My guards surely think me insane, Cuauhtemoc thought with a grin, but he didn't care. He'd finally earned a little of Malinali's trust, so he needed to show her that he trusted her too. "Pull it all the way to your cheek, and keep your arm straight; don't bend it, or the bowstring will sting you," he said at her shoulder. "See the target down the shaft, and keep still."
Malinali squinted down the arrow at the tree trunk, her right hand holding the string taut. When a tremor started in her left arm, he motioned to the guards to stand further clear. He checked her aim. "Breathe slowly, then release."
She let out a slow breath, her arm falling still again, but when she finally released, the arrow skimmed the target and ricocheted off to the left. She frowned. "I'm not strong enough to do this," she grumbled as she fetched the arrow.
"Perhaps you enjoy my interrogations more." When she scowled at him over her shoulder, he laughed, his heart dancing. It warmed him that she felt comfortable enough to sometimes forget protocol and show him the real her.
When she returned to his side, she set herself up for the shot again and drew the arrow back with a fluid motion that spoke of experience.
"And you say you're not strong enough."
Finally cracking a smile, Malinali focused on the tree again, steadier this time, and when she released, the arrow sunk into the target; not in the center, but close.
He raised an eyebrow. Maybe she was picturing my face on that tree. He tried to laugh away the thought but it niggled at him as he went to wrest the arrow free of the tree, his back to her. He trusted his guards to disarm her quickly, yet he still worried he'd turn around to find her pointing an arrow right at him, her intense dark eyes locked on him.
She was looking at him, but with a distance reserved for daydreaming. He waved the arrow at her, a grin tugging the corner of his mouth, and she blinked, her cheeks flushed. "That was a good shot." He handed back the arrow then moved behind her again, close enough to fill his nose with the intoxicating smell of her hair. "Let's see it dead center this time." He then stepped away, giving her room to shoot—and to calm the blood pulsing in his ears.
She nocked the arrow again and pulled the string tight. She took her deep breath, but the focus wasn't there this time; he saw it in the shaking of her arms, and the hesitation to release the string. She even closed her eyes before letting go, and the arrow hissed off to the left again, this time striking the stone wall with such force it shattered the obsidian point. She cringed.
"What happened?" Cuauhtemoc asked.
Malinali avoided his gaze. "I don't know. I'm...I'm tired. I didn't sleep well last night, and it's been a long day...." She glared at the tree.
It was still quite hot but nightfall wasn't far off now. He hadn't intended to stay out here so long, but Lord Sun traveled the sky faster when he was with Malinali. He motioned to the guards and they brought over Tlazocozcatl. "We should head back; everyone is no doubt wondering where you are." At the sudden panic on her face, he added, "Don't worry, I'll speak to the head steward. I promise you won't be in any trouble." He mounted up; one of the guards helped Malinali up into the saddle in front of him, and they headed back towards the stables, Cuauhtemoc taking the reins. He held Malinali tightly, to make better time back.
Not long after they set off, she grew heavy against his chest, eventually slumping against him, resting her head against his right shoulder. He moved his left arm across her, to hold her limp body as her weight shifted to one side, and silently cursed the treacherous stiffness growing below. The tantalizing scent of her skin, and the warmth of her soft body brought desire chewing at his attention, but he prided himself on his self-control, whether it was resisting the pain of torture or the torture of promised pleasure. He focused on the road ahead and the information Malinali had shared about Tlaxcala. Yet even then, her beguiling scent made his reaction slow to retreat.
She slept not only the whole way back to the stables, but also to the docks where the royal barge awaited them. When Cuauhtemoc whispered for her to wake, she finally did so. "How did it get so late?" she mumbled groggily as the guards helped her down from the saddle and onto the boat. Lord Sun had sunk behind the mountains—beginning his quest into the underworld—so the two polers held torches on the bow and stern of the boat to light the way. Cuauhtemoc climbed aboard, taking refuge inside the three-sided hut with walls made of leather hides bound over reed mats—to protect him from arrow attacks.
