Obsidian & Blood

NINE

Enemies of the Empire

I was walking out of Pochtic's quarters, when, through a courtyard, I caught a glimpse of Teomitl, walking by a woman in a simple red skirt. She did not wear the two horns of married women, but there was an ivory comb in her hair. Her face was lathered with makeup, giving her skin the yellow sheen of corn, and she walked with the familiar, swaying allure of a woman used to seducing men.

A sacred courtesan. Xiloxoch? I couldn't see any other reason for him to talk to someone of her status – not now that he was married, in the process of founding a household of his own.

Though Teomitl didn't look seduced – if anything, he looked angry, the facets of his cheeks taking on the colour of jade, and his eyes hardening into small, glinting stones. The aura of his patron goddess Chalchiuhtlicue, Jade Skirt, was strong enough to hurt my eyes.

"Teomitl!" I called.

He slowed down a fraction, but barely acknowledged me. He was in regalia – not the peacetime one, but rather the frightful spectre, the war costume of the Master of the House of Darts. It made him look wild, untamed – from the dishevelled plume of quetzal feathers fanning out from the back of his hair, to his head, emerging from between the jaws of a sculpted skeletal beast. "This is Xiloxoch." He smiled, but the expression never reached his eyes. "Nezahual-tzin brought her to my quarters."

And what pleasure Nezahual-tzin would have derived from it, no doubt. "So you're accompanying her back to the House of Joy?"

Teomitl made a small, stabbing gesture with the back of one hand. "No. I'm taking her to the military courts."

"For visiting a prisoner?" Surely there was no law against this?

The light around Teomitl flared up, became blinding. "You don't understand, Acatl-tzin. Xiloxoch has serious accusations to make."

Against the prisoner? "I–"

The courtesan, Xiloxoch, spoke up. Her voice was that of an educated woman – most of the courtesans who attended the warriors in the House of Youth tended to be commoners, but she had obviously been taught by priestesses in the calmecac school. "Bribery and fraud," she said. Her teeth were black, the colour of unending night; her eyes, outlined with makeup, shone with determination. A driven woman, Nezahual-tzin had said. "Eptli has scratched the jade, has torn apart the quetzal feathers – dishonouring father and mother, and the gods that watched over him."

The sinking feeling was back in my stomach. "What did he do?"

"He corrupted the judges." Teomitl's voice was curt. "The two-faced son of a dog corrupted the war-council, under my own eyes."

But the war-council included him, surely? "The whole council?"

"The Master of the House of Darkness, and the deputy for the Master of Raining Blood." Xiloxoch's face twisted; it might have been a smile, but there was no joy in it. "The other deputy refused."

Pochtic. Coatl. And the other man, the one I hadn't seen more than for a few moments. "And Teomitl?" I asked.

Teomitl's face was a mask, his skin carved jade, his cheeks hollowed, and his eyes dark holes. "I was too much of a fool to catch what they were saying."

"That's a serious accusation," I said, very slowly. "Do you have any evidence?"

"We don't need evidence for the moment," Teomitl said, impatiently. "We need to warn the magistrates, so that they can arrest the culprits."

I raised a hand. Had he learned nothing? "Do you have evidence?" I asked Xiloxoch, again.

Her eyes were dark, and deep; her black-stained teeth shining in the oval of her face. "The behaviour of a dead man. The word of another. It's not easy, as you can see." She didn't smile. Her whole being seemed – taut, with something very like the will to seduce – somehow transfigured, shaped into an instrument of the law. Driven, Nezahual-tzin had called her.

But driven by what? The desire for justice, or one of Xochiquetzal's plots?

"It's a serious accusation," I said, finally. And, if it was true…

No. I couldn't be like Teomitl, and take risks as easily as I breathed.

"It's a serious crime," Xiloxoch said. Her voice took on the singsong accents of an admonition. "'The city has given you a plume of heron feathers, the city has given you paper clothes. You are the slave of the city, the servant of the people. Do not let your words ripen and rot.'" She did smile, then; and it was terrible to behold, a thing without joy.

