Naamah's Blessing (35 page)

Others still bore traces of weathered flesh and skin.

I swallowed hard, trying not to shudder.

Following my gaze, Lord Cuixtli spoke to Denis. I caught the gist of his words, which was that he understood the custom was
distasteful to the strangers from beyond the sea, and no sacrifice was scheduled for today.

“When is the next?” I made my first attempt since Orgullo del Sol to hold an actual conversation in Nahuatl. “Soon?”

“Not soon, no.” Lord Cuixtli shook his head. “Only during the high—” He used a word I didn’t know. Seeing my lack of comprehension, he addressed Denis in a spate of rapid language. Denis nodded, listening with a mixture of repressed horror and a scholar’s perennial fascination.

“It’s as I told you before, Moirin,” he said to me when the fellow had finished. “The Nahuatl have gone some way toward accepting Mithras Sol Invictus as a substitute for Tonatiuh, their sun god.” He licked his lips as though they’d gone dry. “The Aragonians have imported sacrificial bulls for the sacred rites, and that appears to be… satisfactory. Lord Cuixtli himself is an initiate in the mysteries. But the Aragonians have no worthy substitute for the rain god or the war god, so as a precaution the Nahuatl continue to offer the appropriate sacrifices at the high festivals.”

“I see.” As I recalled from Porfirio Reyes’ tale, the rain god was the one who required the tears of children. I pushed the thought away. It would do me no good to loathe the Nahuatl for their beliefs when we so urgently needed their goodwill.

The Emperor’s palace was on the far side of the wall that bordered the ceremonial square. There, my bearers lowered the palanquin so that I might disembark and proceed on foot along with the others.

Although not so elaborate in construction as the Palace in the City of Elua, or the Celestial City in Shuntian, the palace was every bit as imposing in terms of scale. Inside, it reminded me more of the Celestial City in that there were a great many people going about their business with a sense of tremendous order and purpose.

The stone walls of the palace were thick, and I felt them pressing in on me, a sensation that had not troubled me for some time. My head felt thick, my skin felt hot, and there was an uneasy stirring in the pit of my belly.

“Are you all right, Moirin?” Bao murmured. “You look pale.”

“Man-made stone.” I made myself breathe the Breath of Wind’s Sigh, inhaling deeply through my nose and drawing air into the space behind my eyes until my head began to clear. “I’ll be fine.”

Bao nodded, understanding.

After a brief wait, Lord Cuixtli ushered us into the throne room and the Nahuatl Emperor’s presence.

Emperor Achcuatli was seated on a gilded throne inlaid with jade. He regarded us with an impassive mien, although it was to me that his gaze went first. He was a fellow of some thirty-odd years, with a warrior’s bearing. His eyes were as black as obsidian and gave nothing away. There were round obsidian plugs in the lobes of his ears, and a plug of gold piercing the skin beneath his lower lip. He wore a feather headdress finer than any I’d seen, a mantle of feathers over his shoulders, and an embroidered cloth wrapped around his waist. His brown chest was bare, save for a collar of gold. On his feet, he wore sandals that laced to the knees, and the soles were made of solid gold.

My uneasy feeling returned.

All six of us bowed deeply to him. His sharp gaze passed over each of us, returning to me.

“So it is true,” he said in Nahuatl, slowly and distinctly enough that I could understand him.

Unsure of the protocol, I inclined my head. The intensity of the Emperor’s gaze made me raise it again.

His fingers drummed on the arms of the throne. “You seek your kinsman who came here before you?”

“Yes, my lord,” I said, concentrating hard on every syllable. “We come to beg for help.”

The Nahuatl Emperor made a sweeping gesture with one arm. “So beg.”

Fearing my lack of eloquence might hurt our cause, I signaled Denis de Toluard with my eyes.

Clearing his throat, he stepped forward. “I do not know if his majesty remembers, but we have met. With your permission, I will speak for Lady Moirin.”

