As she did so, she looked past the pond to the tall stone wall maybe a hundred paces away, and wondered if she was fast enough to scale it before the guards caught her. But Cuauhtemoc settled opposite her, blocking her view of the wall. "I hope you enjoyed yesterday as much as I did." He still wore that maddening smile. "It would be nice if we went back to Chapultepec a few times a week, to ride horses and shoot arrows. Would you enjoy that?"
She averted her eyes, bewildered and flushed. She'd sorely underestimated him. "I suppose."
He pulled all the covers from the hot food. "Please, help yourself to anything." He took a small, steaming tamale delicately between his fingers and moved it quickly to his empty plate.
Usually Malinali refused his food offering, but right now she needed to work off the nerves souring her gut, so she grabbed a handful of the chile-spiced nuts and shook them in her hand between tossing them one by one into her mouth and chewing nervously. She froze though when Cuauhtemoc stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. "Is something the matter, My Lord?"
He met her eyes a moment before sitting straighter. "I thought nuts made you ill."
She grasped for some excuse—some explanation that wouldn't betray her lie—but her lack of a good night's sleep hit hard, leaving her brain cottony and slow. She wanted to crawl into a hole and regroup, but she had to stay and deal with her lies. Everything was crumbling around her, spiraling beyond her control. The earlier nausea was now more than a nervous threat.
Cuauhtemoc's hard expression turned to concern. "Are you all right?"
She gasped, dumping the nuts on the ground. "I can't play these games with you, My Lord. I won't play them."
He blinked. "Games?"
"Why are you bothering to try to win me? I can't stop you from doing whatever it is you want to do to me, and I'd rather you'd get on with it already."
"What are you talking about?"
"You want me in your bed but for some reason, you feel the need to make it something I agree to, but I won't, not ever." Everything she'd tried to hide from him came spilling out in an unstoppable wave of anguish and fury. "At some pathetic point in my life I thought there was something useful in being a powerful man's mistress, but when one's forced to perform humiliating, degrading acts on her master's guards, all for his amusement, one quickly learns that's the worst kind of foolishness."
He flinched as if she'd slapped him. "I’m sorry—"
"I don't want your pity," she snarled. "I could have used it when I was being sold off into slavery when I was six, or when that dog Acxotecatl took away my—" But the pain of the memory choked her words. No, you won't spill that secret to this man who doesn't deserve to know anything at all about your pain to begin with.
Cuauhtemoc moved to touch her shoulder. "Malinali, please, I'm sorry—"
"Just get it over with already!" she cried. "But don't expect me to enjoy it because you're the huey tlatoani."
Cuauhtemoc's shoulders rose like a bristling jaguar. "Why does it infuriate you so that I'm not what you expect?"
"You're everything I expected, and some things even worse."
"How dare you—"
"How dare you pretend to care?" she yelled. "You played these games with Tecuichpo too, to get into her bed and claim your husbandly rights. Was her life worth your moment of pleasure?"
Cuauhtemoc stared at her, horrified.
She didn't realize the rage had carried her to her feet, but when the guards took hold of her arms, the truth came like a sudden cold wind off the lake: she'd cost the emperor face in front of his guards, and no man—powerful or not—would tolerate such a slight. The last time she'd lost her good sense with a nobleman, he'd given her to a priest for the sacrifice, and she'd only escaped that fate because the priest thought her pretty enough to pay off his gambling debts. She wouldn't be so lucky this time; the gods only granted a woman mercy so often before letting her step into the viper pit she kept jumping over. Feeling dizzy, she crumpled, but the guards held her up, letting her slump in their arms like wet clay.
Cuauhtemoc rose too, his expression hard. "Not that it's your business, but Tecuichpo poisoned herself, because I told her she was too ill and frail to take to bed, and she thought I never would. So you're partly right; my refusal forced her hand."
She felt punched in the gut. "But you said her heart gave out."
"There's nothing honorable in what she did, but I won't have gossiping slaves besmirching her name in my own palace."
Not only could she not pin him down; she couldn't even shoot the arrow in the right direction. "My Lord, I'm sorry—"
"Perhaps you were right, about the past making trust impossible." He waved the guards away and turned his back to her as they dragged her off.
