Acatl hates to say it. He hates even to think it. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. “If the council is so corrupt that Tizoc can bribe them, perhaps we can pay them more.” Priests are not wealthy as a rule, and both of them are in disgrace, but surely they can come up with something. He bites his lip and studies the tops of his feet, deep in thought.

When he looks up, no better option having presented itself, Acamapichtli is smiling at him. It’s warm and genuine and almost proud, and it sends a chill down his spine. “What?” he snaps.

Acamapichtli actually has the nerve to pat his shoulder as though they’re friends. “Now you’re starting to think like a politician. I knew you had it in you.”

He shudders, stepping away. “Forget I said anything.”

They’ll find another way. If Acamapichtli agrees with him, he knows he’s going down the wrong path.