Fugitives of Fate

by Morganfield, T. L.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lady Ichtaca wasn't with the other women when Malinali arrived in the atrium; a much-needed relief. After a few hours of weaving and friendly chatter with the other women—particularly Lady Izel—her anxiety rested, and it stayed asleep when everyone gathered in the exercise yard to watch Cuauhtemoc demonstrate his horsemanship with the gelding.

  "It's a very majestic creature, isn't it?" Lady Izel told Malinali as several slaves led the sleek yellow horse to Cuauhtemoc by the reigns.

  Malinali watched Cuauhtemoc slide his robe off his shoulders, into the hands of his waiting body servants. He wore only a finely-embroidered loincloth under it and the sight of his tight, solid abdomen—cut like limestone blocks—made her sweat even more than the summer heat. "Majestic indeed," she murmured, watching him mount up and trot the horse around the yard in a circle, giving it basic commands to show off the beast's intelligence. In Chapultepec, he always rode relaxed and casual, but now he sat confident and regal in the saddle, a general ready to charge into battle; this was the man who'd taken the beach at Potonchan, the man the warriors idolized and loved, and she wanted him all the more.

  They met again at sundown outside the great hall, where Cuauhtemoc and Xicotencatl were talking before the evening feasts. Xicotencatl bowed when Malinali approached. "As Cuauhtemoc's future Cihuacoatl, you're of course welcome to join the rest of us in the great hall, but my wife tells me that she's put together a small feast in your honor, in the council room."

  It was extremely rare for women to feast with men on these kinds of occasions—and she very much wanted to be near Cuauhtemoc again—but Lady Izel had spoken excitedly all evening about entertaining the first woman Cihuacoatl, and seeing her waiting anxiously at the entrance to the secondary hall solidified Malinali's decision. "I'm honored by the invitation, My Lord, but I'd hate to disappoint your wife. It's no small feat putting on a feast with only a few hours' notice."

  Xicotencatl smiled. "She will be most pleased; she lives for these kinds of duties." He turned to Cuauhtemoc. "Shall we go sit?"

  "I'll come in a moment." Cuauhtemoc waited for Xicotencatl to go inside before asking Malinali, "Your day was all right then?"

  "It was wonderful." She so wanted to pull him close for a kiss but had to content herself with just imagining it.

  "No troubles with Acxotecatl?"

  Malinali gave him a sideways glance. Had Tenoch violated her orders and told him anyway? "Why do you ask?"

  "He was gone for a while this afternoon; far longer than it should take even an old man to piss." He looked inside the great hall, searching—no doubt for Acxotecatl. "Forgive me, but I don't trust him."

  "I appreciate your concern, but you give him far too much credit."

  He chuckled. "Then I'm being overbearing?"

  She reached to touch his hand, to reassure him, but caught herself. "It's nice to have someone who cares."

  "I most definitely care." His gaze was a lover's caress, and she cursed all these stupid rules that kept them from just returning to their quarters now, to indulge in a feast of their own.

  As a drumbeat started up inside the great hall, Cuauhtemoc said, "If you have any trouble—"

  "I’ll be fine." Feeling wickedly daring, she stepped closer. "Will you come to my quarters tonight, after the feast?"

  He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "Will you serve me chocolate?"

  "Or perhaps something even better."

  He bared his teeth with a smile. "I look forward to it." He casually brushed his hand against hers as he walked past her into the great hall, leaving her heart thudding drunkenly. She watched him until he sat next to Xicotencatl, then shook off the swelling desire and joined Izel at the other doorway.

  Malinali had served at numerous women’s feasts while she was a slave, but she'd never been a guest at one, so it felt strange to be offered the washing dish and a garland of flowers to wear around her neck. At least fifty noble women sat on the mats on the floor, each greeting her with smiles and kind words while everyone waited for the food service. She recognized some faces among the servants, but thankfully no one remembered her. The savory aroma of roasted turkey and chile peppers filled the hall, bringing Malinali's stomach to a rumble.

  Acxotecatl's wife wasn’t there, though when Malinali asked where she was, Lady Izel said, "She had something to do before coming."

