how dearly I might have wished to. Did he still love his brother, in spite of the grievances between them – or was there nothing left between them, save duty?
"Be careful what you say."
"Words aren't a crime," Itamatl said. "Not yet."
"But acts are," I interjected. "Eptli's death. The sickness. The attack on Pochtic."
There was a moment of silence, which seemed to stretch into an eternity. Then, a snort and a shake of his head. "I'd have been tempted, perhaps. But I assure you, I have nothing to do with this. If anyone has to pay, it's Tizoc-tzin. I won't drag down other warriors."
And, but for the silence, it might have sounded sincere.
"I see," I said, though all I could see was that we couldn't discount him as a suspect.
Teomitl said, in a brusque fashion. "There have been talks, Itamatl. Talks we were approached for bribes by some of Eptli's allies."
"Bribes?" The puzzlement on his face looked genuine, but then again, he had had ample time to prepare himself for the question. "I don't see–"
"I didn't either." Teomitl's voice was low and savage. "But that doesn't mean there was nothing."
As we walked towards the entrance-curtain, his voice brought us short. "Teomitl!"
"Yes?" Teomitl didn't turn around.
"He'll drag us down, you know. Bit by bit and lie by lie. You know this."
"I know." Teomitl shook his head. "Come on, Acatl-tzin. Let's go."
Outside, it was early evening and the stars were shining in the sky. Teomitl paused on the platform, staring at them – I thought he might be looking for the Evening Star, the incarnation of Nezahual-tzin's protector god, but when he did speak, it had nothing to do with the Feathered Serpent. "Acatl-tzin… it was worth it, was it not?"
Trust him to get to the heart of the matter. Itamatl had accused priests of wounding with words, but Teomitl could be equally devastating in his naiveté. I stared at the stars – fixed, distant, but it only took a slight effort of memory to remember the rattle of skulls, and the lights plunging down towards us, becoming the eyes of the monsters, becoming large shapes looming over us, bringing the shattering cold, and the sense that nothing would be right again…
"We need a Revered Speaker," I said. "Otherwise the star-demons will come back." I wished I could believe it that easily. Perhaps it was better to weather a period of chaos, if that was the price to pay for a better man? But I couldn't say that. I couldn't agree to pay in blood and deaths, and casually sacrifice so many, as Tizoc-tzin had sacrificed the whole council. I'd had no choice, back four months before: we'd had to bring Tizoc-tzin back into the Fifth World, so that he would ward us against chaos and fire. That he was a man I despised changed nothing.
"He's a bad Revered Speaker. Itamatl is right." Teomitl's voice was low and fierce. "I can't admit it to him because of who I am, but he is right."
"He's not eternal," I said, finally. I started down the stairs, slowly, towards the inner courtyard, which lay in darkness beneath the merciless light of the stars.
"But he's still young." Teomitl scowled. "He could live forever."
He was a shambling corpse – because that was what we'd brought him back as, because I'd held back during the ritual, and left us with only a shadow of who Tizoc-tzin had been. "He won't last long," I said, finally. "Trust me."