They sit on the steps of the Great Temple and watch the sun go down, and Acatl looks sidelong at him (golden in the sunlight, gold as the imperial regalia) and thinks, There is my future Emperor.

Teomitl's promised to be patient, to bide his time--to let Tizoc-tzin reign a few more years, no matter how cruel and craven the man is--and Acatl wonders, even now, if he can trust him or if he'll spend those years looking over his shoulder, praying that his former student's ambition doesn't break the Empire apart.

Then Teomitl turns and smiles at him--turns and, gods, takes his hand,--and he decides that, for once in his life, he'll take the risk.