notapaladin

After the unpleasant realization that her brother and her husband have...a thing for each other, Mihmatini decides to help them get together. They'll be happy, and she'll be even happier not to watch them pining.

Unexpectedly, Acamapichtli lends his assistance to her noble cause. He winds up regretting this.

-

Most of the time, Mihmatini loved her husband. True, she often wanted to strangle him for his stubbornness and she would never forget how he’d planned an entire coup and expected her to simply fall in line, but she’d gone most of the way to forgiving him for that when he’d told her the full reason why he’d wanted Tizoc dead. The bastard definitely deserved it for having the nerve to try and execute her brother. (For treason, of all things! As though Acatl would ever!) Now they were friends again, even though she knew damn well that he was hiding something from her.

And this was one of those times where it really grated. “Teomitl.”

He looked up from where he’d been making an extremely half-hearted effort to tighten the wrappings on his sword. It was an improvement from the pacing, leg-bouncing, and nail-picking at least. “...What?”

She laid a hand on his arm, which always helped calm him when he stood still long enough for it. (She’d always suspected he wasn’t hugged nearly enough as a child, but she tried not to think about that. It made her angry.) “You’ve been fidgeting all afternoon. Is something wrong?”

He blinked, and then jerked away. “What? No!” It was almost too loud, which would have given the lie to his next words even if his ears weren’t turning red—he was really a terrible liar. “No, it’s fine.”

She eyed him skeptically. “...Mmm.”

“Really,” he huffed. “It’s just that I’ve been busy. It feels strange to finally relax.”

Well, he had been busy; there would be another campaign starting in a few months, and the army needed its Master of the House of Darts. He’d often come home very late or not at all, and when he did he was either exhausted, grumpy, or both. “If you’re sure.”

He nodded firmly. “I am.”

But he was still looking distinctly preoccupied, even as he washed up in preparation for Acatl’s visit. It wasn’t often that they all had the free time to eat dinner together. Even then they usually ate at Neutemoc’s house, but Ollin was teething and Necalli was losing his baby teeth altogether, so it would be a miserable time for all. She’d extended an invitation for Acatl to come to the Duality House, and he’d accepted gladly.

In fact, he’d accepted blushingly, which was...hmm. But as he entered the courtyard, she could detect no hint of awkwardness or shyness on his features. He looked the same as he ever did—which was to say tired, somewhat dour, and in immediate need of sustenance and cheering up.

And then he and Teomitl made eye contact, and just as quickly looked away. But not before she spotted a faint tremor in his hands. Well, then.

“Acatl,” Teomitl said, and smiled.

Her brother was blushing again. It would have been imperceptible if she hadn’t been looking for it. “How have you two been?”

She piped up, “Busy as we ever are. Come, sit and eat!” Normally she would have tugged him down to sit next to her, putting them across from Teomitl, but this time she held back and watched as Teomitl shifted aside on his own mat to make room for him. They didn’t touch, but Teomitl moved in a way that suggested he was very aware of it. Interesting.

She considered it as servants brought them their meal—flatbread, fish, chilies, grilled frogs and newts, plenty of vegetables. It wasn’t a surprise, not really; she’d known for a long time that Acatl was exceedingly fond of Teomitl, even though of course he’d never actually say anything because emotional vulnerability probably gave him hives, and it had always made her sigh in frustration. Look at him, Acatl. If you told him you cared for him, were proud of him, he’d light up the whole sky for you . But every time she saw them together, she found herself wondering whether being fond was the problem.

Now was definitely one of those times. For one thing, though Teomitl’s appetite was unaffected, he seemed unwilling to cross into Acatl’s personal space. Instead he cleared his throat and asked, “Ah, pass me another newt?”

Acatl hesitated for a moment as he looked at him—he always did, and there was always that same wistful look in his eyes—but then obligingly handed him another skewer. “Here.”

