by Lani Forbes
“Excuse me, my lady. You are requested at the throne.”
Yemania blinked. “What? Why?”
Coatl released a breath in a huff. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “As the new High Healer of Tollan, you’ll be expected to sit with Metzi.”
“What about you?”
Coatl’s eyes lit like a lightning bug. She could see an idea forming in his mind. “May I join my sister bedside the empress?” he asked the servant.
“Coatl, you can’t beg her to take you back at a public feast like this,” Yemania hissed out of the corner of her mouth.
Coatl looked affronted. “Beg? I don’t beg. She needs to be convinced to see reason,” he whispered back.
Yemania rolled her eyes.
The servant dropped his chin and refused to meet either of their eyes. “Actually, my lord, the empress specifically requested that the princess Yemania join her. And only the princess Yemania.”
Coatl’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping for breath on the floor of a boat.
She squeezed his hand before rising to her feet. “I’m sorry.”
Yemania marched up the cleared walkway through the center of the crowd. She couldn’t help but remember the first time she took these same steps. The princesses had been presented before Ahkin to demonstrate each of their divine abilities. With a pang of sadness, she thought of Mayana. Grief never seemed to let her forget the daughter of water, always assaulting her with memories when she least expected it. Mayana had volunteered to help her with her presentation. She had been a friend when Yemania needed one most.
This time when she approached the golden-pointed throne, she felt the heated gaze of another young man. Ochix’s eyes passed over her, but then they snapped back as though he didn’t believe what he was seeing. His lips parted in surprise and she could have sworn the corner of his mouth ticked up into half a smile for a moment before his mask of composure returned.
He had noticed her. Yemania stood a little taller. She met that gaze for the briefest of moments before returning them to Metzi. I see you too.
The empress looked nothing short of regal. A white dress trimmed with purest gold hugged her feminine curves before flaring out from her hips, her thighs exposed by cuts in the dress’s skirts. A thick golden necklace arched from shoulder to shoulder, while more white fabric flowed down to golden cuffs around her wrists, hanging beneath her bare arms like wings. Like the wings of a butterfly, Yemania thought bitterly. Her thick, dark hair fell to her waist and a pearl-encrusted circlet crowned her head.
“Ah, Sakatl, I’d like to introduce you to our newly appointed High Healer,” Metzi purred, directing the death priest’s attention with an elegant wave of her hand. “Yemania of Pahtia.”
His eyes were like sinkholes, cold and dark. “So young for a High Healer,” the death priest mused, angling his head as he considered her. “And a woman as well?”
Metzi’s fingers tightened on the armrests of her throne. “Yes. I make my appointments based on skill and merit, not merely what is politically appropriate.”
Yemania’s chest bloomed with warmth at such a compliment from the empress.
“I can see you rule in a manner very different from your forefathers, daughter of light,” Sakatl replied in a voice as slimy as an eel fish. Yemania didn’t like the slight curl to his lip.
“Indeed.” Metzi’s answering smile was tight.
Yemania didn’t have the faintest idea why Metzi had invited them here. The tension between them was as thick as cold honey. She inclined her head toward the death priest in greeting, her eyes darting to meet Ochix’s before seating herself on Metzi’s other side. Perhaps they were all about to find out.
Metzi signaled for one of the royal naguals, the animal handlers from the city-state of Ocelotl, to begin the animal sacrifice that would start the feast. As it was the month of the bird, a green parrot had been selected. Yemania averted her eyes as the bird’s blood was spilled and cast into the fire. Another memory of Mayana washed over her, making her chest tighten with grief.
When she looked up again, Ochix was watching her with an eyebrow arched. She gave a small shake of her head, as though to say, Don’t ask. His answering smile lessened the ache in her chest and made her stomach swoop.
Metzi rose to her feet and spread her arms as wide as her smile. A hush swept across the room like a brisk wind.
