Fugitives of Fate

by Morganfield, T. L.

  "You moved," he chastised her.

  She gave him a winded smile, panting. "It's your fault."

  He lifted her hips with both hands then slowly slid himself into her. She moaned softly as he pushed in further and further, stretching her tensed muscles. He leaned over her, kissing her collarbone, each new thrust bringing him closer to her until his body covered her like a favorite blanket. She'd always associated face-to-face sex with entrapment and domination, so it surprised her how much the weight of his body thrilled her; he enveloped and sheltered her, blocking out the rest of the world so it was only the two of them, everything else forgotten, nothing else mattering.

  Her body thirsted for more of that mysteriously painful pleasure, grew impatient for it even, and while Cuauhtemoc's rhythmic thrusting felt wonderful, the bridge to building the intensity was gone.

  She thought to wait for him to realize what she needed, but he'd buried his face in her hair, lost in his own body's sensations, his breath hard and hot against her neck. Let him have that. She slid her own hand down between them, searching out that sensitive spot he'd found so easily. And there it is. The delicious tension built slowly again. How could she have not known about this before?

  But when he suddenly rose to his knees, exposing what she was doing, she withdrew, embarrassed. He caught her hand, though, and guided it back. "Don't stop," he said, his voice heavy with desire, his eyes intense. "I want to watch."

  Her cheeks still burning, she moved her fingers tentatively, but the self-consciousness flitted away as the sensations of warmth and promise uncurled deep inside her. Cuauhtemoc lifted her hips onto his lap, gripping them firmly as he thrust harder and deeper. The spicy smell of his skin prickled her senses, the press of his fingers on her flesh nurturing the growing throb of heat and desire deep inside her. This time she allowed herself to cry out when the tension broke, shaking her to her core. Anticipation of him releasing himself inside her brought a new mounting wave of rushing pleasure....

  Except that he pulled out just as the wave hit and instead mashed his body against hers, spilling himself on her belly with a hissing shudder. She gripped him tight as he quivered in her arms, his face buried in her hair, his breath hot and ragged on her neck. She stroked his damp hair and shoulders, scolding herself for the irrational disappointment she felt. At least one of us has the good sense to not get completely lost in this. He respected your wishes, which is more than any man has ever done for you, so be content. Malinali hugged him tighter.

  Once he'd regained his breath, he pulled the bowl of water and the rag over and cleaned her sweat-slicked skin. It hadn't seemed so hot in the midst of passion, but now the heat was stifling. Once he finished, she cleaned him up with the cool rag, too, then they stretched on the bed, holding each other. Out in the bath yard, birds chirped as they splashed and swam in the water jar.

  Malinali traced lazy fingers over Cuauhtemoc's sword scar, watching him drowse off to contented sleep. "I love you," she whispered. She'd tossed such words around carelessly when she was young and foolish, and there was nothing worse than the awkward silence that had always come after, so she couldn’t imagine telling him if he was awake. But it felt wonderful to do so, no matter how foolish it was to feel so deeply for him.

  But Cuauhtemoc pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. "And I love you, my precious flower."

  She didn’t move, her heart thudding in her ears. Only her father had ever said such words to her. She squeezed her eyes against the tears but couldn’t contain them all. She wiped them away with the back of her hand then buried her face in his shoulder.

  He said nothing, but held her tighter and stroked her hair until she finally fell asleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Cuauhtemoc had asked the gods for a sign of what he should do, he hadn't expected something so firm and obvious, and now he felt foolish for letting a dream make him second guess his own good sense, and Malinali's intentions. She was what the empire needed right now...and what he needed.

  The morning sun was well above the bath yard wall, but Malinali remained curled up against his side, her head tucked under his outstretched arm. Today the lords of Tlaxcala were debating and discussing the peace treaty, so he and Malinali were free to do anything they wanted, but after the late feasting and another lovemaking session in the early hours, he thought it best to let her sleep. He was ready to rise, but he didn't want to disturb her and so lay staring up at the sunlit ceiling, working up a plan to convince her to come home with him once this diplomatic mission ended.

