Naamah's Blessing

eternal, mysongs live forever. I lift them in offering; I, a singer. I cast them to the wind, I spill them. The flowers become gold, they come to dwell inside the palace of eternity.”
    Something in the words caught at my heart. “Is that a poem?”
    “Yes. It is part of a famous poem.” He met my gaze. “It is in honor of life and death. Your people honor life, but they do not honor death.” He broke the stem of a purple dahlia, lifting the blossom. “To me, the skulls in the
tzompantli
are no different from this flower, and are as beautiful in their own way.”
    I took a long, slow breath. “I am trying to understand, my lord. But the flower does not feel pain. The flower does not bleed.”
    Achcuatli nodded gravely. “And that is why the flower’s death is not enough to feed the gods. Blood is needed.”
    I looked away. “What if you’re wrong?”
    He touched my hair. “Who are you to teach the Nahuatl about their own gods?” For a mercy, he sounded more amused than offended.
    “A child of my mother’s people,” I said in a low tone. “Who lost a great gift because we did not understand the will of our god. One who has seen for herself that men try to shape the gods’ will to serve them.” I thought about Raphael de Mereliot. “One who did the same when she was young.”
    Achcuatli chuckled. “You are still young.”
    Without looking at him, I laid a finger on the tightly furled bud of an unopened dahlia blossom. Summoning the merest hint of the twilight, I exhaled softly and coaxed it to grow. It opened obligingly, its myriad petals unspiraling to reveal a crimson blossom with a yellow center.
    Beside me, the Nahuatl Emperor drew a sharp breath.
    I glanced up at him.
    His eyes were narrowed. “What
are
you?”
    “Myself,” I said simply.
    Beneath the thin veneer of stoicism, warring emotions crossed his mien. Without warning, he seized my face in his hands and kissedme hard, his tongue thrusting past my lips, the gold plug in his chin digging into mine. Just as quickly, he released me and took a step backward.
    “I must think.” Achcuatli beckoned to the entourage trailing us. “My servants will return you to your chamber. I may send for you tonight, or I may not.”
    I inclined my head, knowing he would.

FORTY

    T he summons came an hour after sunset.
    Once again, my two attendants helped me dress in Nahuatl finery. I was escorted with ceremony through the halls of the palace to the Emperor’s bedchamber.
    I could sense Bao’s
diadh-anam
not far away. I could not help but think that within these same walls, Bao was consorting with Achcuatli’s youngest wife; and I could not help feeling a pang of jealousy. I set it aside along with my guilt, to be dealt with later.
    The Emperor’s bedchamber was aglow with lamplight, hung about with intricate feather tapestries. His gaze was avid, but his expression was set and hard. “I do not know if this is wise.”
    I shifted my hands into a soothing
mudra
. “Nor do I.”
    The admission eased him. “No?”
    I shook my head. “No, my lord. Only that Naamah wills it.”
    “Are you sure?” There was a note of wry humor in his tone. “You said you have mistaken the will of the gods before.”
    I smiled. “Not this time.”
    He extended one hand. “Come, then.”
    “I must pray to Naamah first, and ask her blessing.” I’d brought an unlit taper in a silver candle-holder from my chamber. Now I kindled it at a lamp, setting the holder on an elaborately painted chest. While Achcuatli watched curiously, I knelt and gazed at the flickering flame, praying silently.
    “Do you do this every time?” he asked.
    “No.” I concentrated on opening my heart to Naamah that she might speak through me if that was her will. I thought about what Porfirio Reyes had said, and what I’d learned to love about the Nahuatl in this brief time. Achcuatli had shown me kindness and generosity. He had spoken openly and honestly to me. And although I could not help but recoil from the thought of the skulls lining the racks of the
tzompantli
, I’d caught a glimpse of it through his eyes, and I understood that we saw very different things.
    I
saw the horror of thousands upon thousands of needless deaths. The Nahauatl Emperor saw a sea of flowers, their hearts’ blood shed to nourish the gods so that the sun might rise and the rains might fall.
    And since the Aragonians had come, he was walking a narrow and difficult path, trying in his own way to be a good