I didn't like that. Whatever her motivations – and they had to be more complicated than a simple will for justice – it was still… troubling. "Coatl," I said, slowly. "Pochtic."

"Acatl-tzin–" Teomitl said, "You don't think–"

I wasn't in a state to think, that was the problem. "Eptli is dead. Coatl is in isolation. Pochtic has been savaged."

Xiloxoch hadn't moved – she stood as straight as a thrown spear, waiting with undisguised impatience. Still, she'd moved a fraction at the last – something about Pochtic was either news, or unexpected.

"Whatever testimony you have," I said to Xiloxoch, "it won't last long." And, to Teomitl: "You're wrong."

For a moment – a bare, fleeting moment – I saw the harshness of jade in his features, and the shadow that spread to his eyes – and I thought he was going to reprimand me, to deny my right as his teacher. But then he shook his head, and some of the tension in the air vanished. "Wrong? Prove it."

Think, think, Southern Hummingbird curse me. "I want to know what you have," I said to Xiloxoch. "Once again, it is a serious accusation that you bear. We can't act prematurely on that."

"I slept with Eptli, once or twice. He made – careless confessions, after he was spent." Her lips twisted. "He was so sure of himself, that one. Didn't think for a moment that the captive would fail to be awarded to him." She spat on the ground; her saliva glistened on the dry earth.

"And you still slept with him." I understood her less and less – was her patron goddess Xochiquetzal behind that? The Quetzal Flower's intrigues tended to be far more vicious and far less complicated than that.

"He was handsome," Xiloxoch said, dismissively. "One might as well pick the prettiest ones."

"That's not a very strong reason," I said. "Why did you pick him, Xiloxoch?"

She shook her head, but did not answer.

"Xiloxoch." Teomitl said – his voice was soft, but it was no longer that of the young, unproven warrior. "Someone has been spreading diseases in the heart of the Mexica Empire. This is also a serious crime."

"I wouldn't know anything about that." Her eyes had flared; her hands clenched. She looked more angry than fearful.

"Why pick Eptli, Xiloxoch?"

"I told you. For justice."

"No," I said, slowly. "That's not what you told us. You said you'd learned of Eptli's transgression only after you slept with him."

There was a soft, green light spreading – Teomitl's aura, giving everything the air of underwater caves. The air smelled of churned mud, with the salty aftertaste of blood – and it was thicker too, clogging in our lungs. I could hear Xiloxoch's rising breath – coming in shorter and more laboured gasps. "Why?" he asked.

Last time I'd seen him try this, he'd almost killed a guard – but things had changed now, and he seemed more in control. Though one could never be sure, with the capricious Jade Skirt.

Xiloxoch's face was pale, her teeth drinking in the light and giving nothing back. "He was such an arrogant, obnoxious man. Thinking all the quetzal feathers, all the jade of the Fifth World were his due. So used to riches he thought they could buy anything."

The quintessential warrior – contemptuous of anything so feminine as sacred courtesans. "In other words, the perfect worshipper of the Southern Hummingbird."

Xiloxoch smiled, but said nothing.

"It's a serious accusation," I said, again. "But, if it's true, then they'll uphold the law, and Eptli will be stripped of rank, posthumously. Warriors were held to higher standards than commoners, by virtue of their higher knowledge and education. The war-council – the heads of the warriors, their role-models in the Fifth World – would be held to even more exacting rules.

"Come on," Teomitl said. "Let's see the magistrate, and we'll sort this out."

I shook my head. The pattern was disturbing: if Xiloxoch's accusations were true, we had three people involved. Eptli had offered the bribe, Pochtic and Coatl had accepted it. Eptli was dead, someone had attacked Pochtic, and Coatl had fallen prey to the same sickness as Eptli. As to the prisoner Zoquitl – the prize in all of this – he had also died.

Whether Xiloxoch's accusations were true or not, someone seemed to be killing off everyone alleged to have taken part in the affair.

Was it someone else associated with Xiloxoch? "Who else knows about this?" I asked her.

She started. "I don't understand."

"Don't take us for fools," I said. "As you said – everyone mentioned has died, or been attacked in some way. I find it hard to believe there is no connection."