Malinali glanced warily over the boat's bow before sitting behind the lead poler as he pushed away from the docks, starting the journey back to Tenochtitlan. She held her knees to her chest with both arms, and whenever a bird or animal called out in the night, she looked about with sharp panic. Most people avoided the lake after nightfall, fearing for ahuitzotls—the mythical lake monsters who dragged people under to their deaths. Cuauhtemoc didn't believe in such things—he believed in the gods, but not mythical lake monsters or the blood-sucking civatateos said to prowl the night. There were far more frightening monsters to be found among humankind itself. Still, he hated to see her so anxious and vulnerable. "You can sit in here with me, if you'd feel safer," he called.
She snapped an irritated glare back at him, but then slipped on a sardonic smile before looking away again.
His ears burned. He struggled for something to say to break the silence, but after such an amused dismissal, the prospect of talking to her made him sweat. How was it that he could move soldiers to great acts of heroism and sacrifice with impassioned speeches, yet his mouth went as dry as the northern desert when he thought to tell Malinali that he'd enjoyed their afternoon together? He cursed himself and stared at the bottom of the boat, flustered in a way he hadn't been since he was a boy.
The boat slid soundlessly up the canal behind the palace then under the eaves, where more guards awaited them, before conking against the dock. Malinali hurried ashore, almost tripping as she exited before one of the guards caught and steadied her. As Cuauhtemoc exited too, she said, "If you require nothing further of me, My Lord, I should go report to the head steward."
"No, go get some sleep. It's been a long day, so I will speak with the head steward myself."
"Thank you, My Lord." She bowed, then started backing away to the hallway.
"Malinali," he finally managed, his heart thudding painfully. I had a wonderful time with you this afternoon, the best I've had in a long time, and I can't wait to see you again tomorrow. But when she didn't meet his gaze, his courage failed him. "Don't forget about lunch tomorrow."
She bowed again then disappeared into the shadows beyond the doorway.
¤
Disturbingly pleasant lightheadedness followed Malinali as she wandered down the corridor back to the slave quarters. Why had Cuauhtemoc called out to her? Certainly not to remind her of their daily routine? She'd thought he would say something else—something to make her heart pound in her ears—but she received only a pointless reminder. And you thought you had him all figured out, she mused as she walked into the slave quarters.
The sounds of desperate chatter greeted her. "Dear gods, where have you been?" Xochitli jumped up from the group of women gathered in front of the hearth. "Everyone said you ran away!"
Malinali blinked, taken aback. "I was with the huey tlatoani, in Chapultepec." Noticing Tayanna watching from the corner, Malinali beckoned to Xochitli and they retreated into the sleeping quarters.
Once alone, Xochitli whispered, "What were you doing in Chapultepec?"
With a faint smile, Malinali said, "He took me riding...on those things, I think they're called horses. And he let me shoot with his bow and arrows."
Xochitli arched an eyebrow. "He did?"
Malinali had been equally surprised when Cuauhtemoc suggested the activity, and now she chuckled, remembering the incredulous looks the guards cast at him when he'd handed her the bow and quiver. She had some experience with shooting bows and arrows; unlike the Mexica who locked up their noblewomen and condemned them to a life of weaving and childbearing, her own people expected their queens and ranking noblewomen to know how to handle weapons as well as any man. Since she had stood to inherit her family's throne, her father had started training her before he died, and the bits and pieces of his lessons had slowly come back to her. It thrilled her to know she hadn't lost the skill, especially when she sank the arrow deep into the tree when she imagined Acxotecatl's face as the target. She'd tried imagining Cuauhtemoc's face too, to see what would happen, but the loathing wasn't there as normal. It had been a very long time since anyone had treated her as anything but a slave, and she couldn't help but like him a little more for that.
When Xochitli waved a hand in front of her, Malinali flushed and struggled to remember the question. "Oh, yes, he did, and it was...nice. Usually he eats and asks me questions."
Xochitli furrowed her brow. "What kinds of questions?"