Their fingers brushed, and Teomitl looked away. Mihmatini saw his gaze drop to his hands with a twisted little smile before he started tearing into his meal like his life depended on it, seemingly trying to block out all of his surroundings.

She cleared her throat. “Acatl, how have things been at the temple?”

Teomitl lifted his face from his plate to comment, “Not very interesting, I hope.” It made Mihmatini smile; while he loved new and exciting things, they both knew that Acatl didn’t share his enthusiasm.

“Hah,” Acatl said dryly. “If only I was so lucky! Something was summoned down in the featherworkers’ district...” And then he started telling them all about it—what they were dealing with (not a creature from the underworld, but definitely in possession of entirely too many teeth), who had been killed so far (nobody yet, but it had severely injured a young merchant), and who was personally on the case (Ezamahual, and Acatl had the nerve to say he hoped he didn’t push himself too hard—Mihmatini had to stifle a shriek of outrage at the hypocrisy).

As her brother spoke, she found herself watching Teomitl. Her husband listened in rapt fascination, chin propped on his fist as he soaked up all the twists and turns of the case. He didn’t even interrupt, only venturing a remark when Acatl paused for water. “Is there anything you—your temple might need from me?”

Acatl blinked, and then smiled. It was slow and half-disbelieving, but it was definitely a smile and it was definitely aimed at Teomitl, who looked absolutely gobsmacked. Mihmatini was surprised he didn’t drop his food in his lap. “It’s good of you to offer, but I think the palace would...object.”

Even the allusion to Tizoc cast a pall over the table, but Teomitl rallied immediately. “I’m Master of the House of Darts. I can do what I like with the things that are mine. Let me help you, Acatl.”

Her ridiculous older brother looked hesitant, but he was still smiling. “...Thank you. I appreciate it.” And then he went red, and in a much more awkward tone added, “I...uh. I’m sure Ezamahual will, too.”

“Mm. Yes.” And there was no disguising the tinge of bitterness in Teomitl’s voice.

Mihmatini applied herself to the contents of her own plate. Is he jealous? Of Ezamahual? She tried to bring the priest’s features to mind and came up blank. No, she didn’t really think it was jealousy, but there was something about the way Teomitl kept looking at Acatl—and the way Acatl kept shooting little glances back, as though afraid to risk meeting his eyes again. And those smiles.

She’d certainly never seen Acatl look so happy outside of Teomitl’s presence. Now, her husband’s smiles were infectious, she’d be the first to admit that—but Acatl had done it first. Indeed, his eyes were still softening every time he cut a glance in Teomitl’s direction, and her husband was looking back in a way that...well, if he was being bold instead of furtive, she’d call it flirtatious. (Badly flirtatious, admittedly, but he’d always been terrible at that even when he was courting her. She’d been very hard-pressed not to laugh at it until after the wedding.)

She cleared her throat. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, too. Even if it’s just making sure you remember to eat real food and sleep more than an hour at a time.”

Acatl huffed, “You do that all on your own.”

“Someone has to!” But Teomitl was smiling at her words as she spoke, and she couldn’t help smiling too. That’s right. We both love my brother.

Now he looked positively irked. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” he snapped, which was a lie if she’d ever heard one. This was a man who forgot to eat.

Teomitl wasn’t convinced either, and let out a rude snort. “That’s like saying Acamapichtli is capable of being a decent person. I’m sure it’s true, but I’ve never seen it happen to any satisfactory degree.”

“You—“

His face was a picture. Mihmatini lost her battle against her rising tide of giggles, which only made Acatl look even more offended. Which, of course, made her laugh harder, which set Teomitl off, and finally even Acatl’s face had to crack into a grin because Teomitl was sagging against his side and unsuccessfully muffling some amazingly undignified chuckles. (Not giggles. He insisted he did not giggle, and any high-pitched squeaky noises emanating from him in the throes of mirth meant nothing, Mihmatini. She’d stopped arguing, even though he was wrong.)

