Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [107]
“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