Xiloxoch's eyes flicked towards the ground. "I didn't mention it to anyone. Why would I?"

Teomitl watched her intently – I wondered if he saw anything else, with the light of Jade Skirt so strong in his eyes – but at length he nodded. "Let's go, Acatl-tzin. We've wasted enough time already."

I thought, quickly. The coincidence was troubling, but then all the men she had accused were members of the war-council and what better way to sow chaos amongst us than target them – the supreme four, commanders of the army?

"No," I said. "We have more important things to do than this." And, to Xiloxoch: "I'm pretty sure you can find your own way to the military courts."

Her smile was wide and dazzling. "Of course. Don't worry about me, Acatl-tzin."

After she'd left, Teomitl turned to me, his face creased in puzzlement. "We could have–"

"No," I said. "She brought nothing but groundless accusations. I'm not about to give her the pleasure of our approval. Let her face the magistrates on her own terms."

"It's a serious matter."

"You've said it yourself: you noticed nothing."

"Yes, but I'm a fool when it comes to matters like this."

I shook my head. "It's not good enough, don't you see? We serve justice; not whims based on scant evidence." Otherwise we would not be much better than Tizoc-tzin.

Teomitl's face took on some of the harshness of jade again, but it was soon gone. "Fine. I suppose you're right. But if it's not true, then what was she was doing in Zoquitl's room?"

I had a fair idea of what she could have been doing in Zoquitl's rooms – what sacred courtesans did best. She was a servant of the Flower Quetzal, goddess of Lust and Childbirth, and sleeping with a promised sacrifice would not only enable her to honour her goddess, but might also leech potency from the Southern Hummingbird. It was small – one sacrifice out of forty – but the Flower Quetzal would have gladly counted it a victory.

Unless She had more extreme plans? Unless She was once more Tlaloc's ally, seeking retribution on the Fifth World?

"What now?" Teomitl asked, impatiently.

There was something going on – someone undermining the Mexica Empire or Tizoc-tzin's leadership. It could have been Tlatelolco; it could have been Xochiquetzal's followers, but it could also come from inside.

Pochtic had seen his assailant and recognised him, which in turn meant that he had known him. And I didn't think that could apply to either the Tlatelolcan merchant or the sacred courtesan. But Itamatl – the fourth member of the war-council, who had displayed such hatred for Tizoc-tzin… that was a strong possibility.

"There's a man we have to see."

• • • •

We stopped by the kitchens first, to get some flatbreads and fried newts. As we ate, I asked Teomitl about Itamatl.

"Honest man," he said with a shrug.

"He doesn't seem to like Tizoc-tzin all that much."

Teomitl grimaced. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, which was unusual for him. "Itamatl had an elder brother who was on the council."

I winced. "So he's dead?"

"And bound to the Southern Hummingbird, like the rest of the council."

And, of course, it had been because of Tizoc-tzin, and because of his fanatic drive to become Revered Speaker, that the council had died – or, more accurately, had been sacrificed to buy the Southern Hummingbird's favour. "And Itamatl?"

Teomitl wouldn't look at me. "Itamatl was very fond of his brother. But Acatl-tzin, you can't possibly think–"

"I don't think. I just follow what I see." Open hostility to Tizocztin, and a motive for wanting the Revered Speaker cast down, denied the Gold and Turquoise Crown Itamatl's brother had died for… "And I can't exempt anyone from suspicion."

Teomitl snorted. "You might as well suspect me."

"Of dubious loyalties to Tizoc-tzin?" The words were out of my mouth before I could think, but Teomitl said nothing. He merely watched his fried frog, as if he could order it out of his sight.

"You have to wait," I said, slowly. "Otherwise…"

"I know." He bit his lips. "I've seen the star-demons, remember. I know you made the right decision, Acatl-tzin. But, still…"

I said nothing. He needed time for things to sink in. He would see the truth of it soon enough.

Itamatl's quarters were not far from Pochtic's – in the same grand and ostentatious part of the palace. They looked much the same: a squat pyramid of limestone with more unfamiliar insignia – that of the Master of the Bowl of Fatigue, I presumed, and the lesser ones, the one with the coyote underneath the red sun, had to be for Itamatl's war prowess.