  You could actually name her your next Cihuacoatl; there isn't any law against it, and she's already convincing people of it. She would make an excellent one. She would need her noble title returned to her; he could confer a noble title on anyone at any time, but it would be better to return Malinali's rightful throne to her. Then she could bring her village into the empire and perhaps convince the neighboring villages to join her. Her mother and stepfather had to be brought to justice for their part in her enslavement.

  But he'd also have to convince the Triple Alliance Council that she was the best choice for Tenochtitlan's Cihuacoatl; he could theoretically choose whomever he wanted, but his choice could lose him the support of the Council, so he needed their approval. She's convinced three Tlaxcalan lords—the fourth is beyond convincing of anything positive about her—so certainly she will impress the Council too. He could count on Ixtlil's vote—he'd been the one to suggest it after all—and hopefully he could rely on the other cihuacoatls to help convince the remaining Council members that she was worthy.

  Cuauhtemoc drew his arm around her and gave her a gentle squeeze. She stirred, and when she raised her chin, she slowly smiled. He kissed the top of her head. "Sleep well?"

  "Exceedingly." She stretched catlike, splaying her fingers across his chest, sending a desirous shiver through him as he feathered his gaze over her naked body. For a breath he contemplated pulling her back down and making love to her again, but she soon rose and disappeared behind the wooden screens of the bath yard. When she returned, unabashed by her nakedness as she leaned over her wicker clothes chest, he propped himself up on his side. "What if I asked you to really become my next Cihuacoatl?"

  She paused, her dress suddenly forgotten in her hand. "Can you do that...I mean appoint a woman?"

  "I can appoint whomever I want, and I want you." He left the bed to hug her from behind, and she arched her back against him, hiding her chest behind the dress, a flush to her cheeks that made him smile. "I'll have to convince the Council to accept you, but that's only a minor detail. Once they see you in action, there will be only one question: do you want the position?"

  She hesitated—making him fear she was having second thoughts—but then she returned his smile. "You really think I'm the right one?"

  He kissed her neck. "It's the title you were destined to hold."

  ¤

  They spent the morning in bed, but after the noon meal, Cuauhtemoc suggested a cool bath to wash away the day's heat before attending a ritual ball game with the other members of their delegation.

  Malinali had never been to a Tlachtli match, for Tecuichpo hadn't held any interest in such sports, so Cuauhtemoc spent the first few moments explaining the rules and commenting on the skills of the players. Eventually his attention focused on the game, so she watched for a while as the men below her bounced a maroon rubber ball off their knees and hips, doing their best to avoid fouling by touching it with their hands or feet. They kept trying to bounce it through the stone ring at the top of the wall below the royal box where the Triple Alliance delegation sat, but Malinali eventually tired of the spectacle and turned to talking to Xochitli while her friend kept her cup full of water to stave off the heat.

  "I haven't much love for the game myself," Xochitli confided to her when she accompanied her to the bath yard reserved for the game's royal attendees. "My father was an avid watcher and he lost a lot gambling on the games. He owed a great deal to
a merchant who supplied the huey tlatoani's featherwork, but he had no need of more slaves so he sold my father's debt to Cuauhtemoc, and that's how I ended up serving in the palace."

  "Your father should have been the one working off the debt," Malinali told her as she washed her hands in the bowl of flowered water.

  "I'd rather my father remained free to support the family, so my mother and my younger brother don't go hungry. I wish I got to see them more often though; they left Tenochtitlan two years ago."

  "They left you behind?"

  Xochitli shrugged. "If it keeps my father from gambling, then it's a good move. I know where they are, so I can find them once I've finished paying off the debt."

  "I couldn't imagine ever going back to my parents, but then they never intended me to come back."

  "What do they matter anyway?" Xochitli dried off Malinali's hands for her. "You have a new family."

  Malinali cocked her head, confused. "New family?"

