The High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli kneels before his ruler, head bowed. “I am here, my lord.”
Emperor Ahuitzotl sighs, offering a hand to help him to his feet. “Rise, Acatl. Let us show our enemies we stand united.”
Technically, the dozens of appropriately cowed and decimated lords about to walk into the celebration of the Great Temple’s rededication are no longer their enemies. Acatl’s all too aware how quickly that could change. His liege lord is right; in order for them to show their strength after the disastrous reign of Ahuitzotl’s predecessor, it will take more than a few thousand sacrifices. It will take unity. It will take resplendence.
It will take Acatl in full regalia seated next to the Emperor and Imperial Consort while the guests are welcomed in. Yes, the other High Priests will be there too, but Ahuitzotl has been extremely clear on who he wants at his left side. Who else will show that we alone keep the boundaries of the Fifth World intact? He’d asked, and the faith in his eyes still shakes Acatl to the core.
But there’s no time for introspection, because the banquet is starting. They march out of the antechamber together, Ahuitzotl glittering in gold and jewels and his High Priest for the Dead a skull-masked shadow behind him. They sit down. On Ahuitzotl’s other side, the Guardian of the Duality flashes her brother a brief smile. He nods back.
“Thank you,” the Emperor murmurs. He knows how much Acatl hates being on display for the nobility.
Acatl permits himself a small smile. “No need.” And then, because nobody is close enough to hear if he keeps his voice low, he adds, “I am ever at your disposal, my lord. Particularly if there’s anything else you require of me tonight.”
And Emperor Ahuitzotl—his Teomitl—grins. “Always.”
Obsidian & Blood, Acatl/Teomitl
The High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli kneels before his ruler, head bowed. “I am here, my lord.”
Emperor Ahuitzotl sighs, offering a hand to help him to his feet. “Rise, Acatl. Let us show our enemies we stand united.”
Technically, the dozens of appropriately cowed and decimated lords about to walk into the celebration of the Great Temple’s rededication are no longer their enemies. Acatl’s all too aware how quickly that could change. His liege lord is right; in order for them to show their strength after the disastrous reign of Ahuitzotl’s predecessor, it will take more than a few thousand sacrifices. It will take unity. It will take resplendence.
It will take Acatl in full regalia seated next to the Emperor and Imperial Consort while the guests are welcomed in. Yes, the other High Priests will be there too, but Ahuitzotl has been extremely clear on who he wants at his left side. Who else will show that we alone keep the boundaries of the Fifth World intact? He’d asked, and the faith in his eyes still shakes Acatl to the core.
But there’s no time for introspection, because the banquet is starting. They march out of the antechamber together, Ahuitzotl glittering in gold and jewels and his High Priest for the Dead a skull-masked shadow behind him. They sit down. On Ahuitzotl’s other side, the Guardian of the Duality flashes her brother a brief smile. He nods back.
“Thank you,” the Emperor murmurs. He knows how much Acatl hates being on display for the nobility.
Acatl permits himself a small smile. “No need.” And then, because nobody is close enough to hear if he keeps his voice low, he adds, “I am ever at your disposal, my lord. Particularly if there’s anything else you require of me tonight.”
And Emperor Ahuitzotl—his Teomitl—grins. “Always.”