¤
The last time Cuauhtemoc felt this furious, he'd chopped off Hernán Cortés's head. It wasn't anything the man said—he couldn't even understand the man's language. It was what he'd seen in the Black Lake in Mictlan: his ancestral city plowed down to rubble, his people dying of strange plagues, the survivors suffering under the lash and spear, stripped of their gods and their future, all brought at the hands of a small band of mercenaries led by this one man. He'd thought only of the vision as he prowled through the melee on the beach at Potonchan, avoiding arrows and swinging swords. The memory had lit his rage when he finally spotted his adversary sitting atop his war horse, shouting orders, his raised steel sword sparkling under Lord Sun's light.
Cuauhtemoc had thrown his spear with all his might, and though Cortés' armor deflected the killing blow, the impact spilled the Spaniard from his saddle into the bloody sand. He flew at Cortés in a frenzy, all sound lost for the pulsing blood in his ears. He didn't remember his men's cheers when he held up the severed head for all to see; even hours afterwards, it all was silence, as if he had left his body and had yet to return.
He'd expected relief and joy, as he saw in the faces of his men as they celebrated victory that night, but he sat alone in his tent, unable to stop shaking. He'd saved his people for now, but innumerable more men waited across the sea, ready to take the Spaniard's place and challenge them. His wife and their still-unborn daughter were no safer than before—perhaps even less so now that he had no idea where fate was leading them.
And when Malinali accused him of killing Tecuichpo, he remembered seeing her right at Cortés's side in the Black Lake, whispering secrets in the Spaniard's ear, and the rage bubbled up once again. It took every bit of Cuauhtemoc's resolve to swallow it. How dare this woman lecture him about morality and honor when she would have helped Cortés destroy them all? He took care of his people; he didn't use them for his own selfish machinations, so to even suggest he would endanger Tecuichpo for a moment of meaningless pleasure...
But when he'd spouted off the grim truth about Tecuichpo, he hadn't expected the horror on Malinali's face; the woman he'd seen in the Black Lake hadn't cared one bit when thousands lay dying of the smallpox while her lover laid siege to Tenochtitlan, and she certainly never apologized for anything she said or did. He couldn't reconcile the woman the gods had shown him with the one who now stood before him, pale with fear and regret; this woman who'd brought out the murderous rage in him and yet yesterday made him feel things he didn't know he could feel anymore. He needed to get away from her and clear his head. He needed to be rational when he decided what to do about her.
He sent word ahead that he was coming to Texcoco, so Ixtlil awaited him when the royal barge docked. Cuauhtemoc embraced his best friend, glad for his laughing face. "Thank you for accepting my visit. It's only for tonight."
Ixtlil laughed. "You're always welcome in my house, old friend." He motioned to his porters to collect Cuauhtemoc's luggage, then they headed for the palace in litters.
They arrived in time for dinner, laid out in splendor in the gardens, torches bathing the wood-slab table with pale orange light. Ixtlil's wife, Papantzin, bowed in greeting, and Cuauhtemoc gave her a kiss on the cheek. But when he
did the same for Ixtlil's sister, Xocotzin—the only one still unmarried—the girl flushed deep and refused to look at him. He knew her for a chatty, friendly person who once told him she wished he was her brother rather than Ixtlil, so he shot her brother a questioning glance.
Ixtlil shook his head. "I'll tell you later."
They spent the meal talking about the planned renovations of the royal gardens; when the women went to prepare for bed, Ixtlil took Cuauhtemoc around the garden to show him the old mossy staircase waterfalls that needed repairs.
"What has got you all wound up?" Ixtlil asked as they walked into the aviary. "Are your body servants tying your loincloth on too tight?"
Cuauhtemoc stopped at a macaw sitting on a low-lying branch and held out a bit of sweet maize cake he'd saved. The bird whistled its thanks as it took it. "It's Malinali."
"The slave girl?"
"She's a woman, not a girl," Cuauhtemoc snapped.
Ixtlil arched an eyebrow. "What did she do?"
"She accused me of murdering Tecuichpo."