Finally, when they all got their breath back, Acatl—still grinning—muttered, “I can’t believe you compared me to him. I thought we were friends, Teomitl.”

Teomitl went immediately and impressively red. “We are? Hmph. That’s how you know it’s bad, then.”

“Mm.” She wasn’t the only one to have heard the note of surprise in Teomitl’s voice; Acatl’s fingers twitched as though he wanted to touch him, but he visibly thought better of it and reached for his cup instead.

The rest of the meal was quiet. Peaceful. Blessedly free of any sort of conflict, arguments, or tension beyond the way her husband and her brother kept looking at each other. Mihmatini should have been happy. And she was, but...

But she’d been left with something to ponder, and she turned it over in her mind as she and Teomitl finally went to bed. The way my brother was looking at him. The way he was looking back. The way they touched, and blushed, and did it again.

She wasn’t jealous. No, the feeling driving its claws into her chest was irritation. As she washed and dried her hands, she found herself glaring into the basin. I was right about it. About all of it. They’re...no, they’re not together, because Teomitl knows perfectly well that if he kept something like that from me I’d kill him in his sleep. But they want to be. No man looks like that at his friend—my husband was as shy as a maiden in the calmecac every time Acatl turned in his direction! And I’ve never seen Acatl blush like that. Ever. Not even when that courtesan was throwing herself at him. Teomitl’s the only one to ever get a reaction like that—the only one who can reach him when even I can’t.

She sighed and undid her braids, letting them cascade down her back. I can’t bring it up to him. Not unless I know for sure what Teomitl’s feeling—assuming he’ll be honest with me.

Well, there was nothing for it but to ask. She waited until he sat down on the mat next to her and started taking off all his jewelry, buying her some time to formulate a proper question.

“Teomitl. Are you...?” She hesitated. This was a delicate sort of thing to ask at the best of times. And there was always the chance she was wrong, and Teomitl would be offended by her even bringing it up.

It was very hard to remove a lip plug without making a ridiculous face, but somehow Teomitl was managing it. Sort of. “Hm?”

She took a deep breath and let it out. Calm. Careful. Like a frightened deer, and gods, wouldn’t that comparison drive him spare. “I know you’re very fond of Acatl.” He made a quiet strangled noise. She continued, “I saw the way you looked at him at dinner.”

He spluttered, “The way I—” Now he was blushing, eyes wide, and she knew she was right. “Not like that!”

She looked him in the eye with a steadiness she didn’t feel. “...Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. Duality, he really was the worst liar in the world. “You know I love you.”

And I know you can be a stubborn dog sometimes, she thought, but she couldn’t actually say it because for one, it would just cause an argument. And also because Teomitl was kissing her, and she needed her mouth to talk. At least when she pulled away with a smile, he smiled back. “I do.” But you can go and love other people, too. My brother deserves it. “Good night, Teomitl.”

“...Good night.”

She thought of asking Teomitl if he’d like to have sex. They’d done it a few times since that disaster of a coup attempt, and it had been...alright. Not that it had been bad before, or indeed at any point since then, but lately he’d seemed distracted and hesitant. Guilty, she’d thought, and then reconsidered in light of what she’d noticed over dinner. Being in love with her brother would certainly explain that.

So she stretched out next to him and kept her blouse on. When the conchs blared to herald the dawn, he’d wound himself around her like a monkey and his elbow was jabbing quite painfully into her ribs—but she hadn’t been awoken by him flailing in the night or mumbling incoherently into her ear, so he must have had a peaceful night. Good. He suffered from entirely too many nightmares, none of which he was ever willing to talk about. (That was fine by her; she didn’t need to know the shape of them to hate them, especially the ones that made him wake with tears in his eyes.)

“Work,” she said.

“Grrghmph,” he said, but obligingly sat up, stretched, scratched his head, and went to find his worship-thorns.

The week passed slowly. When she wasn’t busy, she found herself paying more attention to Teomitl—noting how he lit up at every mention of Acatl, how he stared off into space or in the direction of Mictlantecuhtli’s pyramid with yearning writ large across his face. Oh, she thought with fond exasperation, it’s like that.