In slow, careful Nahuatl, Denis outlined the reasons for our quest, describing it in glowing terms as a matter of honor. He exaggerated my status in Terre d’Ange, speaking passionately of the vision that had led me here and the hardship and sacrifice it entailed. He beckoned to Brice de Bretel, who approached the throne to offer our tribute-gift on bended knee, his head bowed.

One of the Emperor’s attendants accepted it, untying the gold braids and unwrapping the thick brocade to reveal the mirror.

Achcuatli studied his reflection in it, tilting it back and forth. “Very fine. And?”

Denis described the goods we had brought to trade, especially the steel tools and implements, lingering over their superior efficacy. By the time he had finished, he was sweating. “All this, we are willing to trade for your aid, your majesty,” he finished. “All we ask is that you assign a
pochteca
with knowledge of Tawantinsuyo to guide us in the search for our missing companions.”

The Emperor was silent.

Pressure beat about my skull. I breathed the Breath of Wind’s Sigh, but it didn’t seem to help.

“This one is different.” Achcuatli pointed at Bao. “Why?”

Bao smiled and narrowed his eyes.

“Ah…” Forgetting he wore a chain-mail shirt beneath his brigandine, Denis de Toluard wiped his brow with one forearm and winced. “Lady Moirin’s husband is a prince from a faraway land, even farther than ours, across many seas. He gave up his throne for love of her, that he might accompany her on this quest.”

“Is that even remotely true?” Balthasar whispered to me.

I hushed him.

The Nahuatl Emperor rose and descended from his throne. Attendants with handheld brooms bent low, hastening to brush the path before his gold-shod feet. They were forced to back out of the way when Achcuatli stopped before Bao and thrust his face close to Bao’s, staring aggressively at him.

Bao planted the heel of his staff with a thump and stared back at the Emperor without blinking.

Someone chuckled.

Belatedly, I realized the Jaguar Knight Temilotzin was among the warriors attending Achcuatli.

The Emperor smiled, returning to his throne. Once again, he spoke deliberately enough for me to understand. “Before I consider this request, I must be assured your warriors have skill sufficient to protect any
pochteca
I might assign you.” He made a careless gesture. “I know one who is curious. Temilotzin?”

The spotted warrior sprang into action, his obsidian-studded club raised high above his head.

“
Mine
!” Bao called out gleefully, already in motion, his staff a blur. No one contested him for it.

It was a short skirmish. It ended with the Jaguar Knight upended and sprawling on the floor of the throne-room, undone by unfamiliar tactics and weapons, the butt of Bao’s steel-laced bamboo staff hovering over his vulnerable throat. Our D’Angelines looked startled and a bit sick at the suddenness of it all. I couldn’t help but wonder if any of them could have dealt with the challenge as effectively, and if Temilotzin would have slain them if they hadn’t. By the looks on their faces, they were wondering the same thing.

“Interesting,” Achcuatli mused.

My skin prickled.

“Enough.” With a flick of his fingers, the Nahuatl Emperor ordered Bao to disengage. Bao obeyed. Temilotzin climbed to his feet, massaging his throat. The Emperor regarded us. “Your company is worthy, but there is another matter to consider.
I
have been dishonored.”

I shot Denis a bewildered look, and he gave his head a little shake, spreading his hands. “Forgive us, your majesty. Have we given offense?”

“You have not given it, but you have caused it.” Achcuatli pointed at me. “The Aragonians thought this one was a gift for me.”

“Yes, but it was a misunderstanding,” Denis protested.

The Emperor’s mouth hardened. “And did Lord Cuixtli misunderstand their shock and horror?”

Denis glanced at me.

I answered for myself, forcing myself to meet Achcuatli’s black gaze. “No, my lord. He did not.”

The Emperor nodded. “They take our women without a thought, and yet the thought of me taking one of theirs is—” He used a word I didn’t know, but the meaning was clear. His fingers drummed. “I find that a grave offense.”

My pulse hammered in the hollow of my throat. “I am not Aragonian,” I said quietly.

“You are a stranger from across the sea.” He kept his gaze fixed on me, hard and implacable. “I offer you the chance to make good on this offense.” He held up one finger. “One day and one night. It is all I ask.”