"Did you have her flogged?" When Cuauhtemoc shook his head, Ixtlil asked, "Why ever not?"
Cuauhtemoc opened his mouth to answer, but stopped.
"What happened to taking her for a concubine?"
He shook his head. "I can't do that, not after what she told me...the things she suffered at Acxotecatl's hands...."
"That scar-faced asshole in Tlaxcala?"
He nodded. "She was a slave in his court."
"Maybe she's lying—"
"If you heard her talk about it...." Cuauhtemoc shook his head. "No, it happened, and undoubtedly more things than she's willing to admit. No wonder she believes me capable of hurting Tecuichpo."
"You still must punish her. Such ludicrous accusations can't be tolerated."
"That won't help."
Ixtlil reached up to the macaw and the bird climbed down onto his hand, bobbing its head side to side as it whistled and demanded more food. Ixtlil stroked its lower beak. "Are you in love with her?"
Cuauhtemoc glared at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"It's simply a question."
"It matters not what I feel, because she hates me."
"And you wish she didn't." Ixtlil chuckled. "I've never seen you so befuddled by a woman before."
"I'm not befuddled."
"What's so special about her that you'd permit her to upset you so?"
Cuauhtemoc hesitated, but he needed Ixtlil's advice more than he needed to keep the truth secret. "I saw her in the Black Lake."
Ixtlil returned the bird to its branch and turned his full attention to Cuauhtemoc. "Now that is something special."
"The chief of Potonchan would have given her to Cortés, and Cortés would have used her as a translator and diplomat when he came to Tenochtitlan. She would have shared everything she knew about us and our enemies with him, becoming his most trusted advisor, and without her, Cortés would have failed."
This time Ixtlil laughed without mirth. "She was a traitor?"
"Whoever she might have been is irrelevant; I'm more interested in what she is now. She could be an asset to us."
"How so?"
"She lived in Tlaxcala, right in the jaguar's den. She knows things that will help us formulate the perfect treaty, to bring them into the empire as allies."
Ixtlil shook his head. "Cuauhtemoc, you're a fool if you take her into your confidence. Once a traitor, always a traitor."
Cuauhtemoc cast his friend a piercing stare. "If so, then I've already been a fool for trusting you."
Ixtlil took a startled step backwards, running into the tree branch and making the macaw take flight. It landed on a higher perch and squawked at them. "What's that to mean?"
"I saw you in the Black Lake too; Motecuhzoma robbed you of your throne, to put someone he could control in charge of Texcoco, so you joined forces with Cortés, thinking he would get your throne back for you."
Color drained from Ixtlil's face. "No I didn't!"
Cuauhtemoc nodded. "Eventually you became king of Texcoco, but you were the last such ruler, as I was the last huey tlatoani of the Mexica."
Ixtlil looked as if he would retch. "Did I fight against you?"
"After Cortés came, we were enemies."
Covering his eyes, he muttered, "Dear gods, I was a traitor!"
Cuauhtemoc gripped his friend's shoulders with both hands. "Whatever might have happened doesn't matter; what does is who we are now, who we chose to become under the current circumstances. I believe Malinali can be trusted too, for the gods didn't tell me to kill either of you. It must mean they want all of us to be a part of building the future, together. We dodged the end of the world—a gift not to be taken lightly—so we can't continue down the same paths as before."
Ixtlil nodded. "That's why you want peace with Tlaxcala."
"I need peace before the next wave of Europeans land on our shores. Tlaxcala is the first step, and Malinali can help us accomplish that, if I can convince her that I'm not her enemy. Though after those accusations about me and Tecuichpo...." Cuauhtemoc shook his head. "It's exasperating."
Ixtlil nodded. "Speaking of exasperating women, I need to talk to you, about Xocotzin."
Cuauhtemoc had forgotten about his friend's sister's odd behavior. "Is she all right?"
"Your mother visited yesterday, seeking to tie your cape to Xocotzin's dress."
Now her unease made sense. "What did you say?"
"I told her I'd entertain the offer so long as any wedding waits until Xocotzin reaches the age of majority."
Cuauhtemoc let his breath go, relieved. "Thank you."
