Kaab enjoyed the whiff of scent she caught as she passed Tess in the entryway: sweet roses combined with the sharper smell of ink. At the top of the stairs, Kaab noticed that the door to Vincent Applethorpe’s rooms was cracked open. “Where is your protector today?” Kaab asked, proceeding into the large room that Tess used as her studio. She deposited her bag onto a wooden chair with legs carved like those of a lion.
“He wouldn’t tell me, but he’s been out all morning,” Tess said. She went to her worktable, which was covered with neat stacks of paper and fabric, bottles of ink and brushes lined up at the ready. “Let me clear some space for you.”
“What are you working on?” Kaab asked.
“Oh, I couldn’t say,” Tess replied with a wink. “But if you have another job for me, do let me know.”
“Not at the moment, but it’s always a possibility.”
“Then you’re not here on business?”
“No,” Kaab said, and Tess met her eyes briefly and blushed. “I hope I’m not interrupting an important task?”
“Depends on what you’re interrupting me for,” Tess said.
Kaab wanted to kiss her right away, but she restrained herself for the moment and opened the bag on the chair. “I wanted to bring you the drink of the gods.”
Tess came closer and watched curiously as Kaab laid out the tools of her trade. Two elegant, tall wooden vessels, decorated with painted and carved rims that depicted the task ahead of her. A wide, shallow bowl similarly decorated. A long, wooden instrument with several turning wheels, like a series of carved flowers stacked upon each other.
“What is that?” Tess asked, leaning over the table to touch the wheels of the instrument.
“It’s a molinillo—I’m not sure what you would call it in your language. It will beat the liquid into a foam.” Kaab demonstrated by picking up the molinillo and holding it vertically between her palms, spinning it to cause the wheels to turn.
“I guess you could call it a whisk, but I’ve never seen a whisk like that.”
Kaab also removed several brown-paper packages, a tiny jar of honey, and a grater. “This is the chocolate,” Kaab said, unwrapping one of the packages to reveal a circular tablet the color of dark earth.
“This is what everyone is so upset about up on the Hill?” Tess asked.
“Yes.” Kaab broke off a small piece to release the aroma. “It smells of home,” Kaab said, handing it to Tess, who held it up to her nose.
“Mmm,” Tess said appreciatively. “That does smell amazing. Do you eat it?”
Kaab took the piece back, laughing. “No, no. It is a drink. There are many ways to prepare it, but today I will make it for you in a special way to honor the goddess Ixcacao and to invite blessings into your home.”
The preparation of chocolate in this manner was a performance that required finesse and concentration, intended to show off both the vigor of the woman who made it and the vitality of the chocolate itself. It was much more involved than the preparation the Balams had served to their Local guests at the banquet to welcome Kaab to the City, and it required a number of specific and rare ingredients that Kaab had secretly taken from her uncle’s private stores. The dried, dark red petals of the hand flower, for sweetness, which she would supplement for Tess’s Xanamwiinik palate with a bit of honey. Long, thin cylinders of the pepper flower for a spicy bite. Tiny black seeds scraped from the interior of a vanilla bean for their luscious scent and rich flavor. And to bring the light, airy foam that was the true expression of chocolate’s spirit, white powder ground from ritually prepared pataxte seeds.
“This is pataxte; it comes from the seeds of the balam tree, the jaguar tree,” Kaab said, opening the last small brown package.
“Is that the same balam as your family name?” Tess asked.
“Yes. The pataxte is specially significant to my family. It is a symbol of our spirit and strength, like the jaguar it is named for. You cannot prepare chocolate in this way without it.”
“I am honored that you are doing this for me,” Tess said, and placed her hand on Kaab’s.
Kaab’s heart seemed to stop. She had not anticipated that Tess would understand—not entirely—the significance of what she was doing. But the sincerity in Tess’s voice made Kaab realize how much she had missed the simple, straightforward connection she shared with women of her homeland. They would have known as soon as she arrived with these ingredients that Kaab intended to show them a special honor. The fact that Tess had somehow understood despite her foreignness made Kaab lean toward her and kiss her, and the softness of Tess’s mouth was a promise of what was to come.