The uneasy feeling in my belly shifted, turning to the dove-winged flutter of Naamah’s gift awakening. Belatedly, I remembered the warning Jehanne had brought me in a dream the night Edouard Durel had attempted to steal the logbook.

I am here to tell you that the sacrifices Naamah asks of us may not always be so pleasant and easy. You have a hard choice coming
.

It seemed it was here.

THIRTY-EIGHT

O
n the heels of the Emperor’s proclamation, the throne-room burst into a babble of D’Angeline voices raised in protest.

Only Bao and I were silent.

Ah, gods! For reasons I could not fathom, Naamah willed this. I felt it in every part of my being. She had showered her blessings on me even though I was not sworn to her service, allowing me to serve as a vessel of her grace when it pleased me, never asking for aught in return.

Until now.

I glanced at Bao. Whether he sensed Naamah’s will through our shared
diadh-anam
, or he simply knew me well enough to read me, he returned my gaze with an expression as stoic as any Nahuatl warrior and said one word to me. “Bargain.”

I raised one hand, and the D’Angelines fell silent. “You ask me to dishonor my husband, my lord.” The Nahuatl words came more easily to me than before, as though Naamah’s presence had graced my tongue—and mayhap it had.

Emperor Achcuatli permitted himself a small smile. “I offer an exchange. For one night, I will send my youngest wife to your husband.” The various lords, warriors, and attendants in the throne-room murmured in surprise, and Achcuatli’s smile took on a tinge of satisfaction. “That is more than enough honor for any man.”

“Moirin, you don’t need to do this,” Balthasar murmured to me. “Thierry wouldn’t want you to.”

“He’s right,” Denis agreed.

I ignored them both. Naamah’s gift was alive within me, coiling through my veins. The prickly heat I’d felt earlier had turned to glowing warmth. Achcuatli eyed me speculatively, his smile fading.

He felt it, too.

The Nahuatl Emperor had asked for me out of pride, not genuine desire, but he had invoked Naamah’s presence nonetheless.

“I am a priest’s daughter,” I said softly. “I am the descendant of three royal houses. I have been a companion to queens and princesses. I am the Emperor of Ch’in’s jade-eyed witch and swallower-of-memories, and the Rani of Bhaktipur’s
dakini
. I have ridden in a dragon’s claw, and I have seen the face of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself. If I agree to this, it is more than enough honor for any man.”

Stone and sea! I wasn’t sure where the words had come from; I wasn’t even sure what language I’d spoken. And yet it seemed everyone in the room had understood them, at least their general meaning.

To be sure, Achcuatli had. Although his face remained expressionless, I could sense an answering heat rising in him.

“Agreed,” he said, his voice taking on a slight edge of hoarseness.

The image of rows and rows of grinning skulls flashed before my eyes, threatening my composure. With an effort, I forced it away. “And if I do, will you grant our request and give us the aid we seek?”

The Emperor inclined his head. “In exchange for your tools of steel, I will supply your journey and order two
pochtecas
familiar with Tawantinsuyo to guide you.” He glanced at the spotted warrior, who grinned. “As well as the services of Temilotzin here.”

I took a deep breath. “Then we have a bargain, my lord.”

Emperor Achcuatli smiled to himself and made a gesture of dismissal. “Go with Cuixtli. I will send for you.”

As soon as we were escorted out of the Emperor’s presence, the D’Angeline firestorm of protest reignited.

“It is contrary to Blessed Elua’s precept!” Brice de Bretel fumed. “You should not have to do this thing because the damned
Aragonians
have given offense!”

“Not to mention the fact that the damned Aragonians will now think they were right about us all along,” Balthasar said in a biting tone. “Don’t mistake me, I’m a great advocate of Naamah’s Service, but it’s a sacred calling, and
never
meant to be coerced. And I speak as one who knows a great deal about coercion.”

Once again, I ignored them.

Bao put his arms around me, blocking out the cacophony. “Are you all right?” he whispered in my ear.