Naamah's Blessing

understand.”
    Rolling onto my side, I propped my head on one arm. “Years ago, I had a teacher who taught me that all ways lead to the Way,” I said slowly, thinking. “That there is a great truth behind all the truths of the world, and the faces of the gods are masks that may be changed at will. Mayhap Naamah is not so foreign as you think.”
    The Nahuatl Emperor traced the curve of my waist with one finger, then settled his hand on my hip. “We worship a goddess of desire, too. Xochiquetzal’s festival is celebrated with flowers and masks.”
    My skin prickled. “Truly?”
    He nodded. “It is said she appears as a young and beautiful woman, followed everywhere by birds and butterflies.” He smiled a little. “I would not be surprised to find birds and butterflies following you.”
    I smiled, too. “I am mortal, I promise.”
    “I will think on what you have said to me,” he said. “I will take counsel with my priests and advisors. The world has changed since I was a boy. Perhaps the will of the gods has changed with it.”
    I kissed his shoulder. “Thank you, my lord. I am glad.”
    Achcuatli’s grip on my hip tightened, and there was heat rising in his gaze. “But for now, the night is not over.”
    It was a long night.
    In the morning, I was tired and sated, filled with a complex mixture of emotions, pride and guilt warring in me. I was glad to have served Naamah’s will, glad that mayhap it would help steer the Nahuatl a measure farther away from their harsh practices, leading them to question the gods’ will and altering the tenuous balance of power in Terra Nova for the better. Naamah’s blessing was a pebble tossed into a lake the depths of which I could not fathom. All I could do was hope that the ripples would carry onward.
    But I felt guilty, too.
    To his credit, Achcuatli continued to be gentle with me. We broke our fast in the bedchamber, where servants brought
chocolatl
and an array of fresh fruits.
    “I wish you would not go on this quest,” the Emperor said softly. “It is very, very dangerous.”
    “I know.”
    He shook his head. “You think you do, but you do not. Very few
pochtecas
have undertaken it in my lifetime, and most have not returned. It was not easy to find guides.”
    I sipped my frothy
chocolatl
. “You sent Thierry into danger on purpose, didn’t you?”
    He was silent a moment. “I thought he would turn back, and the problem he posed would go away.”
    “He didn’t.”
    Achcuatli searched my face. “You know it is likely he is dead? That they are all dead?”
    I nodded. “It is likely, yes. But they are not.”
    He sighed. “You are very stubborn.”
    With an unexpected pang, I thought of my mother. “Aye, I am.”
    The Emperor picked at the fruit on his plate. “I will keep my promise. I will give you the aid of my
pochtecas
, and anything else I may. All will be arranged within a day. While you are here, you are under my protection. But once you leave, I do not expect to see you alive again, Moirin.”
    I hoisted my goblet to him. “Believe me, my lord, you are but the latest in a long list of men who feel the same way. I will do my best to prove you wrong.”
    His obsidian eyes glinted. “I hope you do.” Achcuatli paused, his expression turning grave. “There is another warning I would give you. Last night, you said to me that blood is not the only sacrifice, and I took heed of the words your goddess sent you. Perhaps it is true, that the roots of the tree of Aztlan are soaked, and the gods are sated for now. Do not forget, that does not mean it holds true elsewhere in the land.”
    “I will not,” I promised.
    The Nahuatl Emperor inclined his head in approval. “Sometimes when the gods thirst, blood
is
the only sacrifice.”

FORTY-ONE

    I n the courtyard outside the palace, Bao and I were reunited.
    My
diadh-anam
rose and danced within me at the sight of him, at his wry, regretful smile.
    All the guilt I had repressed crashed down upon me. It didn’t help to have Lord Cuixtli and the Nahuatl porters and warriors standing by, my palanquin loaded with the Emperor’s gifts.
    But it was Bao.
    My Bao.
    I hugged him, burying my face against his throat and breathing in the scent of his skin. “Are you well?”
    “Well enough.” He slid a hand beneath my hair, cupping the back of my head. “And you?”
    I nodded, blinking against the sting of tears. “How was the Emperor’s youngest wife?”
    “Young,” Bao said in a laconic voice.