Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [116]
“I will not,” I promised.
The Nahuatl Emperor inclined his head in approval. “Sometimes when the gods thirst, blood is the only sacrifice.”
FORTY-ONE
In the courtyard outside the palace, Bao and I were reunited.
My diadh-anam rose and danced within me at the sight of him, at his wry, regretful smile.
All the guilt I had repressed crashed down upon me. It didn’t help to have Lord Cuixtli and the Nahuatl porters and warriors standing by, my palanquin loaded with the Emperor’s gifts.
But it was Bao.
My Bao.
I hugged him, burying my face against his throat and breathing in the scent of his skin. “Are you well?”
“Well enough.” He slid a hand beneath my hair, cupping the back of my head. “And you?”
I nodded, blinking against the sting of tears. “How was the Emperor’s youngest wife?”
“Young,” Bao said in a laconic voice. “Young and terrified. No one consulted her or asked for her permission in this bargain, and the Emperor’s senior wives had filled her head with terrible tales of the strangers across the sea and their depravities. For all I know, half of them were true.” He shrugged. “I didn’t lay a hand on her, Moirin.”
I was glad.
And I felt guilty for it.
Bao looked sideways at me. “And how was the Emperor?”
I glanced at the palanquin, noting that several bags of the cacao beans that served as currency in the Nahuatl Empire had been added to it. “Generous.”
“So he ought to be.” Bao pressed a kiss against my hair, silently absolving me. “Shall we return to our companions?”
I nodded. “Yes, please.”
Once again, I travelled across Tenochtitlan in a palanquin. This time, it was different. There was a quiet respect in the Nahuatl gazes that followed our progress; and whether it was due to the honor Achcuatli had accorded me, or the salve my actions had spread on their pride, I could not say.
In the ceremonial square, I asked Lord Cuixtli to halt before the great temple dedicated to the rain god Tlaloc and Huitzilopochtli, the god of war. My bearers lowered the palanquin, and I disembarked. Beneath the bright blue sky, I gazed upward at the towering twin staircases, faint traces of blood rusty in the creases where the stones were joined.
I stared at the hollow-eyed skulls in the tzompantli, trying to envision a sea of cut flowers. The skulls stared back at me, jaws parted in mockery, teeth bared in an eternal cheerful grin.
I touched one, feeling the smooth, sun-warmed bone beneath my fingers. “Greet the sky and live, blossom.”
“Moirin?” Bao gave me an inquiring look.
I shook my head. “I am trying to understand, that’s all.”
He frowned at the tzompantli. “Why? I do not think the Nahautl would celebrate death so if they had endured it.”
I touched his cheek, feeling warm, living skin. All too well, I remembered Bao’s death and rebirth. “The Emperor said somewhat to me before I left that made me think. And I believe we may have need of understanding before this is done, my magpie.”
“A vision?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Only a feeling.”
Bao sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Moirin, I will be glad when this is done, and we can get down to the business of making fat babies.”
I smiled. “So will I.”
Our journey across the long causeway to the Aragonian fortress on the distant shore was an uneventful one; but on the far side of the lake, the reception we found among the Aragonians was markedly unpleasant.
It was a dreadful scene.
“Whore!” Diego Ortiz y Ramos spat the word at me as soon as I stepped from the palanquin. The guards had spotted our approach from the watch-towers and the commander was awaiting us in the square, his cheeks flushed and hectic with color, the point of his neatly trimmed beard quivering with indignation. “You lied!”
I felt an answering flush of anger rise. “No, my lord,” I said in a precise