Acamapichtli snorted. 'Fine. Do it your way, if that's what you want.'
As if he always did things for the sake of necessity – rather than for his own sake and on his own terms. 'I'll keep you apprised,' I said, walking towards the entrance-curtain.
'Likewise,' Acamapichtli said, but we both knew he was lying.
I was about to take my leave, when the entrance-curtain tinkled and a flustered-looking Tapalcayotl came in. 'My Lord, I'm sorry, but–'
He was followed by Mihmatini and her personal slave, Yaotl – and by a delegation of grey-cloaked priests from my order. 'Out of my way,' she said. Her voice was grim.
Acamapichtli looked from Mihmatini to me – a suspicious expression spreading on his narrow face. 'What jest is this?'
Mihmatini shook her head. 'You're the one in charge of the confinement?'
Acamapichtli nodded. 'I can assure you that no one with the sickness has come out of this palace.' He threw a murderous glance at me – he still hadn't forgiven what he saw as imprudence on my part. 'But none of that need concern you. I'm sure you have more pressing concerns.' His tone was condescending: he was going by appearances only, not even bothering to check. I didn't have the true sight on me, which prevented from seeing the magical trails in the room, but I was sure that the strong magic which had just entered the room – a strong reassuring rhythm like a heartbeat – could only be Mihmatini's wards.
Mihmatini smiled. 'You forget. I am Guardian for the Sacred Precinct, keeper of the invisible boundaries, and agent of the Duality in this world.'
Acamapichtli raised an eyebrow. 'You have the courage of eagles, girl, but it's useless if you can't follow through with actions.'
'Acamapichtli!' I snapped. 'Show some respect.'
Mihmatini shook her head. 'It doesn't matter, Acatl.' She smiled, and it was slow and terrifying and desperate. 'I'll tell him what he needs to know. What he does with it' she spread her hands, as if scattering seeds into the bosom of Grandmother Earth 'is his own business.'
'Fine,' Acamapichtli said. 'Have your say, and leave. We're busy enough as it is.'
'You won't laugh,' Mihmatini warned him. 'With the help of the clergy of Mictlantecuhtli, I have beseeched the Duality to smile down upon us, and keep us standing tall, warded against the shackles of disease.'
'And you've failed.' Acamapichtli's voice was mocking.
From the grim expression on Mihmatini's face, I'd already suspected it hadn't worked, but unlike Acamapichtli, I had more faith in her abilities.
'Why did it fail?' I asked.
'It hasn't worked. But not because of anything in the ritual.'
'You're young and unblooded–' Acamapichtli started, but my sister cut him, as savagely as a warrior in a fight to the death.
'I'm old enough to do what I'm doing. The reason it hasn't worked is because someone has sent up their own entreaties into the Heavens.'
Surely she didn't mean… 'Mihmatini–'
'I told you that you wouldn't like it.' Her voice was flat, emotionless. 'Someone is deliberately blocking any attempts at containing this. Someone wants this to become a full-blown epidemic.'
There was silence, in the wake of her words. 'You can't mean…' I started, and then stopped. My sister might be young, might be slightly untrained, and not as well-versed in the subtleties of the Duality's magic as her predecessor had been. But her own magic was strong, and she wouldn't advance such a monstrous hypothesis unless she was sure of it.
'Mistress Mihmatini isn't mistaken,' Yaotl said in the silence.
'Then…' I spoke the words as they came to me, desperately trying to piece them into some kind of coherence. 'Then this isn't about Eptli as a man. This isn't about personal revenge.' Gods, I had been wrong; I had expected this to be small and personal. But it wasn't. It had never been.
One of my priests, Ezamahual, a tall, dour son of peasants, spoke up. 'This is about the warrior,' he said. For once, he wasn't stammering, or ill at ease, but, like my sister, utterly certain of the truth of his words. 'This is about the man who was distinguished in the coronation war, and the sacrifice that should have been made to Huitzilpochtli. This is about making us weak.'
I left Mihmatini deep in conversation with Acamapichtli and my clergy – they were discussing the technicalities of the ritual, unpacking everything they had done in order to convince Acamapichtli. I went out into the courtyard, breathing in the cold air of the night, hoping it might steady me.
It didn't.
A deliberate epidemic. This was bad. It had been bad enough when it had just been a side-effect of a spell gone wrong, but if someone was actively opposing us…
No, not us.
As Neutemoc had said, this was all about Tizoc-tzin – his coronation war, his confirmation as Revered Speaker. Someone, somewhere, didn't want this to happen. It could have been a foreigner – and the gods knew there would be enough of those in the city, because of the upcoming confirmation. It could be Yayauhqui – his protestations had rung true, but perhaps he was a better liar than I'd thought.
Or it could be someone in the palace. Tizoc-tzin was hardly popular, and he had ascended to the Revered Speaker's mat over many rivals. Some of those were now dead, but some were still here: the She-Snake, who professed to believe in order; the noblemen and officials who had supported another candidate…
Gods, more politics. I really didn't want to have to deal with this.
But, in the end, it didn't change much. It was my duty – the one the previous Guardian had given me over my protestations – what I had always done, what I always do. Keep the boundaries, protect the Fifth World and the Mexica Empire – what kind of a man would I be, if I let the epidemic rage within the city?
We had to find out how it had started – what the spell was – in order to counter it.
