Chapter Fourteen
With the morning growing hot, Cuauhtemoc and Malinali met with the Tlaxcalan lords and their families in the palace entryway. The youngest children ran about in disorderly fashion, and with the plethora of young girls in attendance, Cuauhtemoc felt a momentary regret for having left Achicatl back home. She would have loved playing with them, he thought as one of the youngest toddled over to gaze up at him and showed him her maguey fiber doll, never saying a word. But seeing Acxotecatl giving Malinali a smug smile reminded him that this wasn’t any kind of safe haven.
For her part, Malinali avoided looking back at Acxotecatl. A young boy clung leech-like to Lady Ichtaca’s dress, hiding from everyone, though even then Cuauhtemoc saw the resemblance between him and Malinali. He cast his hard gaze at Acxotecatl, making the old man's smirk slip before nodding to him in greeting. Cuauhtemoc returned the gesture without smiling.
Xicotencatl led the tour while the others followed along. Lady Izel walked next to Malinali and they whispered as the group moved through the streets cleared ahead of them by guards. The city wasn't as large as Tenochtitlan, but it was filled with just as many neat adobe houses, all painted in bright colors. The public gardens were modest but the streets were clean and the market bustling. Though the city was interesting and beautiful in its own right, Cuauhtemoc was eager to get to the sacred precinct.
Tlaxcala's religious complex was only a fourth of the size of Tenochtitlan’s but its temples were well-tended. The group moved from temple to temple, but when they reached the main one—dedicated to Camaxtli, the patron god of Tlaxcala—Cuauhtemoc asked Xicotencatl, "Might I see the inside?"
"Of course, My Lord," Xicotencatl responded, ever the diplomat, while the other lords stiffened. Acxotecatl openly glared but said nothing as Cuauhtemoc and Xicotencatl climbed the stairs, the royal guards following discreetly. Malinali remained behind.
The small temple was built of sturdy stone and stucco, and sparsely furnished with a few reed mats and a stone idol of the god, dressed in a red heron-feathered headdress and clutching a bow and arrow in its right hand. A bowl holding a flint dagger sat in the palm of the left hand. The smell of old blood permeated the air, but Cuauhtemoc saw no signs of any. Two priests, painted with red and white stripes across their arms and legs, bowed when they entered.
Cuauhtemoc stopped in front of the statue. Camaxtli hadn't been among those gods he'd seen on the banks of the Black Lake, but perhaps the god would lend him guidance about Malinali. He reached for the knife but stopped, checking himself. "May I make an offering, to pay my respects?" he asked the priests.
"Of course, My Lord." The shorter of the two men bowed lower still.
Cuauhtemoc took the blade then slashed a shallow wound on his right palm. He knelt on the mat in front of the idol and bowed his head, his left hand staunching the blood flow of the other hand. Lord of the Hunt, Father of the Most Precious Twin, I beg your wisdom in my time of need. Give me a sign of what I must do; is Malinali part of our future, or is she a fugitive of fate that must be eradicated? Give me the courage to do what's best for my people even as my heart bleeds.
As he rose to leave, the priest handed him a cloth for his hand. "The god thanks you for your respect, My Lord," he murmured then backed away, head still bowed. Cuauhtemoc bowed in return then followed Xicotencatl outside into the stifling afternoon heat.
"You honor us with your offering, Revered Speaker," Xicotencatl said. "I thought the Mexica gave their devotion only to their war god."
"We make room for all the gods, great and small. We know of Camaxtli and he has a place in our sacred precinct. Huitzilopochtli doesn't exist alone in this world, after all."
"No, he doesn't." Xicotencatl paused at the stairs. "If we were to accept your peace accord, would your god come and supplant Camaxtli from his temple?"
"I'm not interested in such changes in Tlaxcala," Cuauhtemoc assured him. "I'd ask you find room for Huitzilopochtli in your temples, but we all have our chosen gods who’ve long served our cities and seen us through the difficult times."
Xicotencatl nodded solemnly. "I’m certain we could make room for Lord Huitzilopochtli in one of our temples." He then continued down the steps.
When Cuauhtemoc rejoined Malinali and she saw his bandaged hand, she reached for it but stopped, snapping her eyes shut as if chastising herself. "Are you all right?"