There were no slaves, no servants to block our way; and the antechamber was similarly devoid of people. From inside, beyond the simple black and red entrance curtain, came rustling noises, like someone turning the pages of a codex with great speed.

Teomitl pulled the curtain open with his customary energy, sending all the bells into a frenzy of ringing – but it was not enough advance warning for the man inside – who rose from his crouch near the brazier with wads of paper still in his hands, and an expression of anger slowly stealing across his face. "What is the meaning of this – oh, I might have known. Good afternoon, Teomitl." He still appeared angry.

"Burning papers?" Teomitl asked.

Itamatl shook his head. He wore nothing but a simple cotton loincloth – no warrior finery here, as if he were uncomfortable with it. But he addressed Teomitl as an equal. "Time to get rid of the old, I should think."

"The old order?" I asked.

Itamatl put the papers down. I caught a glimpse of elaborate drawings – warriors striking at each other, elaborate representations of army units, with their feather insignia and shields. "The remnants of our old wars. Might as well not keep them." He appeared utterly unashamed; at ease. "Especially given how they turned out."

"Be careful what you say," Teomitl said.

"You know what I'm going to say."

"Yes. And I'll listen as a friend, but I am also Master of the House of Darts."

Itamatl shrugged. "Fine." He turned to me, and bowed, brusquely, as if forced to acknowledge someone he didn't much care for. "And you'll listen as High Priest for the Dead."

"It's my role," I said, slowly. "You don't seem to care much for our wars."

Itamatl looked at Teomitl – who said nothing. At length, he said, "There will always be wars, and the Southern Hummingbird will always grant His favours as he sees fit."

"But, here and now, we are the ones holding His favours."

Itamatl's gaze was sardonic. "And this grants us the right to lie and dissemble?"

"If you approve so much of the truth," I said, "then be frank with us. Do you wish for this coronation war to be a success?"

That, if nothing else, caught him aback. At length he threw his head back, and laughed.

"Just like a priest, to wound with words." He was silent, for a while. "No. Just once, I would like Tizoc-tzin to be thwarted in his desires. To know what it is to lose." He smiled, bitterly, at Teomitl. "I might have tried to make him lose you, but I don't think he would care, either way."

Teomitl's face was a mask; for once, I couldn't read him, no matter how dearly I might have wished to. Did he still love his brother, in spite of the grievances between them – or was there nothing left between them, save duty?

"Be careful what you say."

"Words aren't a crime," Itamatl said. "Not yet."

"But acts are," I interjected. "Eptli's death. The sickness. The attack on Pochtic."

There was a moment of silence, which seemed to stretch into an eternity. Then, a snort and a shake of his head. "I'd have been tempted, perhaps. But I assure you, I have nothing to do with this. If anyone has to pay, it's Tizoc-tzin. I won't drag down other warriors."

And, but for the silence, it might have sounded sincere.

"I see," I said, though all I could see was that we couldn't discount him as a suspect.

Teomitl said, in a brusque fashion. "There have been talks, Itamatl. Talks we were approached for bribes by some of Eptli's allies."

"Bribes?" The puzzlement on his face looked genuine, but then again, he had had ample time to prepare himself for the question. "I don't see–"

"I didn't either." Teomitl's voice was low and savage. "But that doesn't mean there was nothing."

As we walked towards the entrance-curtain, his voice brought us short. "Teomitl!"

"Yes?" Teomitl didn't turn around.

"He'll drag us down, you know. Bit by bit and lie by lie. You know this."

"I know." Teomitl shook his head. "Come on, Acatl-tzin. Let's go."

Outside, it was early evening and the stars were shining in the sky. Teomitl paused on the platform, staring at them – I thought he might be looking for the Evening Star, the incarnation of Nezahual-tzin's protector god, but when he did speak, it had nothing to do with the Feathered Serpent. "Acatl-tzin… it was worth it, was it not?"