“First,” Kaab said, taking a breath, “we need hot water.”
“Hot water,” Tess repeated, as if dazed. “Of course.”
Tess’s kitchen boasted a giant hearth as tall as a man; it must have once served the entire building that Tess’s rooms were carved out of but now was only tended by Tess and, sometimes, Vincent Applethorpe. Tess made quick work of building up the fire and setting a kettle of water to heat up, while Kaab grated chocolate into one of the tall vessels, adding the hand flower, the pepper flower, the pataxte, vanilla, and honey. When the water was steaming, she poured it over the mixture and then, to Tess’s astonishment, poured the contents of the vessel from shoulder height into the second vessel, which she had set on the floor.
“How did you not spill that?” Tess asked, as Kaab switched the vessels to repeat the procedure.
“I learned how to do this as a child,” Kaab said with a laugh. “I haven’t spilled it since I was seven.”
“Why are you doing that?”
“To mix the ingredients together, and also to add air.” Kaab poured the chocolate between the two vessels several more times until a layer of bubbles began to rise on top. “Chocolate is the drink of the gods, so to make it worthy of them and to invite the blessing of Ixcacao, it is important to make it light as air,” Kaab explained. “It is like drinking clouds when it is finished.” She moved the chocolate vessel from the floor and set it back on the worktable, picking up the molinillo. She held it vertically in the vessel and began to spin the handle between the palms of her hands. The multiple wheels whirred through the rich liquid, soon bringing a froth to the surface.
“May I try?” Tess asked.
“If you wish. Stand here.”
Tess took Kaab’s place before the chocolate vessel and picked up the molinillo. “Like this?” Tess asked, beginning to whir the instrument between her hands.
Kaab moved behind Tess and slid her arms around her, adjusting Tess’s hands around the molinillo so that her palms were pressed flat together. “Like this,” Kaab said in Tess’s ear, and moved her hands back and forth along with Tess’s. The feel of Tess’s body in her arms was extremely distracting, and as they spun the molinillo awkwardly, the foam began to dissipate.
“I’m not good at this.” Tess made a frustrated sound.
“You must put your whole energy into it.” Kaab helped her to spin the handle faster. The friction between their hands warmed them, and Kaab pressed herself closer to Tess, inhaling the scent of her skin mingled with the rich fragrance of chocolate, pepper flower, and vanilla.
Tess stopped spinning the molinillo. “I—this isn’t working.” She sounded flustered. She turned in Kaab’s arms, and the molinillo fell against the side of the vessel. Her face was inches from Kaab’s, her mouth parted. “Do you think we should—”
Kaab was tempted to abandon the chocolate preparation altogether, but certain experiences were only better when prolonged. She placed her hands on Tess’s shapely hips, giving her a light caress, and stepped back. “Not yet, Tess. Let me finish the chocolate.”
Tess looked disappointed. “Are you sure?”
“A woman’s worth, in my land, is judged by the quality of her chocolate. I feel that it would do you a dishonor to present you with anything less than the finest of Ixcacao’s treasure.”
Tess took a breath and tucked a f
laming curl behind her ear. “Then you should show me how to do it.”
Kaab took the molinillo again. As she spun it, bubbles began to rise, frothing up on the surface of the liquid in a pale brown foam. When there was a good amount of foam, she spooned it into the wide, shallow bowl to reserve it, then continued spinning the molinillo. “My people joke that the molinillo is like a man’s cock,” Kaab said.
Tess had moved to the side and was leaning against the worktable, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. She caught Kaab’s sarcastic tone and rolled her eyes. “Some people see male anatomy in a twig on the street.”
Kaab laughed. “It’s true. Men do seem fond of their twigs, don’t they?”
“And the foam, I can guess, is . . .”
“Let’s not think too closely on that. You know what I think? No man, regardless of the size of his twig, would require the amount of effort that preparing this chocolate foam requires.” She spun the molinillo repeatedly and rhythmically, whipping it through the liquid as she spoke. “They would not last. They would be spent long before enough foam had been raised.” She spooned off another dollop of light brown bubbles into the shallow dish. “It is women who require such dedication,” Kaab concluded.
