'Teomitl!'
But he was already gone.
I remained for a while, sitting in the courtyard, wondering what I could have said that would have made things go differently. I didn't like those bleak moods, or the quick way he took offence. He'd always been susceptible, but tonight he had looked as though his nerves were rubbed raw.
Something was wrong, but I couldn't work out what.
Footsteps on the stones tore me from my reflection. Looking up, I saw Ceyaxochitl looming over me, her slight silhouette highlighted by moonlight. 'I thought I'd find you here.'
'Here?' I said, gesturing to the small courtyard. The only remarkable thing about it was that it contained us both.
'In the palace.' She grimaced, and slid to sit cross-legged next to me on the warm stones. 'I've told you before: you don't get enough sleep.'
'I should think I've outgrown the need for a mother.'
Ceyaxochitl's gaze grew pensive. 'Yes, I should think you have. Most impressively.'
A small, almost muted jab. Even though they'd both been dead for years, my parents had loomed large over my life, until the previous year, when I'd finally realised I was no longer beholden to them. 'What do you want, Ceyaxochitl? I assume you didn't come here to talk.'
She shrugged. 'Perhaps I did. Perhaps I do care about your welfare.'
Now she scared me. The last time Ceyaxochitl had interfered in my life, she'd got me nominated as High Priest, a position I didn't want and didn't particularly appreciate. That I'd grown into it over the years didn't change the original intent. 'You can't get me higher than this,' I said. I tried not to think of Teomitl, my student, the boy- prince who would one day become Revered Speaker.
Ceyaxochitl smiled, the lines of her face softening in the moonlight. 'We'll see.'
I hesitated, loath to break the moment by focusing on murder and intrigue once again. 'I promised the councilmen protection from the Duality, for those who desired it.'
'We can provide,' Ceyaxochitl said. 'Though I imagine many of them will already have their own protections.'
'Echichilli?' I said, thinking of the old councillor.
'He was always a strong magician.' There was an expression on her face I found hard to read in the moonlight, and then I realised it was nostalgia. 'A good man, one of the few on the council.'
'The others…'
'The others like the sound of their own voice, and the power they hold – at ordinary times, and in circumstances like these. But you knew this already.'
'Perhaps,' I said, non-committal. 'What did you find?'
'Not much. Quenami moves to Tizoc-tzin's tunes, but I shouldn't think this is much of a surprise. The boy always did like power and pomp.'
I wondered who in the palace she didn't know – whom she couldn't dissect as effectively as she dissected me. It was a terrifying thought.
'How goes the courtship?' she asked.
There was only one courtship I was aware of. 'Well, I suppose,' I said, cautiously. I had not seen Mihmatini in a while. 'Enthusiastically, knowing Teomitl.'
'But Tizoc-tzin doesn't approve, does he?' Ceyaxochitl's flat gaze bored into mine.
'I shouldn't think you need to be a calendar priest to divine that,' I said.
'He's a fool, Acatl.' She appeared unconcerned by the fact she'd just uttered treasonous words. 'The Master of the House of Darts is a military leader, first and foremost. He plans our campaigns, he oversees the movements of troops within and without the capital. Tizoc-tzin uses it for prestige, and as a stepping stone to the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown.'
'He'll be Revered Speaker, soon,' I said slowly.
'Yes.' She closed her eyes. 'Yes. There is that. Well, there isn't anything you or I can do about that, sadly.' She rose and walked slowly, leaning on her cane, which rapped on the ground. She'd always looked old and frail, but I'd never seen her move so cautiously. 'Ceyaxochitl?'
'Yes?'
'Can you do it?' Could she hold us together, keep the stardemons from the Fifth World?
The woman I'd known all my adult life would have shaken her head and berated me for being a silly, sentimental fool. This one – the old, weary one by my side – simply shook her head. 'I don't know. Things have changed. The previous Guardian was still young when Moctezuma-tzin died, and her husband was still alive.'
'Husband?' I asked, startled. Most priests were celibate. I'd assumed the Guardian would be, too.
'Of course.' Her voice was light, ironic again. 'The Duality is male and female, the creator principle that drives the Fifth World. Guardians can marry.'
'And you–'
She shrugged. 'When I was very young. But it didn't last.'
I tried to imagine her with a man in tow, an equal, not a slave, a man she'd have loved. My mind refused to wrap itself around the idea. I had always known her old and single, as a quasi-mentor figure. It was hard to discard all this. 'Did he die?'
'Weak heart.'
'I'm sorry–'
'Don't be, Acatl.' She didn't sound grieved; but of course it would have happened decades ago.
'But there is only one Guardian. I've never heard–'