"About my life, where I've lived, where I've traveled. He's particularly interested in how I became a slave and where I was after Potonchan."
"Strange."
"Please don't tell anyone. If Tayanna finds out...it will only make her gossip more."
"She won't hear anything from me," Xochitli promised. "Are you hungry? There are beans and tortillas left over."
"I'm starving."
Once Xochitli left, Malinali stretched out on her bed mat and stared up at the whitewashed ceiling, thinking back over this strange yet wonderful day, of sitting on Tlazocozcatl's back in Cuauhtemoc's arms, his warm, firm body pressed against hers, his strong hands holding hers as she gripped the reins. She imagined those arms wrapping tighter around her, pulling her into an embrace that left her breathless and tingling as he brushed his lips against her ear.
Oh, how soon you forget poor Tecuichpo and what he did to her. What would she think to see your lustful thoughts for the man she loved, the man who killed her? You would betray her friendship and trust for a moment of meaningless pleasure?
The moment soured with shame, Malinali covered her eyes with her arm, to hide her tears should Xochitli return. "Forgive me, Tecuichpo. It won't happen again."
¤
That night, Malinali dreamt that Tecuichpo rose from the grave to berate her for her disloyalty. "You know I loved him," she moaned, beetles and centipedes scurrying in and out of her empty eye sockets, and her skin hanging from her bony frame like shredded curtains. "I loved him and look what he did to me!" Malinali woke shivering and despising herself.
All morning, her stomach roiled with fear and guilt as the noon hour pressed closer. When she collected the lunch tray, she felt nauseated.
Cuauhtemoc's guards opened the door curtain for her when she arrived. Inside, Cuauhtemoc paced his anteroom, muttering to himself, but his face lit up when he saw her, making the shame and fear churn in her stomach. "I thought it would be nice to take the meal out in the garden today," he suggested. He then motioned to the food taster, who stepped up. Malinali stared at the floor as the taster did his job, but she flinched when he finished and Cuauhtemoc took the tray from her. "Let me carry that for you." He was so warm and unassuming.
Yesterday his smile made her heart flutter, but now it set her chest throbbing painfully. She followed him down the stairs and through the halls, out into the main garden. His guards flanked them closely the whole way, to a hunched willow tree overlooking a small pond. There he set the tray down in the sun, his shadow sending tiny fish darting into the safety of the reeds. He motioned Malinali to sit down.
As she did so, she looked past the pond to the tall stone wall maybe a hundred paces away, and wondered if she was fast enough to scale it before the guards caught her. But Cuauhtemoc settled opposite her, blocking her view of the wall. "I hope you enjoyed yesterday as much as I did." He still wore that maddening smile. "It would be nice if we went back to Chapultepec a few times a week, to ride horses and shoot arrows. Would you enjoy that?"
She averted her eyes, bewildered and flushed. She'd sorely underestimated him. "I suppose."
He pulled all the covers from the hot food. "Please, help yourself to anything." He took a small, steaming tamale delicately between his fingers and moved it quickly to his empty plate.
Usually Malinali refused his food offering, but right now she needed to work off the nerves souring her gut, so she grabbed a handful of the chile-spiced nuts and shook them in her hand between tossing them one by one into her mouth and chewing nervously. She froze though when Cuauhtemoc stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. "Is something the matter, My Lord?"
He met her eyes a moment before sitting straighter. "I thought nuts made you ill."
She grasped for some excuse—some explanation that wouldn't betray her lie—but her lack of a good night's sleep hit hard, leaving her brain cottony and slow. She wanted to crawl into a hole and regroup, but she had to stay and deal with her lies. Everything was crumbling around her, spiraling beyond her control. The earlier nausea was now more than a nervous threat.
Cuauhtemoc's hard expression turned to concern. "Are you all right?"
She gasped, dumping the nuts on the ground. "I can't play these games with you, My Lord. I won't play them."
He blinked. "Games?"
"Why are you bothering to try to win me? I can't stop you from doing whatever it is you want to do to me, and I'd rather you'd get on with it already."