Tess’s cheeks turned pink. “When is this drink going to be ready?”
“Very soon.” Kaab had accumulated a cloudlike pile of chocolate foam in the bowl, and the liquid in the vessel was dark and rich. “Do you have two cups?”
Tess went to the kitchen and returned with two porcelain chocolate cups, one decorated with a bluebird and the other with a white dove. “They were gifts from a client,” Tess explained. “I have a whole set. I didn’t ask where he got them.”
“Perfect,” Kaab said. They were different from the cups the Kinwiinik normally used to serve chocolate, but the birds were lovely, the eyes done in bright specks of white and gold. First she poured chocolate from the vessel into each of the cups, and then she spooned a thick crown of foam on top, floating it on the liquid. She handed one of the cups to Tess and said, “May the blessings of Ixcacao bring life to your household.”
“In honor of the gods,” Tess said solemnly, and raised the cup to her lips and tasted the chocolate foam.
Kaab did the same and judged that she had done a passable job at raising the foam. It was bitter but not overly so, and the texture light as air. Her mother would be pleased, though her cousin Ixmaas might tease her about a certain distraction nearby that had caused the foam to be slightly softer than it should be.
“Do you like it?” Kaab asked, and was surprised to discover she was anxious that Tess might not like it at all.
“It’s . . . so unusual,” Tess said, and licked a bit of foam from her upper lip. “I thought it would be sweeter.”
“The people on the Hill drink it with much more sugar—and cream. But that’s not the way we drink it.”
Tess took another sip. “It has a very intense flavor, very rich. It tastes of . . . someplace far away. A beautiful place. How amazing that this has flowers in it.”
Kaab felt a sweet tug at her heart. “It tastes of my home.”
Tess stepped closer. “Do you miss your home?”
“Sometimes, yes. Less now than when I first arrived.”
“So there are some things you like here?”
Kaab put down her chocolate. “There are some things I like here,” Kaab agreed.
“Anything in particular?” Tess prompted, not innocently at all.
Kaab circled her hands around Tess’s waist, drawing her near. “Yes. I like the weather now that it’s warmer.”
Tess pretended exasperation and put her hand on Kaab’s shoulder as if to push her away. “Well, if it’s the weather you like, perhaps you’d rather go outside for a walk.”
Kaab pulled her closer. “Are you sure that walking is what you’d like to do?”
“I do like walking,” Tess said breathlessly. She set down her chocolate cup, too.
“So do I, but that is not what I had in mind.”
“Oh, good.”
They kissed standing next to the chocolate vessel, and Kaab discovered there was a distinct advantage to serving someone a cup of chocolate a moment before, because it made Tess’s mouth taste especially delicious. A warm breeze from the window ruffled Tess’s hair, causing the red curls to tickle Kaab’s face. She wanted to unbind those locks and run her fingers through their luxurious texture, but as she raised her hands to do so a movement caught Kaab’s eye, and she realized that she and Tess were standing directly in front of the window.
“Let me close the curtains,” Kaab said, and briefly pulled away from Tess.
A whistle went up from across the street and someone called out Tess’s name.
Tess went to the window, poked her head out, and shouted, “I’m closed for the day! Come back tomorrow!”
“I don’t think you’re closed!” came the voice.
Tess’s face was indignant as she turned back to Kaab. “Sorry.”
Kaab laughed. “It’s all right. Where were we?”
Tess reached for her and placed her hands on her waist decisively, as if they were beginning a dance. “Here.”
In due course they moved from the studio into Tess’s bedroom, where the curtains were already drawn, and lace by lace Kaab helped Tess out of her stays, until the fullness of Tess’s figure emerged beneath Kaab’s hands, all soft curves and rose-scented skin. Kaab did not understand why Xanamwiinik women confined themselves beneath such tight lacings and so many petticoats, unless it was to present themselves as gifts to their lovers, a thought that did not displease her as she finally unbound Tess’s hair. The curls were silken, the color as marvelous as sunset over the South Sea on a hot summer evening, and as they tumbled across the pillow, over Tess’s round, freckled shoulders, over the lush weight of her breasts, Kaab felt as fortunate as one of Ixchel’s handmaidens.