At the end of it, she had a meeting with Acamapichtli. It wasn’t something she was looking forward to; he had the good sense to respect her power and authority, but she’d never forgive him for what his machinations had done to Neutemoc. They were decidedly not friends. But their cooperation was necessary for the safety of Tenochtitlan and the Fifth World, so she showed him into one of the Duality House’s larger receiving rooms to talk business.

It went surprisingly well for an hour or so, aided by a platter of fruit. Then Acamapichtli picked up a slice of guava and commented, “Your husband has grown surlier of late.”

She glowered at a pineapple which really didn’t deserve her ire. Surly wasn’t how she’d put it, but it had to be annoying if Acamapichtli had noticed it at the imperial court. And it was true that he tended to be particularly snappish in the face of perceived slights to herself or Acatl, which she supposed Quenami and Acamapichtli’s continued existences qualified as. Still, she’d take ill-temper over all the sighing and blushing any day, because anger was an emotion she could actually address with her beloved idiot of a husband. “At least you don’t have to put up with him pining—“

Oh. She’d said that out loud. And Acamapichtli had heard it. Grandmother Earth, open up and swallow me right now. There was a knife on her belt; maybe if she moved fast enough, she could stab herself. Or him. Yes, stabbing him sounded like a much better idea.

Acamapichtli’s eyes gleamed. “Oh?”

She tried not to fidget. The key here was to play it off as calmly as possible, like she’d said nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing he could use against them. “...Never mind.”

“Hmm.” And then a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “I think I will mind, actually. Is this about him and Acatl?”

She stopped. Blinked. Stared. “...You noticed?” By the time she realized what she’d said, the damage was done, and she kicked herself for being a fool.

Acamapichtli snorted, waving a negligent hand. Oh. She supposed she had been getting something of a death grip on the folds of her skirt, creating an audible rustling sound. “They’ve been panting after each other for months. Everyone noticed. I am blind and I can see it.” He shook his head. “Your husband’s not a subtle man with his desires, is he?”

Even the memory of it made her have to bury her face in her free hand. (She kept the other near her knife. She wasn’t stupid.) “He insists it’s not like that. As though I’m an idiot.”

Acamapichtli made a frustrated hand gesture that suggested he was about to do the same thing. It nearly knocked over the fruit. “Duality, he trails after Acatl like a lost dog!”

“I noticed,” she muttered. It really had been amazingly obvious once she realized what she was looking at. She couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to see it. Unless it’s recent. Is it? Hmm...no. It certainly had to have started by the time of Axayacatl’s death, because even Teomitl wouldn’t try and commit fratricide in revenge for a threat to a man he didn’t love.

The High Priest scoffed. “Your brother clearly hasn’t, no matter that he looks at Teomitl like he put the sun in the sky. Are you sure he’s not an idiot?”

The urge to stab him rose again. It wouldn’t have to be anywhere fatal. But she took a moment to consider the truth of his words, and then she had to nod. “...He’s usually very smart. Just...he’s not used to subtlety in matters like this.” Or positive emotions being directed at him. Thank you, Mother and Father, you took a perfectly good man and ruined him.

“You call this subtle?” He waved a hand that managed somehow to encompass every interaction Teomitl and Acatl had ever had in front of him better than a lewd gesture would have.

She made a face. “For Teomitl? Yes. Especially when it’s aimed at Acatl; he came over all flustered when my brother even just said they were friends. He’d not want to jeopardize that, so he’s being...cautious.” Honesty compelled her to add, “At least, what passes for cautious with him.”

“Of all the times for Teomitl to discover it,” he muttered. “They act like newlyweds; I can barely even be in the same room with them. I used to catch him staring at your brother in ways that would make a sacred courtesan blush.”

She sighed, feeling a flutter of camaraderie. “I know, it’s awful.”

