'And Tizoc-tzin?' I asked, carefully.
'Tizoc does what he wants.' Teomitl wouldn't look at me. What was going on? It wasn't shame; that was an emotion he barely knew the meaning of.
'Teomitl–'
He made a quick, stabbing gesture with his hands. 'I'm Master of the House of Darts. Member of his war- council. His heir. If I don't make sure he follows the right path, who will?'
'Leave that to the She-Snake,' Nezahual-tzin said, distractedly. 'You can't afford to be among those he distrusts.'
Teomitl snorted, but said nothing. He worried me. 'Don't do anything rash, please.'
'I won't.' And, under his breath, 'not unless he gives me a reason to.'
'Teomitl!' I said.
He pressed his lips together. 'You're not my master, Acatl-tzin.' And he was gone, wrapping his cloak around him, before I could react.
It wasn't the first time he'd done that, but before, he had been bewildered, or lost – or unsure of Tizoc-tzin. I knew him enough to tell by the set of his jaw and of his eyes that he'd come to some great decision, one that he didn't want me to be privy to.
And, given his anger at Tizoc-tzin's acts, I could guess at the decision. After all, his brother was unpopular with the army, whereas Teomitl's smoke and mist was spreading, his mark on the Fifth World becoming larger and larger. He was Master of the House of Darts, controlling the great arsenals of Tenochtitlan and therefore access to all the causeways that linked us to the mainland – and why shouldn't he see to it that the Turquoise and Gold Crown was held by someone who deserved it, and never mind what the disasters this would cause for the balance of power?
No. He wouldn't. He was more intelligent than that. He had to have absorbed some of what I'd taught him about magic – about the Fifth World being held by a thread until Tizoc-tzin was confirmed.
Surely he wouldn't…
'He's a clever man,' Nezahual-tzin said, thoughtfully – as if he had read the tenor of my thoughts. When he saw my face, he smiled. 'I didn't use magic, Acatl. You're an easy man to read.'
'I don't dissemble,' I said, curtly. My relationship with Teomitl might not be wholly private – because of our respective positions – but the Revered Speaker of Texcoco certainly had no business prying into it to satisfy his thrice-accursed curiosity.
Nezahual-tzin ventured nothing. At length, when I didn't speak, he shrugged – a falsely careless gesture, and went downstairs. 'I'll see you around, Acatl.'
I remained for a while – not because I found the view beautiful, but because I wanted to be sure that he was gone. We'd only had two deaths – a tragedy by some standards, insignificant in the larger frame – and already the fabric of the imperial palace was unravelling.
As if I'd needed further proof that we remained fragile, as the Empire slowly rebuilt itself from the mess of the year before… This wasn't the most auspicious of times for a sorcerer to move against us. I would have prayed for this to bring us together against a common enemy, but deep down I already knew it wouldn't.
I walked to my house alone, amidst the looming shapes of the temples. Even at this late hour, the Sacred Precinct was busy: priests sang hymns and made penances, and circled the Serpent Wall, offering their blood at regular intervals. From within the temples came a grinding sound, as novice priests ground the pigments which would be used on the following day to paint faces and arms for religious ceremonies.
My temple was still lit; I entered briefly, to reassure myself that all was well, and to second a few examinations. Ichtaca had made no progress on tracking down information about the merchant Yayauhqui; hardly surprising, since I'd only asked him a handful of hours ago.
I went to bed praying to Chicomecoatl to look favourably upon us – and to bless us with Her luck, to better unravel this skein of magic.
• • • •
I woke up sore, as if I'd spent the entire day and night walking. My head throbbed, and for a brief moment, as I pulled myself to my knees, the world seemed to spin.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment. The spinning went away and the soreness seemed to recede, but the feeling remained. The onset of the sickness? We should–
Stay inside like old men? No, I couldn't. I had work to do.
Nevertheless… it would have been highly irresponsible to go further without some kind of precaution. Mihmatini's spell had its uses, but, as much as the Duality was arbiter and source of the gods, They were not the ones to whom I owed my allegiance, and Their protection would not be the most effective I could call on. I made my offerings of blood to the Fifth Sun and to Lord Death, singing the hymns for the continuation of the Fifth World, and pulling my worship-thorns through my earlobes.
On my wicker chest were two sets of clothes: one was a simple grey cloak, appropriate for a priest for the Dead; the other was the ornate, owl-embroidered monstrosity of my regalia complete with skull-mask and feather headdress. The grey cloak was far more comfortable, likely to be far less noticed, but the days when I could have worn it had all but passed. Ichtaca was right: I needed to show myself, and this included wearing the regalia. With a sigh, I folded the simple cloak back into the chest, putting it under the folded codices I was working on. It was, after all, unlikely I would need it in the days to come.
I walked into the Sacred Precinct in full regalia.
The dizziness did not return, though I watched for it. The world remained crisp and clear, the sky above the Sacred Precinct a brilliant blue, with the familiar smells of copal incense smoke, underlain by the rank one of blood. Ahead, atop the Great Temple, the sacrifices went on unabated: a body tumbled down the steps, coming to a rest in the grooves that surrounded the pyramid's base – the painted white skin spattered with blood.
Everything seemed well: the Empire strong, the gods watching over us, a Revered Speaker about to be
