Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [110]
“Not to mention marrying your Tatar princess,” I reminded him.
Bao kissed me. “That, too.”
Lord Cuixtli cleared his throat with polite impatience.
Reluctantly, I left the safety of Bao’s embrace. His arms fell to his sides, letting me go. Our bickering D’Angelines had fallen silent.
“I swear to you, I am not doing this because Emperor Achcuatli coerced me,” I said to them. “I am doing it because Naamah wills it. I do not understand why, but the gods do not always make their reasons clear to us. So…”
I didn’t know what else to say.
It was Septimus Rousse who responded first, addressing the void my faltering silence had left and laying his big hands on my shoulders. “No one doubts your word or questions your integrity, Lady Moirin,” he said in a firm voice meant to warn the others as much as to assure me. “If you say it is Naamah’s will, then it is so. I do not doubt you. It is well known in my family that the gods make unexpected choices, and use their chosen hard.” Bending low, he kissed my cheek. “You have won a great boon for us today. May Blessed Elua keep and hold you.”
My eyes stung. “Thank you, my lord captain.”
One by one, the others followed suit.
And one by one, they departed for the Aragonian settlement, until only Bao and I were left with Lord Cuixtli.
He beckoned to us. “Follow me.”
Apparently, the palace did not lack for guest-chambers. Lord Cuixtli led us to one and indicated that Bao was to consider it his own for the day.
“A servant will come soon,” he said, speaking slowly for our benefit. “Ask for what you need. Come and go as you like. At sunset, the Emperor’s youngest wife, Omixochitl, will be sent to you. Do you understand?”
Bao nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.”
By the time Lord Cuixtli escorted me to my own chamber, there were two Nahuatl women already present.
“They will serve you,” Cuixtli said. “Ask for what you need. The Emperor will send for you when he is ready.”
“I understand,” I said. “Thank you.”
Once Lord Cuixtli departed, there was an awkward silence as the two Nahuatl women and I eyed one another. Remembering the reticence of Porfirio Reyes’ servants, I wondered if it was a part of the culture, if mayhap Nahuatl women were discouraged from conversing with foreigners, or even conversing at all.
But then the younger of the two broke the silence. “You come from across the sea?” she asked shyly.
I smiled at her. “Yes. Very far.”
That was all it took. In short order, we were having a lively, albeit occasionally halting, conversation about what the land beyond the sea was like, about why I was here, and why no other women had ever made the journey. And while the women were not effusive, they were friendly and interested. I began to suspect the servants in Porfirio Reyes’ house had cause for their reticence and cause to resent foreigners.
After a time, the elder of the two glanced out the window to ascertain the sun’s position, and asked if I wished to partake of the temazcalli.
“House of heat?” I echoed the words slowly, not sure I’d understood.
She nodded. “For the rite of cleansing.”
I knew the word for bath—all D’Angelines were quick to learn that one—and it was different. “I do not know this thing.”
That made the younger one giggle. “Come, see!”
Curious, I consented.
The temazcalli was indeed a house of heat, or at least a heated room adjacent to an inner courtyard in the palace. It was a square chamber with a low ledge for sitting and a pit in the center of the room. My attendants assisted me in disrobing, and indicated that I should sit while they used water-soaked wooden tongs to place fire-heated stones from a kiln outside the room in the pit. Once that was done, water was ladled over the hot stones.
The stones hissed, clouds of steam arising. The Nahuatl women retreated, closing the door behind them.
I sat naked and cross-legged on the ledge, breathing slowly through the cycle of the Five Styles