“I’d like to thank you all for joining us this evening as we welcome my personal guests, a diplomatic delegation from the Miquitz Empire.” She nodded toward the priest Sakatl, who returned the gesture. “I’m sure many of you are wondering why I would invite such . . . unusual . . . guests into our palace. I would like to answer that for you.”
Out in the crowd, Yemania could see Coatl hanging onto Metzi’s every word, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.
“Long we have dealt with the rebellious nature of the citizens of Ehecatl. They challenge our right to rule in Tollan and question our methods of worshipping the gods.” Mutterings filled the silence as Metzi took a breath. “Like angry children who have been left out of a game, they have declared war on us simply because I did not wish to marry their prince. The truth is, I did not wish to give them any more power or influence than they already possessed.”
The council members seemed to lean forward the longer she spoke, some of their faces twisted with distrust.
“Instead, I wish to secure an even more productive alliance, not only to put Ehecatl in their place once and for all, but to put an end to a threat that has plagued our empire since the age of the Seventh Sun began.”
A flicker of intuition made Yemania uneasy. A more productive alliance? Whatever she was about to announce would not be taken well . . .
“After my discussions with Miquitz, they have agreed to halt hostilities against our borders and aid us in the coming months against Ehecatl. In exchange, I have agreed to marry one of their princes.”
Yemania felt the world slip away again. No. Metzi couldn’t be marrying a prince of Miquitz. The only prince, she assumed, in the delegation was . . . She looked to Ochix for confirmation, begging him with her eyes to say it wasn’t true. This time, Ochix would not meet her gaze. He looked determinedly at the low stone table before him, a grimace pulling at his lips.
To Yemania’s horror, Metzi then motioned for Ochix to stand and join her in front of the crowd. Ochix grunted slightly as he got to his feet. Yemania couldn’t help it; she immediately assessed the pinkish scar across his abdomen. A healer never rested.
Ochix slowly paced to stand beside the empress. He held his head high, but the muscles of his back were taut, as though tensing for battle. His face was as cold and blank as granite. She grabbed his hand and lifted it before the assembly. A show of unity, a mark of their apparent betrothal.
Dizziness suddenly overtook Yemania. This wasn’t right. Metzi couldn’t be marrying Ochix. Her heart raged against the possibility. It wasn’t fair. The gods wouldn’t torture her in such a manner, would they?
“We will be married after the Nemontemi is over. Wedding preparations will begin in the morning, and I look forward to celebrating such a momentous occasion in our empire’s history.” Metzi lifted her and Ochix’s clasped hands higher. The tightness in his jaw intensified, and Yemania felt another piece of her heart crack apart.
Her attention shot to the crowd, to find the one person whose heart would be equally as broken by this sudden news. Sure enough, Coatl’s mouth had fallen open, rage and disbelief mingling on his face.
“Let the feast begin!” Metzi called out.
Yemania had to remember how to breathe. And it appeared she was not the only one. The head priest, Toani, and most of the generals and military leaders looked as though they had bitten into an unripe passion fruit.
The council obviously didn’t approve of Metzi making this decision without consulting
them first.
Yemania forced the flatbread and spiced deer meat down her throat, despite how difficult it felt to swallow. Metzi was marrying Ochix. Her Ochix.
Well, technically he wasn’t hers. It wasn’t as if they had made any promises to each other. In fact, now that she looked back, how could she be sure Ochix had really felt anything for her at all? It was probably in her head. He was a handsome, strong warrior prince, and she was—well, he had no reason to pick someone like her.
Except, she was the High Healer of Tollan now. She had that to be proud of. And although it was an appointment by Metzi, Yemania knew she deserved it. She was a talented healer, and her tender nature made her that much better at it. Healing didn’t always involve the body alone. As brilliant of a healer as Coatl was, he had always struggled to see those he healed as more than whatever ailed them. They were challenges to him, puzzles to solve. To Yemania, they were souls to save. Mothers to return to their children. Sons to return to their fathers. Lovers to return to . . .
