Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [118]
It embarrassed the fellow. “No, no!” He waved a hand in dismissal, his Aragonian sense of chivalry belatedly asserting itself. “You have accepted my apology, and that is payment enough.”
I smiled sweetly at him. I did not want any debt between us. “Oh, but I insist.”
Without waiting for a word from me, Denis tossed the sack at the nearest guard, who caught it out of reflex.
“And now I would like to retire for a few hours,” I announced. Turning to Lord Cuixtli, I inclined my head to him. “Please thank the Emperor again for his generosity,” I said in Nahuatl.
Lord Cuixtli touched his chest and brow in a gesture of respect far less casual than his salute at our first encounter. “I will tell him.”
Once we had returned to our shared chamber, Bao was restless and moody, pacing the small space, moving in and out of the sunlight that slanted through the crude window and spinning his bamboo staff in his hands. I sat quiet and still on the coarse reed-stuffed pallet atop the wooden bed-frame, watching him pace through light and shadow, not wishing to disturb him.
“I was not angry until that idiot opened his foul mouth,” he said abruptly. “Then…” He shrugged. “I was.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“It’s not your fault.” Bao sighed. “I meant what I said, Moirin. I knew who and what you were when I wed you.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier,” I said.
“No.” He twirled his staff in an intricate pattern. “It doesn’t. And fellows like that Aragonian make it harder. I shouldn’t have hit him, should I?”
“I think you needed to.” I smiled. “For my part, I found it quite satisfying.”
That earned a reluctant answering smile from Bao. “Did you see the look on his face?”
I nodded. “He was gaping like a fish on dry land.”
Laying down his staff, Bao sat beside me and took one of my hands in his, lacing our fingers together. “I am not angry at you, Moirin. I swear it.”
“I know.”
“I have been thinking of what you said to Desirée at her father’s funeral,” he said. “That it was all right to be angry at the gods sometimes. You told her that the gods understand sorrow—and anger, too.”
“She asked why they send so much of it,” I said, remembering. “And you told her it was to make us stronger. That it was hard, but it was the only way.”
“Yes.” Bao took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “It helps to remember why we are doing this.”
“For Desirée?”
He squeezed my hand. “Yes. For her, I can be strong.”
“Strong like a dragon?” I asked, echoing the young princess’ words.
Bao smiled. “Exactly.”
FORTY-TWO
A day later, all was in readiness.
The steel tools we had brought had been delivered to the Emperor’s palace, keeping back only the hatchets and adzes that Septimus Rousse gauged we might need to create vessels to navigate the jungle rivers.
For that alone, I was grateful that he had chosen to accompany us. Even Bao, my resourceful magpie, admitted such a need would not have occurred to him.
Emperor Achcuatli assigned two pochtecas to guide us into the verdant wilderness of Tawantinsuyo.
It was strange to see him once more after the lone day and night we had shared. Truly, we were intimate strangers. His obsidian gaze lingered on me with a certain tenderness as he made the introductions. I could not but help remember his weight upon me as I sank into the feather pallet, the feeling of him inside me.
I pushed those memories away.
Bao maintained an expressionless face.
The pochtecas were an uncle and nephew. Neither were young; indeed, the elder of the two, Eyahue, was a wiry old fellow with skin tanned like leather by time and sun, his black hair gone to grey, his mouth sunken around missing teeth. At least he looked to be in reasonably good spirits regarding the journey. His nephew, Pochotl, was a sturdy fellow in his late forties, and he looked none too happy to obey the Emperor’s order.
Rounding out our company was the spotted warrior Temilotzin,