Acamapichtli made a face. “I can’t imagine what will happen if we let this state of affairs continue.”

She paused. “...We?”

He couldn’t meet her gaze—his illness had blinded him, and though he seemed to be able to distinguish light and darkness he had some difficulty pinpointing the location of her face—but he made a notable effort anyway. His voice took on a deliberately casual edge. “I would like to humbly offer my assistance in this...matter.”

One eyebrow went up, no matter that he couldn’t see it. “Matchmaking?”

He sat back with an expression that might have been grave if he wasn’t visibly repressing a smirk. “Consider it a removal of a mutual annoyance.”

She puffed out her cheeks, thinking it over. Acatl reminds Teomitl to have patience, and my brother...gods, my brother comes alive when he’s around him. Getting them together would solve all of our problems, and I think it would make them happy. They’d be good for each other; the gods know that Acatl is better at handling Teomitl than I am. “Deal. I’ll talk to my husband if you’ll handle Acatl.”

There was a distinct grimace, badly hidden by the polite incline of his head as he rose to leave. “...I suppose I must. Chicomecoatl’s luck go with you.” Under his breath, he muttered, “You’ll need it.”

Thanks for the vote of confidence, she thought sourly.

She found Teomitl in her chambers. He’d made noises earlier in the day about visiting Acatl and seeing how things were going at the temple of Mictlantecuhtli, and it clearly hadn’t gone that well. Not badly—he was here and uninjured—but he was also clearly worried, thoughts chasing themselves like a dog did its tail. She’d grown well-accustomed to the particular face he was making.

She settled down next to him and cleared her throat gently, smiling when he lifted his head. “You’re doing it again.”

He left off chewing at the back of his lip plug, but he was still frowning. “My apologies,” he muttered.

He looked so disgruntled that she had to pat his shoulder. “Nothing to apologize for; you know I’m only worried about your teeth.”

And now he was huffing at her, perilously close to rolling his eyes. Gods, he was adorable sometimes. “Just because you know one person who broke a tooth that way—“

“It’s a valid concern! Acatl would tell you the same thing.” Not, admittedly, the way she’d planned to segue into the topic of her brother, but it was better than nothing. And it had the added benefit of being true; of all her older siblings, Acatl was the one who worried the most. (Over other people, of course, and never himself—no matter how much it drove her insane.)

“...He would?” Teomitl was eyeing her with distinct skepticism, probably thinking along the same lines she’d been.

She nodded sagely, careful to not quite meet his gaze lest he go on the defensive. “And he stares at you like a deer in torchlight when you smile, so he’d definitely notice.”

“He—what?!” It came out in a squawk.

Victory! “You heard me,” she replied steadily.

He stared fixedly at the far wall as though it had insulted his dignity, which didn’t at all disguise the tremor in his limbs or the way his throat worked when he swallowed. “I did. But I don’t see how that’s relevant!”

“...Teomitl.” She kept her voice even and stayed where she was, no matter how much she wanted to pet him and reassure him it was alright. “I know how much you care about him.”

Teomitl spluttered, turning scarlet. “I—uh. Um. Well.” It was official. This was a thousand times worse than the day he’d told her she was on the short list to be the new Guardian of the Duality. At least then he hadn’t looked like he was seriously considering bolting from the room. “I’d like to think we’re friends...”

She caught his gaze and held it. “You don’t look at your friends like that.”

It took a moment for that to sink in, and then he recoiled with his teeth bared. “And what of it?” he snapped, and she knew he was trying to pick a fight. He always did that when his emotions grew too heavy, and after growing up with the likes of Neutemoc and Acatl she’d learned how to deal with it. Shouting back only made it worse.

“Nothing,” she said. And then, taking a risk, she reached out and covered his clenched fists with both of her hands, rubbing the backs of them until they relaxed. When he looked a little less like a terrified rabbit, she added, “But you could tell him.”

