In turn, I undressed him. His skin shone coppery in the lamplight. In the course of undressing him, I performed many of the kisses and caresses and love-bites that were part of Naamah’s arts, raising his desire to a feverish pitch. After I knelt to unlace his sandals, I wrapped my long hair around his erect phallus with a deft twist of my head, drawing back to pull away in a long, silken glide.

At that, Achcuatli groaned and pulled me to my feet, his fingers digging hard into my shoulders. “Enough!” he said in a hoarse voice.

The bed was soft, a pallet filled with feathers. I sank into it under the weight of Achcuatli’s body on mine. With Naamah’s gift beating in my veins, I spread my thighs to welcome him.

Slowly and steadily, Achcuatli thrust himself into me. The absence of a shared diadh-anam brought home the strangeness of it all. His strong-featured, unfamiliar face hovered over mine, his gaze hard and intense as he moved in and out of me. I wanted to close my eyes, but some prompting of Naamah’s told me not to.

Blood is not the only sacrifice.

I offered up my own pleasure as a sacrifice, my own deep wellspring of desire. I felt the fluttering of Naamah’s doves in my belly, the deeper waves of climax fluttering lower. I watched Achcuatli’s face break into a fierce grin of pride as my hips rose to meet his, my back arching, nails scoring his back.

And I understood that there was a deeper wound beneath the slight that the Aragonians’ disgust and dismay had provoked, that it was symbolic of the profoundly injured pride of the entire Nahuatl folk, regarded as little better than animals by these strangers from across the sea who would gladly have razed Tenochtitlan to the ground if they could.

Naamah’s blessing was not enough to heal the wound, but it could spread balm over it, that healing might begin.

With a low groan, Achcuatli buried himself deep inside me and spent.

Afterward, he lay quiet and thoughtful, idly stroking my skin, gazing at the ceiling with open eyes.

“What did it mean to you?” I asked at last, unable to resist my curiosity. “The words I spoke?”

He glanced at me. “It is a thing my advisors and I have discussed. I told you that the Aragonians made alliances with tribes who resent our rule.” I nodded. “We have discussed making our own peace with enemy tribes, and bringing them more fully into the fold of our empire.”

“Instead of making war on them to gain captives to sacrifice?” I asked.

“Yes.” Achcuatli studied me. “No one put those words in your mouth?”

“No one but Naamah, I swear.”

“Why would a foreign goddess speak to me through a stranger when our own gods are silent?” He shook his head in frustration. “I do not 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

In 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. “Young and terrified. No one consulted her or asked for her permission in this bargain, and the Emperor’s senior wives had filled her head with terrible tales of the strangers across the sea and their depravities. For all I know, half of them were true.” He shrugged. “I didn’t lay a hand on her, Moirin.”

I was glad.

And I felt guilty for it.

Bao looked sideways at me. “And how was the Emperor?”

I glanced at the palanquin, noting that several bags of the cacao beans that served as currency in the Nahuatl Empire had been added to it. “Generous.”

“So he ought to be.” Bao pressed a kiss against my hair, silently absolving me. “Shall we return to our companions?”

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

Once again, I travelled across Tenochtitlan in a palanquin. This time, it was different. There was a quiet respect in the Nahuatl gazes that followed our progress; and whether it was due to the honor Achcuatli had accorded me, or the salve my actions had spread on their pride, I could not say.

In the ceremonial square, I asked Lord Cuixtli to halt before the great temple dedicated to the rain god Tlaloc and Huitzilopochtli, the god of war. My bearers lowered the palanquin, and I disembarked. Beneath the bright blue sky, I gazed upward at the towering twin staircases, faint traces of blood rusty in the creases where the stones were joined.

I stared at the hollow-eyed skulls in the tzompantli, trying to envision a sea of cut flowers. The skulls stared back at me, jaws parted in mockery, teeth bared in an eternal cheerful grin.

I touched one, feeling the smooth, sun-warmed bone beneath my fingers. “Greet the sky and live, blossom.”

“Moirin?” Bao gave me an inquiring look.