"What are you talking about?"
"You want me in your bed but for some reason, you feel the need to make it something I agree to, but I won't, not ever." Everything she'd tried to hide from him came spilling out in an unstoppable wave of anguish and fury. "At some pathetic point in my life I thought there was something useful in being a powerful man's mistress, but when one's forced to perform humiliating, degrading acts on her master's guards, all for his amusement, one quickly learns that's the worst kind of foolishness."
He flinched as if she'd slapped him. "I’m sorry—"
"I don't want your pity," she snarled. "I could have used it when I was being sold off into slavery when I was six, or when that dog Acxotecatl took away my—" But the pain of the memory choked her words. No, you won't spill that secret to this man who doesn't deserve to know anything at all about your pain to begin with.
Cuauhtemoc moved to touch her shoulder. "Malinali, please, I'm sorry—"
"Just get it over with already!" she cried. "But don't expect me to enjoy it because you're the huey tlatoani."
Cuauhtemoc's shoulders rose like a bristling jaguar. "Why does it infuriate you so that I'm not what you expect?"
"You're everything I expected, and some things even worse."
"How dare you—"
"How dare you pretend to care?" she yelled. "You played these games with Tecuichpo too, to get into her bed and claim your husbandly rights. Was her life worth your moment of pleasure?"
Cuauhtemoc stared at her, horrified.
She didn't realize the rage had carried her to her feet, but when the guards took hold of her arms, the truth came like a sudden cold wind off the lake: she'd cost the emperor face in front of his guards, and no man—powerful or not—would tolerate such a slight. The last time she'd lost her good sense with a nobleman, he'd given her to a priest for the sacrifice, and she'd only escaped that fate because the priest thought her pretty enough to pay off his gambling debts. She wouldn't be so lucky this time; the gods only granted a woman mercy so often before letting her step into the viper pit she kept jumping over. Feeling dizzy, she crumpled, but the guards held her up, letting her slump in their arms like wet clay.
Cuauhtemoc rose too, his expression hard. "Not that it's your business, but Tecuichpo poisoned herself, because I told her she was too ill and frail to take to bed, and she thought I never would. So you're partly right; my refusal forced her hand."
She felt punched in the gut. "But you said her heart gave out."
"There's nothing honorable in what she did, but I won't have gossiping slaves besmirching her name in my own palace."
Not only could she not pin him down; she couldn't even shoot the arrow in the right direction. "My Lord, I'm sorry—"
"Perhaps you were right, about the past making trust impossible." He waved the guards away and turned his back to her as they dragged her off.
¤
The last time Cuauhtemoc felt this furious, he'd chopped off Hernán Cortés's head. It wasn't anything the man said—he couldn't even understand the man's language. It was what he'd seen in the Black Lake in Mictlan: his ancestral city plowed down to rubble, his people dying of strange plagues, the survivors suffering under the lash and spear, stripped of their gods and their future, all brought at the hands of a small band of mercenaries led by this one man. He'd thought only of the vision as he prowled through the melee on the beach at Potonchan, avoiding arrows and swinging swords. The memory had lit his rage when he finally spotted his adversary sitting atop his war horse, shouting orders, his raised steel sword sparkling under Lord Sun's light.
Cuauhtemoc had thrown his spear with all his might, and though Cortés' armor deflected the killing blow, the impact spilled the Spaniard from his saddle into the bloody sand. He flew at Cortés in a frenzy, all sound lost for the pulsing blood in his ears. He didn't remember his men's cheers when he held up the severed head for all to see; even hours afterwards, it all was silence, as if he had left his body and had yet to return.
He'd expected relief and joy, as he saw in the faces of his men as they celebrated victory that night, but he sat alone in his tent, unable to stop shaking. He'd saved his people for now, but innumerable more men waited across the sea, ready to take the Spaniard's place and challenge them. His wife and their still-unborn daughter were no safer than before—perhaps even less so now that he had no idea where fate was leading them.