"Fine, My Lady. Only a little blood for the god of Tlaxcala."
Her cheeks flushed and she glanced cautiously around before whispering, "Please let me re-wrap your bandage. It’s too loose to stop the bleeding." When he nodded, she went to work quickly but with the deft care of someone used to not touching. A pang of sadness struck him; she probably would never fully escape the shadow of her past.
When she finished and smiled up at him, she looked at him the way she’d looked at Cortés in his dream. Except it was meant for him, not the Spanish Devil. He wanted to kiss her right then, and when he noticed Acxotecatl frowning at them, he nearly did it, just to spite the nosy old dog.
But the moment passed. She deserves love wrought of the fires of the heart, not of revenge. His own thoughts startled him. Such dangerous thinking when the gods might command you to kill her before the end of the day. Why had they waited so long to warn him? Couldn’t they have sent that dream the night he first met her, before his heart had time to turn traitor against him?
But he knew, as the huey tlatoani, that his decisions couldn't have much—if anything—to do with his own personal feelings. He wanted to crush Tlaxcala in the way neither his father nor any other emperor had ever done, if only to move himself out from under his father's sizeable shadow. But that wasn't in the best interests of the empire. He wanted to chop Acxotecatl's grinning head off his neck, but that would ruin everything he'd worked for this last month. His people's future, above anything else, had to come first.
And if that meant killing Malinali, he would do what he had to. But he wouldn't enjoy it; in fact, he knew he would never recover from it. But he would do it kindly, swiftly, so she felt nothing, so it would be as if going to sleep. I owe her that much. Though when he looked again to find her watching him so trustingly, for a breath he thought he might become ill.
She frowned. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." He swallowed back the bile and walked next to her as they followed Xicotencatl out again into the city.
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The final stop on the tour brought them to the military barracks. Warriors stood around in the practice yard, shooting arrows at targets painted in the shapes of men on thick wooden poles. They hurried into ranks when Xicotencatl's personal guards announced his arrival.
"Perhaps you'd care to partake in a little friendly competition?" Acxotecatl suggested to Cuauhtemoc after Xicotencatl finished pointing out everything in the yard. Acxotecatl took a bow and a quiver of arrows from one of the soldiers who'd been shooting. "Your prowess with a sword is legendary, but I've heard too that you're an excellent shot with the bow. Would you honor us with a demonstration of your skills?" He held out the bow and quiver.
Cuauhtemoc raised his bandaged hand. "I'm afraid my accuracy would be shaky at best, so forgive me, but I must decline. I don't wish anyone to get hurt."
Acxotecatl inclined his head, still smirking like a pleased ocelot. He shouldered the quiver himself and put an arrow to the bowstring. "If I might be so bold, allow me to show off my own skills."
"Of course." Cuauhtemoc matched his smile.
Acxotecatl drew the bow then, after a brief hesitation, he released. The arrow didn't go perfectly straight but it hit the target's shoulder. The next one hit the opposite shoulder and the third hit the target's left thigh. Once he finished the full quiver, he had a scattering of hits on the arms and legs, perfect grouping for capturing prisoners in Flowery War.
"Impressive," Cuauhtemoc acknowledged.
Acxotecatl held the bow out to him again. "You won't at least try?"
Cuauhtemoc chuckled th
en took the bow and quiver. "If it's true competition you desire, then I have the perfect person to match against you." He handed the equipment to Malinali.
Malinali took the bow and quiver, but when he smiled at her, she dropped her mouth open.
Acxotecatl scoffed. "What kind of uncouth woman shoots arrows as if she's a man?"
"Among Malintzin's people, every girl of royal blood learns to handle weapons, to prepare them for the days when they will rule and make war as any man might."
"Royal blood?" Acxotecatl barked with laughter.
"Certainly you aren't afraid of being bested by a woman, Acxotecatl?" Xicotencatl asked.
Acxotecatl's face darkened and he huffed, indignant, but when he saw his son peering expectantly up at him from Lady Ichtaca's side, he told Cuauhtemoc, "By all means, let's see My Lady's considerable skills."
When Cuauhtemoc turned to her, Malinali whispered, "What is the meaning of this?"