She clamped her teeth down hard on her lip and then hissed at the blood she tasted.
“Are you all right?” Metzi asked from beside her, dropping a luscious blackberry into her mouth.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I bit my lip. I’m fine.”
Metzi chewed and then pouted her own lip. “Well, luckily you can heal yourself, can’t you?”
“Actually, no. The royalty of Pahtia can’t heal themselves. We can heal others by drawing on the spirit within us—the presence of Ixtlilton’s spirit within our blood. In a sense, we’re gifting it to them. It is the self-sacrificial act of giving to another that allows them to receive the gift of healing. Without the self-sacrifice, there is no healing. So, another descendant can sacrifice their own blood to heal me, but it is not true sacrifice to help myself.” Yemania swirled the pulque in her bowl before taking a sip. “At least, that’s how my aunt Temoa explained it to me.”
“And what is your role as High Healer of Tollan?” a deep voice said from Metzi’s other side.
Yemania’s gut twisted as she recognized the voice.
“Um.” She swallowed hard. “I am the personal healer to the royal family of Tollan. As Metzi is the only living descendant of the sun god left, my job is less demanding at present. But I’m sure that will change after . . .”
“After my family grows.” Metzi smiled at Ochix suggestively.
Yemania choked on her pulque. “Sorry,” she sputtered. “The . . . pulque burned the cut on my lip.”
“What if something happens to you?” Ochix asked. “Since you cannot heal yourself?”
“Well, I’ve given that some thought.” Yemania turned to Metzi. “Your Majesty, as your life is of such crucial importance, I think it might be best if there are two healers living in the palace. In case something happens to me, there is always another who can heal me but can also be available should you—”
“You’re going to ask if Coatl can be your assistant permanently, aren’t you?” Metzi heaved a sigh.
“He is a gifted healer, Your Majesty—”
Metzi waved a hand, as though Yemania’s next words were an irritating gnat she wished to swat away. “All right, all right. But I don’t want him attending to me unless it’s absolutely necessary. You are my appointed healer, not him.”
Yemania let a breath of relief escape through her nose. “Yes, Your Majesty. I will keep him busy with other tasks.”
It broke her heart how quickly Metzi seemed to be dismissing her brother, but the sheen in her eyes suggested Metzi was not as indifferent to him as she appeared. Maybe she gave in because some part of her wasn’t ready to let him go quite yet.
“So what other tasks do you have in mind, Yemania of Pahtia? You seem like the kind of young woman that would have many ideas to help your empire.” A slight smirk tugged at Ochix’s lips as he took a sip of his own pulque.
Yemania’s cheeks warmed. He was teasing her. Even now, he was finding a way to remind her that he remembered.
She sat up higher. “I do, actually. It was something I was hoping to bring up to the empress when the moment presented itself.”
Metzi popped another berry into her mouth. “Well, the moment has officially presented itself. What ideas do you have?”
Yemania blinked. Metzi wanted to hear her ideas? “I—I’ve always dreamed of creating remedies for commoners. Perhaps even utilizing drops of my royal blood in combination with other natural remedies that can be sold or distributed in the marketplace. I think their lives are just as valuable, and if I can use some of my gifts to bless more, I think there would be many benefits.”
“Hmm,” Ochix said, lowering his bowl. “I almost wonder if such a thing would help to bolster public opinion and mood. You know, in times of war and transition, the masses can become restless and difficult to manage. Especially when so many of them have been conscripted into the army.”
His eyes twinkled with mischief as they met Yemania’s.
Thank you, she mouthed to him, heat spreading from her cheeks down her neck.
Metzi’s eyebrows pulled together. “I hadn’t considered something like that before. Sharing some of our divine gifts with those of common blood to help gain their support.” Her mouth stretched into a smile. “Showing them that their new empress cares about them as she asks them to fight for her.”
