He’d sworn to serve and protect the Revered Speaker of Tenochtitlan, the man he’d helped bring back to life and place upon the throne to which he had been appointed. He’d sworn to stand against his enemies, to keep the balance between worlds.
He’d sworn many things. They hang upon him like cobwebs now, easily brushed aside.
Regicide should be harder, he thinks idly. But Tizoc’s life has hung by a spider’s thread since he and the other High Priests brought him back, and to snap that thread is the work of a moment. He doesn’t need to wait for Teomitl’s ambition or Mihmatini’s prudence or Acamapichtli’s revenge. He only needs to reach out with his magic, cold and final as an icicle to the base of the neck, and finish the job he should have started years ago.
He feels it when it takes hold, the seismic shift in the foundations of the world. The boundaries will be weak for a while now. He’ll have to be vigilant.
Less vigilant than he’s been for a knife in the dark, a garrote at his throat. Less vigilant than he’s been for a terrible gap in the ranks of returning warriors, a space where Neutemoc or Teomitl should stand. Less vigilant than he’s been for ghosts walking the streets of his city.
As he performs the necessary rituals, he can’t help but smile.
Obsidian & Blood, Acatl
He’d sworn to serve and protect the Revered Speaker of Tenochtitlan, the man he’d helped bring back to life and place upon the throne to which he had been appointed. He’d sworn to stand against his enemies, to keep the balance between worlds.
He’d sworn many things. They hang upon him like cobwebs now, easily brushed aside.
Regicide should be harder, he thinks idly. But Tizoc’s life has hung by a spider’s thread since he and the other High Priests brought him back, and to snap that thread is the work of a moment. He doesn’t need to wait for Teomitl’s ambition or Mihmatini’s prudence or Acamapichtli’s revenge. He only needs to reach out with his magic, cold and final as an icicle to the base of the neck, and finish the job he should have started years ago.
He feels it when it takes hold, the seismic shift in the foundations of the world. The boundaries will be weak for a while now. He’ll have to be vigilant.
Less vigilant than he’s been for a knife in the dark, a garrote at his throat. Less vigilant than he’s been for a terrible gap in the ranks of returning warriors, a space where Neutemoc or Teomitl should stand. Less vigilant than he’s been for ghosts walking the streets of his city.
As he performs the necessary rituals, he can’t help but smile.