Trust him to get to the heart of the matter. Itamatl had accused priests of wounding with words, but Teomitl could be equally devastating in his naiveté. I stared at the stars – fixed, distant, but it only took a slight effort of memory to remember the rattle of skulls, and the lights plunging down towards us, becoming the eyes of the monsters, becoming large shapes looming over us, bringing the shattering cold, and the sense that nothing would be right again…

"We need a Revered Speaker," I said. "Otherwise the star-demons will come back." I wished I could believe it that easily. Perhaps it was better to weather a period of chaos, if that was the price to pay for a better man? But I couldn't say that. I couldn't agree to pay in blood and deaths, and casually sacrifice so many, as Tizoc-tzin had sacrificed the whole council. I'd had no choice, back four months before: we'd had to bring Tizoc-tzin back into the Fifth World, so that he would ward us against chaos and fire. That he was a man I despised changed nothing.

"He's a bad Revered Speaker. Itamatl is right." Teomitl's voice was low and fierce. "I can't admit it to him because of who I am, but he is right."

"He's not eternal," I said, finally. I started down the stairs, slowly, towards the inner courtyard, which lay in darkness beneath the merciless light of the stars.

"But he's still young." Teomitl scowled. "He could live forever."

He was a shambling corpse – because that was what we'd brought him back as, because I'd held back during the ritual, and left us with only a shadow of who Tizoc-tzin had been. "He won't last long," I said, finally. "Trust me."

"Days, months? A year?" When I didn't answer, he said, "It'll be long enough, then. Look at us. We're already torn apart."

"It's nothing new," I said, but I didn't know what I could tell him. He had seen the star-demons, as I had. He knew the price of being without protection – the price of opening up the boundaries and letting everything that prowled in the space outside the Fifth World walk our streets and swim in our canals. "I hate to say it, because it makes me sound like Acamapichtli, but we'll endure. We always have."

Teomitl laughed, without joy. "Because we're worth it." He shook his head. "Because we trample others into the dust."

"Why the moodiness?" I asked.

"I thought– He shook his head. "I thought of who might want to harm the Mexica Empire. There are so many people we have defeated and made slaves…"

I thought, uneasily, of Tlatelolco – of the bustling marketplace, which hid the scars of war, and the enslaved people; the bitterness of men like Yayauhqui. I thought of Yaotl, who was a foreigner and a slave, and who wouldn't ever be free. "It's the way of the world. War isn't kind, or fair. You should know this, too."

"I do know!" He made a short, stabbing gesture with his hand – and stopped halfway, as if bewildered by the lack of an enemy. "It's just that…"

I waited for something else, but it didn't come. Instead, his head came up – like an ahuizotl water-beast sniffing the wind. "Some thing is wrong."

"Something?"

There was a faint, growing light at his feet – wisps of yellow radiance which slowly gathered themselves, until a thread of light shone on the floor, snaking through the courtyard, under the pillars of the buildings – losing itself in the darkness.

The thread which tied him to Mihmatini; except that I had never seen it so bright. "Mihmatini?" I asked.

"She's in trouble," Teomitl said. He was out, and running before I could even so much as finish my sentence, and, since he was the one with the link to her, I had to run after him.

I'd thought we would be going to the Duality House, but to my surprise Teomitl headed straight for the low building which hosted the courts of justice.

At this late hour, it was almost deserted – the wide airy room filled only with a few stragglers, trials that had dragged on too long, with clerks furiously drawing glyphs on papers, as if their speed could somehow expedite the magistrates' work.

Teomitl rushed through the room as if it were completely empty – passing dangerously close to a couple of artisans with wooden cangues around their necks. I followed at a more sedate pace – mostly because I was out of breath, not being as young as him.

I couldn't see Mihmatini anywhere – or the courtesan Xiloxoch, for that matter. What kind of trouble would my sister get into?

Oh.

Teomitl was headed towards the back of the room, where an entrance-curtain of turquoise cotton marked the entrance of the noblemen's sections – which hosted both the Court of Appeals, and the Imperial Audience, that only met every thirteen days.

