EIGHTEEN
'We shouldn't have come here,' Teomitl said. He sat on the reed mat in my room scowling, something he had been doing ever since waking up. Behind him, the columns of the rooms were carved in the shape of huge snakes rising up from the floor, their painted maws closing around the carved flowers jutting down from the ceiling.
'There wasn't much choice,' I said. I felt like scowling, too. Tlaloc's magic was anathema to that of Lord Death, just as the Southern Hummingbird's was. So far, it wasn't anything like what I'd undergone in Tizoc-tzin's cell – a little tightness in the chest, as if I stood atop a high mountain, a sense that every gesture was made through tar; but that didn't mean I felt comfortable here. 'There were plenty of other choices. I was a fool. We could have hidden in Tlatelolco, or Tlacopan.'
I shook my head. 'They wouldn't have sheltered us. Tlacopan is a member of the Triple Alliance, but their influence has been on the wane for a while. And Tlatelolco…'
Tlatelolco, our direct neighbour on the island had been conquered seven years ago, its ruler killed. Now there was only a governor who owed everything to the Imperial Court, and would have no wish to set himself against the future Revered Speaker.
Teomitl grimaced. 'I know.' He pulled himself upwards in a fluid gesture, and went to stand before one of the carved frescoes. It was early morning, and the scent of flowers was all around us, the smell of the gardens casually spread on the mountain's face through hundreds of aqueducts, of the canals and bath-houses, the luxuries of Nezahual-tzin's father. A summer retreat, Nezahual-tzin had called it. Except that he seemed to have disappeared, and that none of the ever-present army of servants would answer our queries. Why had he brought us here? Obviously, it had been deliberate, but what use could he possibly have for us?
I didn't think he wanted to end the Fifth World. He had sounded sincere when he had said that. But he would have the best interests of his city at heart, like any ruler.
Not Tizoc-tzin, a treacherous part of me whispered in my mind. I quelled it before it could fester.
And, if the best interests of Texcoco were to hand us back to Tizoctzin, to smooth over their little 'disagreement'… I had no doubt Nezahual-tzin would do it in less than a heartbeat. For all his youth, necessity had made him ruthless.
'Come on,' I said. 'Let's go for a walk.' He needed the distraction, and the gods knew I needed to reassure myself that my legs were still working after my time in prison.
They were none too steady. In spite of my best intentions, we made it through two courtyards before I had to stop, leaning against one of the carved pillars until I stopped shaking.
'That was a foolish idea,' Teomitl said. He glared at the manicured flower patches, and finally settled on the ground, crouching on his haunches as he often did. Unlike any palace I'd seen in Tenochtitlan, the ground sloped down, and the palace followed it. Water flowed out of a fountain in the centre, cascading downwards along a flight of stairs towards a room with a richly decorated entrance-curtain adorned with a huge stylised frog, splayed on the cotton cloth as if transfixed by a spear.
'No more foolish than breaking me out of prison,' I said. 'I haven't thanked you properly.'
'You don't need to. Anyone would have done what we did.'
'You were the only ones,' I pointed out.
His gaze didn't move from the flowers. 'Perhaps. But I don't do formalities very well, Acatl-tzin.'
You're going to have to learn, I thought, but didn't say. 'You've gone against your brother now.'
'Yes,' Teomitl said. His whole body radiated frustration. 'It was always going to come to that, in the end, wasn't it?'
'It might not have,' I said. There was so much more I wanted to add, except that my resentment and my hatred would come billowing out of me and wreck my relationship with Teomitl forever. Because he was right, blood should stand by blood, no matter how tainted the blood might be. It was what brothers should do for each other, and I had paid the price of that lesson a year ago, when my own brother had almost died because of my prejudices. 'He's a paranoid man.'
Tizoc was surely a more complex man than the wreck which had sentenced me to death for being a hindrance. He had to be. As our next Revered Speaker, he had to–
But I couldn't shake the She-Snake out of my mind, and the casual, almost instinctive way he had given my worst fears life and blood:
And I had known the answer, even then.
Teomitl looked up at the star-studded sky. 'He was a great man, once. At the beginning of Axayacatl's reign, everyone was glad to have him as Master of the House of Darts. He was the darling of the Court, his acts the fabric of legend. They thought he was going to be as great a warrior as Father, leading the Empire to glory that would endure past the end of this age.'
He couldn't have been remembering that, for he had been a toddler at the time Axayacatl ascended the throne. I guessed the warriors or the servants would have told him that as he grew up moody and isolated. Like a wildflower, Ceyaxochitl had said of him, and I wasn't altogether sure he'd ever go back to manicured gardens and clear-cut boundaries. Too much wilderness in him, and far too much knowledge. 'Not everyone lives up to the expectations we have of them,' I said.
'It ate him from the inside,' Teomitl said. 'They always compared him to someone: to Father, to Axayacatl, it didn't matter. How long can you live your life in shadow?'
A typical warrior's fallacy, that – that burning need to matter, to be showered with gifts and status, to stand out on the battlefield or in the city, no matter the cost. 'Some people can,' I said. As when I talked to my warrior brother, I had the feeling of slipping into an alien world, where the rules weren't the ones I'd always lived by. 'Some, however…'
'I know.' Teomitl made an impatient gesture. 'Not everyone is a warrior. But, really, what else could he