"Do what you do every time we go shooting." He took hold of her shoulders and maneuvered her to where Acxotecatl had stood.
"But why?"
"Because you will impress." He slipped the quiver over her shoulder then pulled an arrow from it and held it out to her. "Acxotecatl needs to see how good you are, so he'll stop watching you like he's a starving jaguar and you're a wounded rabbit."
She glanced over at Acxotecatl, who held the boy by his shoulders in front of him. The boy watched with wide-eyed excitement.
As she nocked the arrow, Cuauhtemoc leaned in close over her shoulder and whispered, "Imagine you're shooting at him." He then stepped away and rejoined the crowd.
She stared down the target, taking deep breaths. She slowly raised the bow and pulled the string tight, her gaze fixed down the arrow's shaft. When she finally shot, the arrow buried itself in the target's heart with a resounding thwunk.
Acxotecatl chuckled. "So much for taking a prisoner for the gods."
She glared at him. "Who said anything about taking prisoners?" She loaded another arrow and shot again, quicker this time. It struck the target directly between the eyes. She pulled arrow after arrow and shot it, the look on her face growing increasingly furious as the arrows struck, piercing the liver, the lungs, the throat, and finally the small space between the groin and the thigh, where a man could bleed to death in a matter of breaths.
She still had one more arrow left, but when she loaded it, she hesitated, watching Acxotecatl from the corner of her eye. Anger and loathing oozed off her.
She's going to shoot him! Part of Cuauhtemoc cheered—it wasn't anything more than the old dog deserved—but in that same breath he saw everything they'd worked for washed away. And Malinali would die when Acxotecatl's guards rushed to avenge their master. Should I step between them? It wouldn't save anything if he took the arrow, for he would certainly die and his guards would still kill Malinali, and all-out war would soon break out between Tlaxcala and the Triple Alliance, both sides pointing fingers and vowing revenge. Was this how it all ended? Was this the path sparing Malinali led them down?
You asked Camaxtli for a sign, didn't you? His only choice was to disarm Malinali himself.
But before he could move, she let the last arrow fly. It hit the target in the face, at an angle that sent it skittering off to the right, leaving an ugly gash in the wood. Much like the scar on Acxotecatl's cheek. When she lowered the bow and stared at the target, Cuauhtemoc finally breathed, his heart thudding so hard he was dizzy. When she handed him the bow, he read the frustration and grief even as she avoided meeting his gaze, and he shriveled up inside. He had sorely misjudged her.
Xicotencatl came to Cuauhtemoc's side. "Your Cihuacoatl's talents are vast, Revered Speaker. Are you certain she's not Tlaxcalan? Our women are as much warriors as their men, and Lady Malintzin is a warrior if I've ever seen one."
"She certainly is." Cuauhtemoc wanted to break decorum and set his hand on her arm and give it a gentle squeeze. Judging from the hitching rise and fall of her shoulders, she was losing the battle to fight back tears. "If we're done with the tour, I could use a rest and a bath before tonight’s feast," he suggested, desperate to get her back to the privacy of her quarters.
"The heat is particularly bad today." Xicotencatl squinted up at the sun behind his hand. "We walked quite far and I'm certain everyone could use some rest."
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On the way back to the palace, Malinali struggled to stay upright and not fall apart in front of everyone, and Cuauhtemoc walked slightly behind her, as if to catch her if she did. But she made it all the way back to her room with a smile pasted on her face. As soon as the guards closed the curtain on her room though, she dropped onto the bed, unable to stand another moment.
"May I come in?" Cuauhtemoc asked.
"If you wish."
When he came over to the bed, he took off his eagle feather headdress and set it atop one of her wicker clothes chests. He remained standing though, looking oddly ashamed. "For a moment, I thought you might take a shot at Acxotecatl there in the archery yard." He chuckled, but tension underlay his jovial tone.
Malinali covered her face with both hands. "I'm sorry. I know I should let it go...."
"Then you were—"
"I thought about it. I so wanted to; the dog deserves it." She squeezed her eyes against stinging tears. "He probably thought he was so clever with his surprise last night...."
When Cuauhtemoc finally sat down next to her, a wave of fury followed him. "What did he do to you?"