“Excellent idea, Your Majesty.” Ochix lifted his bowl in salute.
Metzi beamed. “Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea.” She faced Yemania again. “Have your brother get to work on that venture starting tomorrow. That will keep him busy and out of my way.”
Yemania couldn’t stop the surge of gratitude that swelled up within her—for Metzi, yes, but also for Ochix. He’d known this was her dream; she’d told him so back on the riverbank. He was trying to help influence the empress to make that dream a reality.
A cacophony of drums sounded as dancers took to the floor, signaling the beginning of the celebratory dances.
Metzi leapt to her feet and pulled Ochix up with her. “Let’s see how well my future husband can dance.”
Ochix let her drag him into the center of the room, but not before he looked back for the briefest of moments, flashing Yemania a conspiratorial grimace.
The air grew stifling as incense burned her nose. She felt slightly lightheaded, perhaps from the pulque. But perhaps not. The tears stinging behind her eyes suggested it wasn’t the fermented drink.
“Excuse me,” Yemania said, rising to her feet. She squeezed behind the head priest and the leader of the Jaguar warriors.
The open doorway leading to one of the massive pleasure gardens outside beckoned to her.
She needed to get as far away from Ochix dancing with Metzi as possible.
Chapter
23
When Ahkin awoke, Mayana was gone. He sat up, brushing sand from his arms and sleep dust from his eyes. He twisted around, but all he saw were the rolling sand dunes surrounding their sliver of beach beside the bloody river. Even the damn dog was gone.
“Mayana?”
Where was she? He scrambled to his feet, brushing shards of black fire glass from the once-white wrap around his waist. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but exhaustion had pulled him under. Now she was gone. Had some terrifying beast snatched her away while he slept? Was it already devouring her heart?
The image of dozens of her lifeless corpses, hearts ripped from their hollow cavities, flashed behind his eyes again. His own body felt hollow and empty. How could he have failed her again? His mistake brought them both down here, and now because he was foolish enough to fall asleep . . .
“Ahkin!”
His head snapped up. Mayana slipped down the side of a sand dune, Ona on her heels.
“Mayana! You’re okay!”
She jogged to his side, clutching her bag to her chest as though it con
tained a precious treasure. “Of course, I’m okay. You won’t believe what happened.”
He pulled her into an embrace. “I thought you were gone.”
She laughed, squirming in his arms. “I’m fine. I promise. I was talking to a spirit.”
Ahkin stiffened and pulled back. “A spirit?” he asked. “How do you know you can trust it? It might have been trying to deceive you.”
“I just know. Please trust me.”
Ahkin chewed his lower lip. He wanted to trust her judgment. He knew he should. But he wished he could have been with her to be sure. The circumstances raged against all he had been trained for. He took a deep breath. Details. He needed details. “What happened?”
Mayana launched into an explanation of how she gave Ometeotl’s doll to the spirit of a weeping woman. The spirit in turn gave her the bones of her mother. Mayana hugged the bag tighter as she spoke.
“I just finished digging them all up and washing them off.”
Ahkin’s head was spinning. “But—what’s the purpose of having her bones?” He didn’t want to sound indelicate, but he failed to see why she would be so excited about them.
“Because I can bring her back,” Mayana declared simply.
Ahkin swallowed. “Mayana, we can’t bring back the dead.”
It didn’t deter her in the slightest. “Haven’t you heard the legends of the caves of creation? Where the gods resurrected humanity with their own blood. Our blood. The blood of the gods.
She couldn’t be serious. “Are you saying that if you take her bones to the caves of creation, you can use your godly blood to resurrect her?”
Mayana shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t see why not. That’s Ometeotl’s plan for the bones of Quetzalcoatl, isn’t it? Why can’t I do the same for my mother?”
Ahkin rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think we are supposed to disturb the dead, especially if her spirit has already reached the place where smoke has no outlet. Or if she made it into a paradise.”