  "Cuauhtemoc, I mean." Xochitli glanced around, checking to make certain they were still alone. "It's one thing for a man to fool around with his slaves, but a completely different matter for him to take a free woman to bed. You're going to join his household now, aren't you?"

  "We haven't discussed it."

  "Perhaps you should bring it up."

  Malinali shook her head. "I can't be a concubine, not even to a huey tlatoani. Not that there's anything shameful in being one, but...once I officially take up the mantle of the Cihuacoatl, that would completely undermine my power and influence, not only with the Council, but with the very people I serve. I'm taking a man's position, and no man would tolerate being one of many kept men in a woman's household. If I want to be taken seriously, I can't accept that either."

  "Well, then maybe you could marry him—"

  "He's already betrothed, and there's no way he would break faith with his best friend over me."

  Xochitli nodded sadly. "It's a pity, for his daughter adores you."

  Malinali hadn’t thought of Achicatl since the first night's feast, or her promise to speak to Cuauhtemoc about a betrothal. "She is a dear thing," she conceded.

  When she returned to her feathered mat in the royal box, she leaned towards Cuauhtemoc. "There's something I need to speak to you about."

  "Oh?" He didn’t look away from the game though until she mentioned Achicatl. "What about her?"

  "Lady Izel brought up the prospects of a betrothal, between the princess and her son, as part of the peace process. I told her I would discuss it with you."

  He didn’t say anything as he turned his gaze back to the ball court where the players were scrambling after a wildly hit ball. "I must admit that I have...mixed feelings about betrothing her to anyone while she’s still so young. Who even knows what kind of man this boy will grow into? If he’s even half as pompous and self-aggrandizing as my brothers were...well, I’ll see him in Mictlan before I allow him to marry my daughter."

  Malinali nodded. "Achicatl deserves someone who will treat her well and make her happy."

  Cuauhtemoc chuckled. "She wouldn’t tolerate someone who wouldn’t. She's strong-willed and opinionated, and has her own ideas about what she wants and deserves." With a grin, he added, "She reminds me of you."

  Malinali's cheeks flushed.

  Cuauhtemoc sighed. "I suppose a betrothal would eventually see Achicatl as the Queen of Tlaxcala, and if she's even half as willful as you, that would mean more influence for the Triple Alliance; exactly what we need here in Tlaxcala." He nodded then, after a pause, he added, "I shall speak with Lord Xicotencatl about it when the time is right."

  "Lady Izel shall be pleased. She was very excited about the prospect."

  "And how exactly did this discussion come up?"

  "Well, as women are want to do, she thoroughly questioned me about my own marriage and what happened to my non-existent husband and explaining my lack of children—"

  "I'm sorry. I should have anticipated such questions and helped you come up with a cover story."

  Malinali shrugged. "It didn't matter. The subject quickly turned to you and your current marital status." When Cuauhtemoc raised an eyebrow, she added, "But don't worry. I informed them that you're already betrothed to King Ixtlilxochitl's sister. That's when Lady Izel mentioned her son and Achicatl, and, well...here we are."

  Cuauhtemoc looked contemplative. "I'm sorry all this fell upon you. Normally my wife would negotiate such matters."

  "But you haven't one yet, and such arrangements must be made, so don't worry. I don't mind." Malinali accepted a cup of water from Xochitli and turned her attention back to the game as the crowd broke out into cheers and chants when one of the players finally put the ball through the stone ring. She was glad to not be looking at Cuauhtemoc right now, with all the questions in her heart about their future together. But she also hoped that when she finally gained the courage to look back at him again, he would have read the pain in her reaction and would know how to fix it.

  But when she looked back, his attention was once again fixated on the game as it got back underway.

  ¤

  When they returned from the Tlachtli match, an invitation to dine with the noblewomen awaited Malinali, but the lords were still deep in debate and were expected to be for much of the night. Xicotencatl's steward extended his lord's apologies and told Cuauhtemoc he was welcome to dine with the city's nobles in the great hall if he wanted for company. But Cuauhtemoc declined and instead went to the archery range, to shoot some arrows and clear his head about his conversation with Malinali that afternoon.