  Malinali had hoped maybe Ichtaca was ill and wouldn't attend—especially given her husband’s ominous warning—but just as the servants began bringing out the food, the lady arrived with a cloud of handmaidens hovering about her. She'd been middling in age when Malinali last saw her, but the intervening years had proved harsher on her than on her husband; she wore her hair pulled tight, to stretch the skin around her eyes, and she’d filled in the remaining wrinkles with thick face powder. Yet her expression exuded an unexpected radiance. Malinali nodded politely and murmured a greeting when Lady Izel introduced them.

  But Malinali's breath caught when she noticed the young boy holding Ichtaca’s skirt; her own eyes peered back at her, curious and shy. My Ollin?

  "Nauyotl, this is Lady Malintzin. She will be the first female Cihuacoatl of the Mexica." Izel beamed with excitement.

  Nauyotl said nothing, but smiled shyly.

  Malinali struggled for words, trying to think of something that might trigger a long buried memory for him, but she managed only to whisper, "Hello."

  He grinned wider then buried his face in Ichtaca’s skirt. Ichtaca laughed then excused them.

  Malinali watched them go, her chest throbbing in agony. "He’s so handsome," she muttered, tears choking her.

  "He certainly didn’t get it from his mother," one of the other wives said behind her hand, giggling. Malinali reddened, suddenly remembering she wasn’t sitting alone.

  Izel cast a scathing glare at the other woman, who promptly sobered. When a servant knelt next to her with a bowl of chile sauce, she dipped her rolled-up tortilla in it. "How many children do you have, My Lady?"

  "I'm not married." Malinali bit her tongue when the rest of the women looked at her aghast. "I was, but he died of the pox, and unfortunately every time the gods saw fit to bless us, they took that blessing back before the baby was born."

  The other women all frowned, sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that," Izel said.

  "I heard Lady Ichtaca had that same trouble for the longest time," one of the other wives whispered. "But she never gave up hope. We were all certain she was going to miscarry yet again when she was pregnant with Nauyotl, but the gods finally smiled on her. So there is always hope."

  Malinali's insides curled. Ichtaca claimed to have given birth to her son? True, the lady had been with child at the same time, but everyone knew she was going to miscarry yet again. Had the timing of Malinali's own labor provided an opportunity for Acxotecatl and his wife to hide the truth and finally provide an heir for the throne? The midwife had harangued Malinali into walking up and down the hallway for hours, trying to get her pains started and moving quicker....

  "I would have to be married again before that could happen," Malinali replied, pushing the anger aside. "And who's going to marry a woman so old?"

  The other women nodded again, conceding the unfortunate truth. "I don't suppose you'll have the necessary time for such complications once you're named Cihuacoatl," Izel said. "If it's not impertinent to ask, how did you come to Cuauhtemoc's attention?"

  This was one question that she and Cuauhtemoc had formulated a story for. "Cuauhtemoc has been making overtures to a good many of the southern tribes, my father's among them. Where I come from, women can inherit power and rule, so he sent me to Tenochtitlan to negotiate an alliance with Cuauhtemoc on his behalf. Apparently I impressed the huey tlatoani with my political savvy."

  Once the others went back to their other conversations, Izel leaned closer to Malinali. "Forgive my saying so, but I'm certain he was taken in by more than your charismatic speaking abilities." When Malinali cas
t her a questioning look, she hid her grin with her hand. "I think Cuauhtemoc finds you quite fetching as well. He looks at you as if in love. And he is without a wife right now."

  Her cheeks flaring, Malinali stammered, "He's betrothed, but even if he wasn't...I'm only a minor princess from a very small Maya village. I'm no one important enough to marry a huey tlatoani."

  "Forgive me, but being the Cihuacoatl of the Mexica is not insignificant, politically speaking. If I had a son old enough to marry, I might suggest a match for you myself, but my eldest will only be old enough to start attending the calmecac come winter. If this alliance goes through, my husband might suggest a betrothal between Cuauhtemoc's daughter and our son to cement the agreement. She's what, seven or eight summers old now?"

  "Seven."