I shook my head. “I am trying to understand, that’s all.”

He frowned at the tzompantli. “Why? I do not think the Nahautl would celebrate death so if they had endured it.”

I touched his cheek, feeling warm, living skin. All too well, I remembered Bao’s death and rebirth. “The Emperor said somewhat to me before I left that made me think. And I believe we may have need of understanding before this is done, my magpie.”

“A vision?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Only a feeling.”

Bao sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Moirin, I will be glad when this is done, and we can get down to the business of making fat babies.”

I smiled. “So will I.”

Our journey across the long causeway to the Aragonian fortress on the distant shore was an uneventful one; but on the far side of the lake, the reception we found among the Aragonians was markedly unpleasant.

It was a dreadful scene.

“Whore!” Diego Ortiz y Ramos spat the word at me as soon as I stepped from the palanquin. The guards had spotted our approach from the watch-towers and the commander was awaiting us in the square, his cheeks flushed and hectic with color, the point of his neatly trimmed beard quivering with indignation. “You lied!”

I felt an answering flush of anger rise. “No, my lord,” I said in a precise tone. “I did not lie. If you and your men had not offended the Emperor, I would not have been driven to make the bargain I did.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” He pointed a finger at me. “Half-breed or no, you D’Angelines are all alike with your filthy morals, your filthy gods, and your filthy ways! You came here with every intention of using sex—”

Without warning, Bao swung his staff, connecting hard with the Aragonian commander’s steel helmet. There was a dull ringing clang, as though he’d struck a defective bell. The fellow gaped at him in disbelief, wobbling on his feet. Knowing Bao, I guessed he’d used exactly the amount of force he intended to rattle the man without knocking him down.

It happened so fast, the Aragonian guards stood staring for several seconds before drawing steel. Lord Cuixtli gave a sharp command, and the Nahuatl warriors took offensive stances and raised their studded clubs. There were only six of them, but they represented an entire empire.

Balthasar Shahrizai arrived at a run, followed by most of our company. Sizing up the situation at a glance, he ordered them to stand down.

Bao ignored them all. “Apologize,” he said in a flat tone.

The commander looked blankly at him, one hand on his helmet as though he wasn’t sure what had struck him. “Are you mad? I’d be within my rights to put you in chains for assaulting a commanding—”

“You will apologize to my wife, or I will beat you very badly,” Bao said with unnerving calmness. When the commander dropped his hand and made a move toward his sword-hilt, Bao feinted a jab at his face.

Diego Ortiz y Ramos flinched, but held his ground. “I will not!” He glanced at Balthasar with indignation. “You are a sensible man, Lord Shahrizai. Our countries are allies. Do you want to provoke a diplomatic incident here?”

“Oh, mayhap,” Balthasar said in his languid drawl. “Mayhap I’ll send a few of my men here back to Terre d’Ange to report that the Aragonian commander withheld information that might have saved the Dauphin’s life. Do you reckon that will sit well with your patrons in Aragonia?”

Diego blanched. “You would not send away your only ship!”

“Why not?” Balthasar shrugged. “The consensus seems to be that none of us are coming back from Tawantinsuyo alive.”

The commander turned to me, his face still livid. “This is absurd. Doña Moirin, call off your husband.”

“No,” I said thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

“I have just spent an entire night trying to convince a very frightened young woman that I did not intend to harm her, while my wife paid for the offense you and your men gave the Emperor.” Bao whipped his staff upright, planting it with a thud. “If you do not wish to apologize, so be it. Draw your sword, and we will fight like men.”

The Aragonian commander hesitated. Lord Cuixtli and the Nahuatl watched the proceedings with interest.

Balthasar contemplated his fingernails, picking idly at a flaw. “If I were you, Commander, I would swallow my pride and apologize. Messire Bao has the reach of you with his pole, and he’s very skilled at wielding it.” He nodded toward the Nahuatl. “Also, it would be wise not to offend them a second time.”

The fellow’s struggle was reflected on his face. At length, he forced himself to say the words in a wooden tone. “Forgive me, Doña Moirin. I apologize.”