  When he'd mentioned her doing a wife's duties, something had flashed in her eyes—a longing, or maybe an annoyance, he couldn't tell; sometimes she became as impenetrable as black smoke, an ability that undoubtedly served her very well when she was a slave. It would be a while still before she trusted him enough to let that barrier between them blow away.

  If you took her for your legitimate wife, that would go a long way to accomplishing that. But that was a foolish fancy. He was committed to marrying Ixtlil's sister, had paid the dowry, and the priests had written the wedding date down in the official codices. To back out now would gravely offend his best friend and create a rift between the two most powerful members of the Triple Alliance. Such petty, selfish conflicts would have ended the empire had he not intervened, and he wouldn't make those same mistakes going forward. Even if it cost him his happiness.

  His hand was still tender from yesterday's cut, but not so much that he couldn't pull his bow string. He emptied his quiver quickly. One guard jogged over to retrieve the arrows while the other kept watch as Cuauhtemoc mulled over the anxiety churning in his gut, as if something unpleasant was about to happen.

  One of his guards clicking his tongue in warning brought Cuauhtemoc's mind leaping back to the moment, but when he looked to where his guard was staring, he saw two boys and their guards come into the yard, both armed with bows and quivers. The second guard closed in around Cuauhtemoc too.

  Finally seeing him, one of the boys started but then bowed. "Revered Speaker." The second boy—whom Cuauhtemoc recognized as Nauyotl now that he was closer—followed his friend's example, as did the guards, but the guards didn't let their eyes fall, ever watchful.

  Cuauhtemoc inclined his head to them. "You're here to practice too?"

  The boys stood straight but didn't meet his gaze—not in the nervous way of slaves but rather in the respectful manner of noblemen. "Yes, My Lord, but we can go if you wish," the taller one said.

  The awestruck quake in the boy's voice brought a smile to Cuauhtemoc's face. "Nonsense. Come, show me what you have."

  Breaking into an excited grin, the boy hurried forward, drawing an arrow from the deerskin quiver slung over his shoulder. It was much too big for him and he struggled to nock it to his bowstring, but he didn't give up. Cuauhtemoc watched, both amused and impressed as the boy worked the bowstring back, his tongue clamped firmly between his teeth. His arm shook with t
he effort, and, when he let it go, the arrow went far, but it hit the ground and skittered to a stop well before the target. He frowned, his shoulders sagging.

  "Not bad," Cuauhtemoc assured him. "Your bow is much too big for you though."

  "It was my grandfather's." The boy hugged the bow possessively.

  "And some day you will be big and strong enough to use it. But until then, you'll learn more by using a bow that's the right size for you." To the guards, he asked, "Can one of you get him a better-sized bow?"

  The two guards cast their glances towards the armory, and after a whispered conference, Nauyotl's guard went to fetch the new bow.

  While they waited, Cuauhtemoc motioned to Nauyotl. "Let's see what you can do."

  Nauyotl said nothing but he obliged, nocking an arrow to his bow—better suited to his size—and fired off a shot. He wasn't as strong as the other boy, and the arrow fell well short of the target. He didn't seem to care though, and he barely acknowledged Cuauhtemoc's compliment.

  The other boy scrutinized Cuauhtemoc's bow. "Was that your grandfather's?"

  "It was my father's. Like you, I was eager to use it right away but I was much too small. I still remember the first time I was finally strong enough to pull back the string all the way. I felt so very proud."

  "My father tells me I shouldn't use my grandfather's bow yet," the boy admitted, tracing a circle in the dirt with the toe of his sandal. "He says I'll hurt myself with it."

  "Your father is wise."

  "He taught me to shoot. Did your father teach you too?"

  Cuauhtemoc's smile slid off his face before he could stop it. "I wish he had, but he fell sick when I was very, very young, and he could no longer pull a bowstring himself. I learned archery at the House of Warriors."