And when Malinali accused him of killing Tecuichpo, he remembered seeing her right at Cortés's side in the Black Lake, whispering secrets in the Spaniard's ear, and the rage bubbled up once again. It took every bit of Cuauhtemoc's resolve to swallow it. How dare this woman lecture him about morality and honor when she would have helped Cortés destroy them all? He took care of his people; he didn't use them for his own selfish machinations, so to even suggest he would endanger Tecuichpo for a moment of meaningless pleasure...
But when he'd spouted off the grim truth about Tecuichpo, he hadn't expected the horror on Malinali's face; the woman he'd seen in the Black Lake hadn't cared one bit when thousands lay dying of the smallpox while her lover laid siege to Tenochtitlan, and she certainly never apologized for anything she said or did. He couldn't reconcile the woman the gods had shown him with the one who now stood before him, pale with fear and regret; this woman who'd brought out the murderous rage in him and yet yesterday made him feel things he didn't know he could feel anymore. He needed to get away from her and clear his head. He needed to be rational when he decided what to do about her.
He sent word ahead that he was coming to Texcoco, so Ixtlil awaited him when the royal barge docked. Cuauhtemoc embraced his best friend, glad for his laughing face. "Thank you for accepting my visit. It's only for tonight."
Ixtlil laughed. "You're always welcome in my house, old friend." He motioned to his porters to collect Cuauhtemoc's luggage, then they headed for the palace in litters.
They arrived in time for dinner, laid out in splendor in the gardens, torches bathing the wood-slab table with pale orange light. Ixtlil's wife, Papantzin, bowed in greeting, and Cuauhtemoc gave her a kiss on the cheek. But when he did the same for Ixtlil's sister, Xocotzin—the only one still unmarried—the girl flushed deep and refused to look at him. He knew her for a chatty, friendly person who once told him she wished he was her brother rather than Ixtlil, so he shot her brother a questioning glance.
Ixtlil shook his head. "I'll tell you later."
They spent the meal talking about the planned renovations of the royal gardens; when the women went to prepare for bed, Ixtlil took Cuauhtemoc around the garden to show him the old mossy staircase waterfalls that needed repairs.
"What has got you all wound up?" Ixtlil asked as they walked into the aviary. "Are your body servants tying your loincloth on too tight?"
Cuauhtemoc stopped at a macaw sitting on a low-lying branch and held out a bit of sweet maize cake he'd saved. The bird whistled its thanks as it took it. "It's Malinali."
"The slave girl?"
"She's a woman, not a girl," Cuauhtemoc snapped.
Ixtlil arched an eyebrow. "What did she do?"
"She accused me of murdering Tecuichpo."
"Did you have her flogged?" When Cuauhtemoc shook his head, Ixtlil asked, "Why ever not?"
Cuauhtemoc opened his mouth to answer, but stopped.
"What happened to taking her for a concubine?"
He shook his head. "I can't do that, not after what she told me...the things she suffered at Acxotecatl's hands...."
"That scar-faced asshole in Tlaxcala?"
He nodded. "She was a slave in his court."
"Maybe she's lying—"
"If you heard her talk about it...." Cuauhtemoc shook his head. "No, it happened, and undoubtedly more things than she's willing to admit. No wonder she believes me capable of hurting Tecuichpo."
"You still must punish her. Such ludicrous accusations can't be tolerated."
"That won't help."
Ixtlil reached up to the macaw and the bird climbed down onto his hand, bobbing its head side to side as it whistled and demanded more food. Ixtlil stroked its lower beak. "Are you in love with her?"
Cuauhtemoc glared at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"It's simply a question."
"It matters not what I feel, because she hates me."
"And you wish she didn't." Ixtlil chuckled. "I've never seen you so befuddled by a woman before."
"I'm not befuddled."
"What's so special about her that you'd permit her to upset you so?"
Cuauhtemoc hesitated, but he needed Ixtlil's advice more than he needed to keep the truth secret. "I saw her in the Black Lake."
Ixtlil returned the bird to its branch and turned his full attention to Cuauhtemoc. "Now that is something special."