My work those days seldom took me into the courts, but I still had eyes, and could make out the pile of sandals near the entrancecurtain. It was an Imperial Audience today – reserved for grave crimes which touched on the security of the Empire.

And my sister was inside, and in danger.

A cold hand seemed to have closed around my heart. Surely it couldn't be…? Surely she was safe from Tizoc-tzin, if anyone was safe…?

Teomitl had stopped at the door, and all but tore off his sandals. I did likewise, my hands shaking on the cotton straps – trying to make out where the luminous thread was going.

The room beyond the curtain was much like the previous one: wide and airy, supported by painted pillars – and with a hint of the gardens through the back, a scent of muddy earth, a faint, raucous cry of quetzal birds seeking each other through the wooden bars of their cages.

It was packed full, as usual: almost every official in the palace seemed to have decided to attend, creating a riot of coloured cotton suits, of feather headdresses and jaguar pelts – of protective magical lattices, which hissed and faded when they met another incompatible magic.

Through the crowd, I could barely see the centre, but it seemed like some kind of hearing was going on – I caught Tizoc-tzin's voice, raised in anger, and another voice – a familiar one…

It wasn't Mihmatini's, but it was familiar all the same. Surely it couldn't be…?

Teomitl pushed his way through the crowd with the same determination he'd have used to ram a spear into a chest. I pushed ahead, oblivious of who I cast aside, of the angry voices that followed our passage, the buzzing of flies in my ears – that voice, it had to be…

"I've said it before: there is no plot against you, my Lord."

And, finally, the crowd parted, and I saw…

Tizoc-tzin, sitting on the high-backed seat of the Revered Speaker – his sallow face distorted in the familiar expressions of fear and anger.

I caught a bare glimpse of the judges to his side: two noblemen I vaguely recognised, and the familiar black-clad countenance of the She-Snake.

But, in the centre – in the centre was Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc, his clothes torn and bedraggled, looking almost vulnerable – save for his face. He'd raised it towards the judges' dais, looking the Revered Speaker and the other dignitaries in the eye – a forbidden act, sheer defiance that was going to cost him dearly once his hearing was over.

Teomitl had stopped, his gaze going from Tizoc-tzin to Acamapichtli – the greenish cast of his skin receding to show normal colours once more, his eyes the bewildered ones of a boy. He looked right and left, and finally caught sight of Mihmatini, who was standing a few paces away with the slave Yaotl by her side, her face clenched in anger. But she didn't seem to be in any kind of danger.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked to Tizoc-tzin.

"This isn't your province," Tizoc-tzin said. His gaze moved from Teomitl to me – and in the depths of his eyes I saw only the magic of the underworld, calling out to me with the soothing song of the Dead.

Shuddering, I tore my gaze away from Tizoc-tzin. "My Lord," I said. "Grave accusations have been made–"

"I know." Tizoc-tzin waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry, priest. They are being taken care of."

"I don't understand," I said. I swept an eye around the room, which was utterly silent. No one moved – save for the She-Snake, and in his smooth, round face I saw the first stirrings of anger. "Why–?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Tizoc-tzin asked. He laughed, and I heard the breath rattling in his lungs – such a beautiful sound, like the wheeze of funeral rattles. "Tlaloc's magic has been spilling out into the Fifth World – into the heart and entrails of my palace, priest!"

"I still don't see–" I said, though in reality it was all too clear. But I wanted him to say it, nevertheless.

Tizoc-tzin waved a hand towards Acamapichtli. "Isn't it obvious? The Storm Lord's emissary is here. It's him we should beware of, him we should cut open, him we should…" His voice dipped, and I couldn't hear the rest.

Acamapichtli hadn't moved. At length, he straightened up – slowly, stately, with that infuriating, effortless arrogance. "Will that be all, my Lord? I have the feeling we have explored the question quite thoroughly." I could have cheered.

"You– " Tizoc-tzin started, but the She-Snake interrupted.

"My Lord, I think it would be prudent to adjourn. You grow tired."

While Tizoc-tzin protested, Acamapichtli turned, slightly – until he could see me. "Acatl," he whispered, low and urgent. "They've dismantled everything."

