"Just one so far." I hoped fervently there wouldn't be more.
Teomitl spread his hands. "You walk like a dead soul, Acatl-tzin. If anything happened…"
"I seem to remember you're the student, and I the teacher," I said, somewhat acidly.
Teomitl's smile was wide and innocent. "Isn't that proper respect? Attending to your master's needs?"
And I was the Consort of the Emperor. "Walk with me if you want. But for company, not for protection." Or, Duality forbid, for mothering me.
"As you wish." Teomitl fell in step by my side. People turned as we passed. I was still in full regalia, and the refined costume Teomitl wore could only have come from the Court. "
So," I asked. "How is Mihmatini?"
Teomitl had met my younger sister a year ago, and had been immediately attracted to her, and she likewise. I had grudgingly given my approval to the relationship, suspecting all the while that it would go nowhere. An imperial prince was not free to marry as he chose. Teomitl's principal wife would likely come from one of the neighbouring cities, as a token of goodwill and good conduct.
But, to my surprise, it still seemed to be holding, a year on, despite Mihmatini's acid tongue and Teomitl's carefree manners.
However, when I asked that question, Teomitl grimaced.
"Trouble under Heaven?" I asked.
He waved a hand, airily. "Nothing that need concern you, Acatltzin. Your sister is as lovely as ever."
And she'd likely tear his head off if he attempted flattery like that. "Teomitl."
His gaze met mine, defiant. "I will soon be Master of the House of Darts, member of the inner council. No one can tell me what to do."
My heart contracted. I couldn't help it. Reason told me that, of course, someone would step in, someone would want to bring the wayward prince back into the norms, but still… Still, whenever she thought of him, Mihmatini's whole demeanour would soften, and her face shine like marigolds in the gloom. Teomitl would make excuses to leave our magic lessons early, so he could casually drop by the house and see her, even if it was with a chaperone. "Someone doesn't agree," I said.
"I could fight one man." Teomitl's voice was low, intense. "Barring a few who are much too strong. But it's bigger than that, Acatl-tzin."
"The Court?" I asked.
Teomitl shook his head, and wouldn't answer no matter how hard I pressed him. Finally, he changed the subject with a characteristic, airy dismissal. "Enough about me. This isn't the time. More is at stake than my pathetic little self."
I had to admit that he was right, though I didn't like the way he was behaving. Teomitl was honest and loud, and seldom held grudges. If he was bitter, it was never for long, his natural resiliency allowing him to get past it without trouble. This time it sounded as though they had got to him, whoever "they" were.
We'd reached my house. Unlike the residences of the other two high priests, which were within the palace, mine was a small adobe building set around an even smaller courtyard with a lone pine tree over a covered well. The only concession to my status was the two storied house. Tall houses were reserved for the nobility or the high ranks of the priesthood.
"I'll see you at the palace, then," I said.
Teomitl shook his head. "I'll be outside, Acatl-tzin."
I started to protest, but he cut me off. "I know you. You'd just sneak out in a few moments if I left. Go get some sleep."
"And you?"
Teomitl eyed the exterior of the house. "It looks like a comfortable adobe wall," he said, deadpan.
"With your finery? I'd be surprised."
"It's just cloth and feathers," Teomitl said, with the casualness of those who had never lacked for anything in their lives. "The imperial artisans can weave them again."
"I'm sure," I said. My bones ached, and my hands were quivering. I wasn't sure how long I could argue with him successfully, especially since, even awake and fresh, I always found myself losing. Teomitl was very persuasive, and as stubborn as a jaguar tracking prey. "Fine. I'll be kinder to your clothes than you seem to be. You might as well come inside."
• • • •
I'm not sure what Teomitl busied himself with when I was sleeping, but I woke up to find him still sitting in the courtyard, glaring at the lone pine tree as if it had personally tarnished his reputation.
I itched to put on something simpler, but since we were going back to the palace, I couldn't shed the regalia. I did tie the skullmask to my belt, in a prominent position that left the hollow eyes and sunken cheeks visible: it would remain visible, but not hamper me any longer.
We went to Lord Death's temple first, where I checked with Ichtaca that things were going on as foreseen, the suspicious deaths investigated, the funeral vigils taken care of, the illegal summoners arrested and tried. I mentioned, briefly, the body of the councillor. Ichtaca frowned. "That's trouble. Do you want more people?"
I shook my head. Many of the priests were already at the palace, taking part in the elaborate rituals that would culminate in the Revered Speaker's funeral. "You're overstretched already. I'll take those at the palace."
We took a brief meal in the temple with Ichtaca, maize flatbreads with spices, and a drink of maguey sap. Then Teomitl and I walked back together to the palace. I couldn't help casting a glance in the direction of the Great Temple, but the only activity going on seemed to be the usual sacrifices. The altar was slick with blood, and the body of a man was tumbling down the steps, its chest gaping open. Blood followed it, a slow, lazy trail that exuded a magic even I could feel. But I could see the other magic, the white, faint radiance trapped underneath, the anger that possessed Coyolxauhqui. She of the Silver Bells would not forgive, or forget, or relent in any way.
It was past noon. The Fifth Sun overhead battered us with His glare. On the steps leading up to the palace massed a group of priests clad in blue cloaks, embroidered with the fused lover insignia of the Duality. They were tracing glyphs on the ground with a set of twined reeds. Most other orders would have shed blood, but the Duality deemed blood offerings unnecessary.
At their head was a man I knew all too welclass="underline" Yaotl, Ceyaxochitl's personal slave. He'd never looked less like a slave, though; his neck was bare, unencumbered by any wooden collar, his cotton cloak was richly embroidered, his cheeks painted blue and black, the same colour as the priests' cloaks.
"Ah, Acatl," he said, his scarred face splitting into a smile. He did not venture any explanation, which did not surprise me. Like his mistress, Yaotl often kept me in the dark, but made no pretence of altruism; it was purely for his own amusement.
I summoned my priest-senses, and took a look at the stairs. The glyphs drawn before the entrance shone for a moment, before sinking into the stone. A fine coating of light had always hung around the palace, the protective wards that kept the high nobility safe, but now the light was growing warmer, clearer. The stone under us was quivering with power, like a heart barely torn out of a chest.
"Reinforcing the wards?" I asked.
"I see your observation skills are as keen as ever." Yaotl cast an amused glance to the sandstone face of the palace, with its frescoes depicting the end of the migration from the heartland, and the founding of Tenochtitlan on the spot where the Fifth Sun's eagle had perched on an agave cactus, gorging himself on a human heart.