"I'm worried for my sister though." Ixtlil had an uncharacteristically stiff set to his jaw. "You know she's my favorite."
"Ixtlil—"
"I care about her happiness, and I must know you'll do better by her than you did by Tecuichpo. I must know you will treat her as a woman, not a child."
Cuauhtemoc nodded. "I made mistakes with Tecuichpo, but if I must marry Xocotzin, I will give her everything she's ever wanted. I give you my word."'
Ixtlil frowned. "If you must? What is wrong with my sister?"
Holding up his hands, Cuauhtemoc said, "Nothing is wrong with her. You know I've always been fond of her. It's...my failures as a husband weigh heavily on me, so I'm not eager to rush into possibly making them again. This is all very fast for me."
"Understandable." Ixtlil smiled again and clapped Cuauhtemoc on his cape-covered shoulder. "Xocotzin won't be ready for a while anyway, so use that time to take care of whatever it is that needs tending in your heart." He turned to head back to the palace but then added, "And whatever it is between you and Malinali, get that worked out of your body too."
"If only I knew how."
"You could always tell her the truth, about what the gods showed you, then maybe she'll run for her freedom," Ixtlil said with a laugh. "If she gets away, great, and if she doesn't...well, either way, your problem is solved."
Chapter Five
Cuauhtemoc hadn't told his guards where to take her, so they delivered Malinali to the prison courtyard where criminals waited for their trial before the city's domestic ruler, the Cihuacoatl. Lord Matlatzincatzin had fallen ill and wasn't visiting court, so with the wooden cages already full, the guards tethered her wooden collar to one of the bronze rings cemented into the walls. She crouched against the cooling plaster, avoiding the stares of the male prisoners who tossed crude remarks and laughter at her.
At sundown, a slave brought her half a tortilla, but it wasn't her empty stomach or the hard ground that kept her from sleeping. Her thoughtless words to Cuauhtemoc ate at her, and when she thought of that wonderful afternoon in Chapultepec—and all the trust he'd shown her—her guilt only burrowed deeper.
Sometime before dawn, one of Cuauhtemoc's personal guards untied her, and she followed numbly as he led her back inside the palace. "The huey tlatoani wishes to see you as soon as you've bathed and changed
your clothes," he said at the doorway to the slave quarters. "You're to bring his morning meal tray to the stone table in the royal garden."
She tiptoed to her small wicker clothes chest in the dormitory where she slept and dug a fresh dress out with trembling hands before making her way silently out into the bath yard. As she scrubbed with cold water and copal soap, she thought of that dreadful day when Acxotecatl had hit her, his eyes wild and as red as the blood running down his face from the slash she'd given him across the cheek. She'd almost dodged his first blow, and he broke his hand on her wooden collar after the second one missed her face. Would this be another of those days?
As she dried off, Xochitli tiptoed into the bath yard too. "What is going on?" she whispered, the concern thick in her voice. "Someone told me you were tied up in the prison yard all yesterday."
Up to now, Malinali had controlled her tears, but the fear in her friend's eyes broke her resolve. "I'm in serious trouble, Xochitli." She gratefully accepted an embrace and clung to her friend like a frightened child. "I don't know if I'm going to live to see the sun set today."
"What happened?"
Malinali squeezed her eyes shut. "I accused the huey tlatoani of killing Lady Tecuichpo, right to his face."
Xochitli gasped. "Why in the One World would you do that?"
Malinali shook her head. "I don't know, but I'm supposed to meet with him soon, to learn my punishment."
"Certainly he can't put you to death for that?"
"I'm his property, not a debt slave. He can do whatever he wants."
Xochitli snapped her mouth shut, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I'll hate him forever if he does."
Malinali slipped on her clean dress then ran a brush through her hair. "I should go, before I'm late."
"Promise you'll come see me afterwards...if you can."
"I promise."
¤
Malinali had never been to the private royal gardens before. They were used only by the royal family, but when she arrived, Cuauhtemoc wasn't there. Climbing vines covered the stone walls, and their fragrant white and purple flowers unfurled slowly in the day's first light. It was going to be another hot day, though she suspected her sweating came from the knot twisting in her stomach.
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