"Everything?" I asked, with a sinking feeling in my belly. "Your sick patients…"

The look on his face was clear enough. The containment, however efficient it might have been, had been breached, and, worse than that, we had a man under accusation of grave treason loose in the palace, if not in Tenochtitlan.

We had to wait until the end of the audience to leave, which was, sadly, all too predictable. Acamapichtli and his priests were to remain in confinement until Tizoc-tzin could figure out further charges to bring against them. He wouldn't even listen to any other accusations – I caught a glimpse of the courtesan Xiloxoch arguing with a magistrate, but it was likely it would all come to nothing.

If it was even true. I had my doubts.

Afterwards, Mihmatini caught up with us.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"Same goes for you," Teomitl said. He shook his head. "I thought you were in danger."

"In danger?"

Teomitl pointed to the thread coiled on the ground between them, which was now a faint light once more, barely visible unless one knew where to look. "It flared up."

"And of course you rushed to my rescue."

"Was I supposed to leave you–?" He stopped. "What kind of danger were you in?"

Her face was set. "I lodged a formal complaint with Tizoc-tzin over the arrest of a High Priest. The second arrest in four months," she said, throwing a glance towards me.

"You did what? Are you mad?" I asked. When I had failed to enthusiastically support Tizoc-tzin four months ago, he had arrested me and threatened to execute me. And now she – Teomitl's wife in a marriage Tizoc-tzin hadn't approved of – told him to his face that he was wrong? "Do you want to be killed?"

"I'm old enough to take care of myself."

"Not in that kind of circumstance," Teomitl said.

"You think so?"

She'd always had a tendency to charge into trouble – climbing cacti to get maguey sap, with the firm belief flimsy cotton bandages would protect her against thorns; rowing to the Floating Gardens on her own and wedging her boat so deeply into the mud that she couldn't lift it out; sneaking into the calmecac school to see Neutemoc, never thinking the priests would keep a watch…

"Tizoc-tzin isn't quite a fool," Yaotl said. His face was grave. "Arresting a young woman because she spoke up against him in an open trial would make him look bad."

"She's the Guardian of the Sacred Precinct. Hardly harmless," I said, dryly.

"But she's eighteen, and a housewife." Yaotl smiled. "That's what people will see first, and Tizoc-tzin knows it. And if he doesn't, I'm sure his sycophant Quenami will remind him. He can't afford to do that, not in front of his noblemen."

But, presumably, he could afford to arrest the entire clergy of Tlaloc.

"I'm still free," Mihmatini pointed out. "If he were to do anything, he'd have done it by now."

And that was supposed to make me feel better? "Look–" I started – and gave up. She looked so much like a younger version of her predecessor Ceyaxochitl, and the gods knew nothing had ever stopped Ceyaxochitl once she'd made up her mind – only death, snatching her from us unexpectedly and pointlessly. "Just be careful, will you? You can't go on doing this, and I don't want you to get hurt."

"I appreciate the thought, but really, I'm old enough to take care of myself."

"I'm just worried about you," I said.

Teomitl moved to stand by my side. "The court is no fit place for anyone currently."

Mihmatini's eyes rolled upwards. "Honestly. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you had prepared beforehand." Someone sniggered: Yaotl, who never wasted an opportunity to mock Mexica. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be elsewhere. I'm lodging a formal complaint with the She-Snake as well."

"I wish you wouldn't do that," I said. Ceyaxochitl had once told me that everyone had to grow up, but why did it have to happen so fast to those around me?

"Thank you for the honesty." Mihmatini grimaced. "Now, you're not going to make me change my mind, and you two look as though you'd better be elsewhere. I'd suggest we both get on with what we were doing."

And, before either of us could answer that, she was gone. Yaotl threw us an amused glance, and turned to follow his mistress out of the courts.

"Acatl-tzin…." I'd never seen Teomitl look so forlorn.

"She'll survive," I said, slowly. She had Yaotl to watch out for her, and probably the She-Snake. And surely she was right – surely, if Tizoc-tzin had wanted to act against her, he would have done it by now? "We'll deal with this later. We have to find the sick men first."