As Tess lay back on her bed, she was reminded of the molinillo whirring between Kaab’s hands, the look of concentration on Kaab’s face as she worked at a task that she loved, the foam rising in the chocolate just as heat rose on Tess’s own skin. She was light as air beneath Kaab’s fingers, as if somehow Kaab had turned her into the drink of the gods, decadent and rich, and Kaab was a thirsty woman.
Diane received Gregory, Lord Davenant, in the back parlor that looked out over the gardens, which had the advantage of being located near a private stairway that led up to her sitting room. He looked flushed and eager when he arrived, but he quite properly waited for the servants to leave them before he did more than express the appropriate formalities. Unfortunately, there were a lot of servants, and they showed no signs of leaving.
Diane had seated herself upon a low-backed rose chair that allowed her to arrange her dove-colored skirts to her best advantage. She was surprised to feel her cheeks warm slightly with anticipation as Davenant bent over her extended hand.
“My lady, your beauty is unparalleled this afternoon,” he said.
Diane gave him a perfect, public smile. “You flatter me, Lord Davenant. I am so sorry that my husband is not at home at present. I hope you will accept my company as a poor substitute.”
His color deepened as he sat across from her, attempting to appear at ease but utterly failing. Shadows beneath his eyes demonstrated either a restless night or a lack of chocolate; Diane was quite certain it was the latter.
“I am honored to be in your company at any time,” Davenant said.
The footman set out a tray of vanilla cream, and Diane began to pour small cups for the two of them. “How is Lady Davenant today?” she asked as she handed him a cup.
He flinched but expertly turned it to a shrug. “She is well and sends her regards.”
She sipped once at her cream before setting the cup down. “So refreshing,” she murmured. It might have been improved with a liberal dash of brandy, but she preferred to keep her wits about her in the company of the Dragon Chancellor.
Finally the footman c
losed the door behind himself, leaving her alone with Lord Davenant, who wasted no time in breaking through their forced niceties. “That vanilla cream is fit only for a baby before bedtime. A woman as . . . accomplished . . . as yourself deserves something much more complex in flavor,” he said.
She enjoyed his compliments more than she thought she would. Davenant really was rather charming. “Do you mean . . . chocolate?” she asked coyly.
A flash of irritation went across his face, but that was as Diane intended.
“I had hoped we would be able to put business aside,” he said.
She allowed the expression on her face to cool. “My dear Lord Davenant, you should know better than many that business comes before pleasure.”
“Is that so?” he said, giving her a measuring look that quite thrilled the duchess. Here was a man who was taking her seriously. “Very well,” he said. “A score of the Merchants’ Confederation members have petitioned for a detailed report on the chocolate shortage. They are suggesting that it has been purposely orchestrated.”
“Are they? How shocking.”
Gregory stared at her intently. “Is it? Shocking?”
“Of course,” Diane said demurely. “If the shortage has been purposeful, that makes the Kinwiinik rather devious, don’t you think? And I thought they were so kind, especially after what the Duke of Karleigh said to them.”
“Indeed,” Gregory murmured. He was still studying her, as if he could will from her an admission that she had played a part in this game, but she was a more skilled player than he.
“I am flattered that you would share this information with me, my lord,” Diane said. “I wonder, what will you do about this petition? It would not do for the public to believe that the Council is unable to control these foreign Traders.”
He gave a short laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d wager you had something to do with it yourself.”
“Fortunately you’re not a betting man, my lord,” she said silkily.
Gregory smiled a bit coldly. “Let me share another piece of information with you, my lady. The Kinwiinik have sent an envoy to me to demand that I eliminate their tariff. They say it has nothing to do with the lost shipment, but the timing seems quite suspicious to me.”
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