  "That would be perfect. He's almost nine. And she would be Queen of Tlaxcala eventually. Do you think the huey tlatoani would be open to such an arrangement?"

  "I could bring it up to him." All this talk of marriage and children made Malinali glance over at Ichtaca and Nauyotl again. The last time she’d seen her son, he’d screamed as Acxotecatl wrestled him from her arms. Now he was a beautiful young boy, full of smiles and looking every bit as she imagined Acxotecatl might have looked when he was a child. She’d always wondered, if he resembled his father in any way, would she be unable to help but loath him?

  Now all she wanted was to hug him and tell him the truth. But what if he asked why I didn’t come back for him? Certainly her dreams of acquiring her freedom so she could reclaim him would be dim excuses. Nor did she want him to know that eventually she’d tried to forget him, so she wouldn’t hurt anymore. I should have found some way—any way—to get him back.

  And just when she was positive she couldn’t feel any worse, after the meal, Nauyotl sang some of Nezahualcoyotl’s poems, as well as some by local poets. He finished by singing an endearing poem about hunting deer with his father and how his mother made his favorite loincloth from the skin. Her son’s unexpected talent almost brought Malinali to proud tears, yet her heart cracked when he dove into Lady Ichtaca’s arms and professed his love for her.

  Whatever she might have wished for meant nothing. Nauyotl already had a mother, and it never would be her.

  ¤

  Cuauhtemoc usually enjoyed feasts, even when they were humble affairs such as this one, but Acxotecatl's constant laughter ground at him. A big change since earlier. At least the old man wasn't engaging him in conversation, leaving the entertaining to Xicotencatl, which was fine with him. Xicotencatl was an amicable and interesting man.

  But despite the good conversation, his mind kept wandering to Malinali, and her invitation. Each course of the meal went slower than the one before, and as the hours dragged on, he wondered if he could beg off the after-dinner pipes, claiming exhaustion from his travels. But he prided himself on his self-control, and strong, honorable men didn't lie to satisfy their urges. He would be a rock, and cement his friendship with Xicotencatl for the good of the empire.

  By the time the evening’s festivities finally ended, it was well past midnight, and exhaustion pecked at the corners of his attention. Sleep sounded better than sex, so he hurried to the guest quarters, determined not to waste the desire he'd built up all night.

  But when he parted the curtain on Malinali's room, he found her asleep. He frowned, annoyed and frustrated, but that turned to concern when he saw the tearstains on her cheeks reflected in the firelight from the hearth. She's been crying, he realized, sinking onto the bed next to her. Should I wake her, to find out what's wrong? But the longer he watched her, the less certain he became. She was sleeping soundly, temporarily free from whatever troubled her. Let her sleep.

  But it didn't mean he couldn't stay the night with her. He went to his own room to let his body servants wash and dress him in his sleep xicolli, but then he returned to Malinali's quarters. Careful not to wake her handmaiden sleeping on the mat outside the door, he slipped past the curtain then under the blankets and snuggled behind Malinali. She stirred, muttering in a sleep-addled mumble but then fell still again, her breath steadying. He kissed the back of her neck, his own body reacting to the heat seeping through the thin fabric of her nightdress, but she still didn't wake. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her hair, his limbs growing heavy as sleep crept up on him.

  ¤

  Cuauhtemoc woke to the songs of birds out in the bath yard. Malinali lay with her back to him, her steady breath reminding him of the droning of bees on a lazy summer day. When he nestled against her, he realized neither of them wore anything and his desire burned anew. He slid his hands down her body, pulling her hips against him, stoking his arousal. "Wake up, my precious flower." He kissed her exposed neck as he methodically ground his waist against hers. "I’m desperate for your touch."

  She turned to smile at him. "I thought you’d never ask."

  But her eyes weren’t eyes; he saw himself reflected in polished obsidian mirrors, and in them played the fiery, terrifying vision he’d seen years ago in the Black Lake in Mictlan; Spanish soldiers sweeping over the city, burning everything as they tore through house after house, searching for gold. Cortés sat upon Tlazocozcatl's back, splendid in his shining armor, his tangled beard lending him a bear-like quality. He pointed his sword and barked orders as his men and his Tlaxcalan allies butchered old men and shoved aside women clinging to their children.