"The chief of Potonchan would have given her to Cortés, and Cortés would have used her as a translator and diplomat when he came to Tenochtitlan. She would have shared everything she knew about us and our enemies with him, becoming his most trusted advisor, and without her, Cortés would have failed."
This time Ixtlil laughed without mirth. "She was a traitor?"
"Whoever she might have been is irrelevant; I'm more interested in what she is now. She could be an asset to us."
"How so?"
"She lived in Tlaxcala, right in the jaguar's den. She knows things that will help us formulate the perfect treaty, to bring them into the empire as allies."
Ixtlil shook his head. "Cuauhtemoc, you're a fool if you take her into your confidence. Once a traitor, always a traitor."
Cuauhtemoc cast his friend a piercing stare. "If so, then I've already been a fool for trusting you."
Ixtlil took a startled step backwards, running into the tree branch and making the macaw take flight. It landed on a higher perch and squawked at them. "What's that to mean?"
"I saw you in the Black Lake too; Motecuhzoma robbed you of your throne, to put someone he could control in charge of Texcoco, so you joined forces with Cortés, thinking he would get your throne back for you."
Color drained from Ixtlil's face. "No I didn't!"
Cuauhtemoc nodded. "Eventually you became king of Texcoco, but you were the last such ruler, as I was the last huey tlatoani of the Mexica."
Ixtlil looked as if he would retch. "Did I fight against you?"
"After Cortés came, we were enemies."
Covering his eyes, he muttered, "Dear gods, I was a traitor!"
Cuauhtemoc gripped his friend's shoulders with both hands. "Whatever might have happened doesn't matter; what does is who we are now, who we chose to become under the current circumstances. I believe Malinali can be trusted too, for the gods didn't tell me to kill either of you. It must mean they want all of us to be a part of building the future, together. We dodged the end of the world—a gift not to be taken lightly—so we can't continue down the same paths as before."
Ixtlil nodded. "That's why you want peace with Tlaxcala."
"I need peace before the next wave of Europeans land on our shores. Tlaxcala is the first step, and Malinali can help us accomplish that, if I can convince her that I'm not her enemy. Though after those accusations about me and Tecuichpo...." Cuauhtemoc shook his head. "It's exasperating."
Ixtlil nodded. "Speaking of exasperating women, I need to talk to you, about Xocotzin."
Cuauhtemoc had forgotten about his friend's sister's odd behavior. "Is she all right?"
"Your mother visited yesterday, seeking to tie your cape to Xocotzin's dress."
Now her unease made sense. "What did you say?"
"I told her I'd entertain the offer so long as any wedding waits until Xocotzin reaches the age of majority."
Cuauhtemoc let his breath go, relieved. "Thank you."
"I'm worried for my sister though." Ixtlil had an uncharacteristically stiff set to his jaw. "You know she's my favorite."
"Ixtlil—"
"I care about her happiness, and I must know you'll do better by her than you did by Tecuichpo. I must know you will treat her as a woman, not a child."
Cuauhtemoc nodded. "I made mistakes with Tecuichpo, but if I must marry Xocotzin, I will give her everything she's ever wanted. I give you my word."'
Ixtlil frowned. "If you must? What is wrong with my sister?"
Holding up his hands, Cuauhtemoc said, "Nothing is wrong with her. You know I've always been fond of her. It's...my failures as a husband weigh heavily on me, so I'm not eager to rush into possibly making them again. This is all very fast for me."
"Understandable." Ixtlil smiled again and clapped Cuauhtemoc on his cape-covered shoulder. "Xocotzin won't be ready for a while anyway, so use that time to take care of whatever it is that needs tending in your heart." He turned to head back to the palace but then added, "And whatever it is between you and Malinali, get that worked out of your body too."
"If only I knew how."
"You could always tell her the truth, about what the gods showed you, then maybe she'll run for her freedom," Ixtlil said with a laugh. "If she gets away, great, and if she doesn't...well, either way, your problem is solved."