'One he wouldn't go back on?'
She smiled. 'You underestimate me, Acatl-tzin. I am no fool. The moment he revealed his allegiance, others would court him. So I made him promise not to say anything until it was time.'
'And he accepted?'
Of course, if he had given in to her seduction, she would have had her blackmail tool. The Revered Speaker might have many wives, but they were not for ordinary mortals. 'Of course.'
'You trusted him?'
'Not any further than I had to,' Xahuia said, with that same smile, revealing the darkened red of her teeth. 'But I made him swear a solemn vow before a priest of Quetzalcoatl.'
A canny move, for oaths sworn before Quetzalcoatl were sacred – the Feathered Serpent Himself, scourge of falsehood and deception, being called to witness them. Such a priest wouldn't have been easy to find at this hour in the palace. But, then again, she was a princess of one city and an empress of another. Who would not come, if called?
'I suppose you won't want to tell me the name of that priest?'
'Why should I not? Every word is true; besides, the fool is dead.' And, for a moment, her mask of beauty and power slipped, revealing a face as cold and as merciless as that of an executioner.
In that moment, she frightened me as no one else had. I saw that just as she had told me, she would not hesitate to do what was necessary for her own good. That she would not hesitate to remove a Guardian, perhaps, who was too curious, or even a High Priest.
My hands shook, and even the sunlight seemed cold on my brow. 'I see,' I said, but I still had my duty. 'Do you know a man named Pezotic?'
She looked genuinely puzzled. 'It's not a familiar name. Who is he?'
'A member of the council,' I said. I'd been a fool. I should have asked Quenami, but I had been too busy fencing with him to think of that particular question.
'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
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