  Malinali rode next to him atop a brown mare, gazing upon the Spaniard with adoration and devotion. She was younger than now—and pregnant, judging from the curve of her dress—but Cuauhtemoc would recognize her intense eyes anywhere. No mercy on invaders or traitors alike, a disembodied voice rumbled in the distance, like the first cough of a volcano. For they shall show you none. The flesh on Cuauhtemoc’s neck prickled in alarm.

  He awoke with a start and flinched when he saw Malinali asleep next to him. Panic made him jerk away from her. His heart slowed as he looked around and realized he'd been dreaming, but he couldn’t look at her without the vision filling his head. Were the gods trying to talk to him again, trying to warn him about unresolved dangers? Should I have killed her the moment I found her alive? What about Ixtlil? The voice had been very clear about traitors.

  Cuauhtemoc slunk out of bed, but in his hurry, his foot hit one of the wicker clothing chests against the wall near the bed, spilling the neatly folded dresses out onto the floor. He quickly gathered the clothing and stuffed it back into the basket, watching for signs he'd woken her, but her chest rose and fell with serene predictability. He slipped out of the room and back to his own quarters, to sit in the steam bath and hopefully drive away the sick pit in his stomach.

  ¤

  Once the servants left them to their tortillas and atole in Malinali's quarters, she tried striking up conversation, but Cuauhtemoc was distracted and aloof. She vaguely recalled him coming to her bed, but he was gone once she woke this morning. Is he angry about last night? You did invite him to your bed, only to fall asleep again before making good on your promise.

  She hadn't wanted to cry herself to sleep, but after seeing Nauyotl and realizing the true acuteness of her loss, she couldn't help the tears. She'd hoped Cuauhtemoc would come, so she could cry in his arms and he could assure her that everything would be all right, that he loved her and he'd help her forget the pain for the night in shared pleasure, but now a chilly disappointment rested between them. It stung her to think he could hold such a grudge.

  But when she noticed him watching the food taster extra carefully, she finally asked, "Is everything all right?"

  "It’s fine." He still didn't look at her, nor touch his food once the taster finished.

  Malinali hesitated to eat her own food despite her rumbling stomach. "Are you not hungry?"

  He finally looked up at her, mistrust in his eyes. "Aren’t you hungry?" he countered, finally picking up his tortilla. He dipped it in honey then downed half of it in one bite. He watched her closely.

  Heat
rose up her cheeks. What in the One World— But when she noticed the disheveled basket behind him, her stomach sank. Did he find your medicine bag? With being so busy the last few days, she'd completely forgotten about the love potion, or that she'd stuffed it in that basket back in Texcoco. She looked away and instead picked up her own tortilla and dipped it into the bowl as well. "I'm worried about you. You seem upset." She coughed when her voice broke.

  He averted his eyes again. Strange, since that was normally her game. "I didn’t sleep well. Probably ate too much last night. How was the feast?"

  She wanted to tell him about her son—and apologize for disappointing him—but it wasn't a serious question. There might as well have been another person in the room to whom he was listening to intently, for all the attention he paid her, so she answered in kind. "Splendid, thank you."

  Cuauhtemoc remained aloof and silent the rest of the meal, so Malinali breathed a sigh of relief when he went to the bath yard to wash up before they embarked on their tour of the city. Finally the perfect opportunity to move her medicine bag to a better hiding place. She dug it out of the clothes basket—looking over her shoulder to watch for him—then she lifted the reed mats at the side of her bed. She set the bag down, smoothed it as flat as the powder allowed, then she reset the mat. Though if he’s already found it, it’ll look suspicious that I moved it, and then what will I tell him when he asks? Her stomach felt like a rabbit in a snare. She needed to dispose of the potion.

  Hearing his sandals on the stone in the bath yard, she hurried to the door, so it looked as if she was waiting for him. "Ready?"

  Cuauhtemoc smiled, but his posture betrayed his tension. "Ready."