"Nothing." She couldn't risk him doing something rash in a misplaced need to defend her.
"If you're crying, it's not nothing."
"Compared to what's at stake here, it is. Whatever personal slight he might make, whatever thorn he might stab in my backside, it doesn't matter. The future we're trying to create is more important, and I won't let Acxotecatl make it harder for us. Especially over petty, personal things. So yes, I thought about shooting him where he stood grinning at me so smugly, but that wouldn't help anyone; killing him won't change the past, won't erase my pain, and would only cause even more suffering, for so many." Nor could she stand the thought of killing Acxotecatl in front of Nauyotl; he might not think of her as his mother, but she'd rather he didn't know her as his father's murderer.
The uncertainty that had clouded Cuauhtemoc's eyes since that morning melted away now and he reached down to touch her cheek with his bandaged hand. He didn't say anything, only smiled, joy and adoration in his gaze. He winced slightly and for a moment, she thought he might shed some tears of his own.
His hand must be painful. She sat up and took it in her own. "Let me clean your hand and put a fresh bandage on it." Without waiting for his answer, she hurried out to the bath yard and filled a bowl with water and sprinkled crushed flower petals in it, for pain reliever.
When she returned to the room, she found him examining his unwrapped wound. He didn't cringe or wince as she cleaned the cut with a wet rag; it was shallow and would heal quickly. She tied a clean bandage around it, but when she looked at him, he leaned over and kissed her.
She'd desperately missed his touch, the deliberate, insistent signs of desire and intimacy. She'd longed for his firm hands and hungry mouth for days, and now that she had them again, it seemed months since last he'd kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, hissing in contentment when his weight forced her down onto the blankets.
He kissed her harder, grinding his hips against hers, feeding the fire growing inside her. She tried to clench him between her thighs but her knees met resistance from her dress. She fumbled with the fabric, trying to push it up out of the way, but they had to separate to accomplish it. He pushed the dress up around her hips then gathered her freed legs around him. A soft moan escaped her lips as he thrust himself against her with the hard knot of his loincloth.
She slid her hands under his cloak, dragging her fingernails down his bare back to his hips. When she pushed at his loincloth, he rolled onto his side, so she could tu
g at the knot. He finally broke their kiss, to work her undergarment down off her hips with his one good hand. His trailing fingers made her abdomen jolt with sensitivity. He chuckled, watching her struggle under his light touch.
She laughed in triumph when she finally tossed his length of cloth to the side. "Two can play torture games, My Lord." She brushed her fingernails over his erect tepolli so gently.
He smiled back challengingly but eventually he grabbed her hand and pinned it to the bed above her head. He only spoke after calming his now ragged breath. "I hope you find my own torments as wonderful." He kissed her again. "No moving until I say so," he whispered in her ear, then moved his mouth down her neck, towards her shoulders, then to her breasts.
There was something distinctly erotic about lying back and letting him do as he wished, particularly when what he wanted was to pleasure her. She kept her hands tangled in the blankets above her head, leaving her body stretched out, her eyes closed, the better to focus on the sensation of his tongue on her hot skin, the brush of his feathered cloak on her belly, his good hand resting enticingly on her inner thigh, pulling and kneading her flesh.
But after teasing her breasts with tongue and teeth, he moved lower, to her abdomen, to her hips. He kissed her the whole way, squeezing her leg with more and more insistence. The anticipation and bewilderment grew Unbearable as he moved still farther down. "What are you doing?" she finally blurted out.
"Patience. I'm not done tormenting you yet." He pushed her legs apart with deliberate slowness then kissed her inner thigh, but she bit back a surprised gasp when he moved his mouth to the middle of her, his tongue caressing her in the most unthinkable of places.
It was a given that men enjoyed being orally pleasured—and she'd been made to do it often enough that she doubted she could ever trust a man enough to freely offer it herself—but the other way around? It was embarrassingly disgusting at first glance....
But then the anxiety gave way to blossoming pleasure. She chanced a peek down at him—and he looked so very serious as he performed his work—but that brought the wave rising with unexpected intensity. He'd told her not to move but that was impossible as her body rang like a copper bell, the world melting away around her. She bit her lip hard to keep from crying aloud.
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