“I could what?!” He hadn’t pulled away (another victory) but he was gaping like a fish. It was sort of adorable. “Mihmatini—he’s your brother, I won’t—I wouldn’t do that to you even if I did—which—which I don’t, not like that—“

Worst. Liar. In the Fifth World. His ears were crimson, and he was doing his best to avoid her eyes. She didn’t give him the opportunity, leaning in until he was forced to meet her gaze. “...You could tell him,” she repeated. “I really, really wouldn’t mind. Not if you love him, which I think you do.”

He took a long, deep, shuddering breath and shut his eyes tightly. “...You’re right. Duality curse me for a fool, you’re right.”

The last time she’d seen him so emotional had been that day in the courtyard, when he’d dropped his sword in the dust between them and told her exactly how he’d come to the conclusion that Tizoc needed to die. He was less remorseful now, but no less devastated, and it struck at her heart. “So you have my blessing. Tell him about your feelings. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Teomitl swallowed and dropped his gaze to his lap. For a long moment she didn’t think he’d answer, and then he muttered—grudgingly— “He could hear me.”

“And if he did?”

“...He’d reject me,” he said matter-of-factly. His voice was cold and flat in the way she’d learned meant he was trying very hard to keep it steady. “And then I’d never have even his friendship again, because every time he looked at me he’d know I want more and—and he doesn’t, so...”

Duality preserve me, she sighed internally. My husband is blind. She squeezed his hands, and he looked up. “Teomitl. I know my brother, and I know that even if he didn’t feel the same way, he’d never discard you for it. He respects and cares for you so, so much. You make him smile like no one else can. And I’ve never—ever—seen him look at another person the way he looks at you.”

The first sparks of hope started to shine in his eyes, but his voice still held that horrible bitter edge. “...That doesn’t mean he...”

“He wants to touch you,” she said simply. That on its own meant something; Acatl had always been reserved with all but their family, pulling back with a frown from even friendly contact. “I’ve watched him with you. I’ve seen the way he reaches and then pulls back. Tlaloc’s Lightning strike me, he blushes when he looks at you—and he looks at you all the time.”

Teomitl’s eyes went wide, and he almost jerked his hands out of her hold in his shock. “He does?!”

“He does. Even during dinner.” Her words made him jolt the way she knew they would; Acatl was known to approach his food with the singleminded intensity of a hunting jaguar. There had been times at the table where she hadn’t been sure he’d been pausing to breathe. And yet, when it came to Teomitl, her brother would let food cool on his plate while listening to him speak. “It was like he couldn’t tear his eyes away. So...think about it, alright?”

Slowly, he nodded. “...I will.”

This is for my own sake, Acamapichtli repeated to himself, but he knew it was partly a lie. True, he was doing it for himself—it was infuriating watching Acatl and Teomitl dance around their feelings like warriors at the gladiator stone—but also because...well. While he and Acatl certainly weren’t friends, he’d tried to save his clergy and Acamapichtli was aware he sort of owed the man for making the effort. There was something oddly endearing about his determination to do the right thing and damn the consequences, even if it was sure to stab him in the back someday.

And so he set out for the temple of Mictlantecuhtli, aware that no pretty speech would make Acatl happy to see him. He’d have to rely on honesty and—ugh—being polite. As polite as he could manage, anyway, no matter how much fun it was to nettle the man to the breaking point. If he did that, Acatl would probably write his every word off as a lie meant to antagonize him, and this on the one day when he really didn’t have (much of) an ulterior motive for seeking his company.

Luck was on his side, because Acatl was in his temple dealing with the accounts (and doing it all himself, no matter that High Priests had people for that. People they didn’t like.) He counted his way up the steps carefully, glad he’d brought his cane for once; he thought Acatl would probably help him if he fell down the side of the pyramid, but he didn’t really feel like staking his life on that chance.

In his priest-senses, the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli was a man-shaped void of black and gray smoke, tinged with a nasty sort of gangrenous green. Nothing like his own priests’ pleasant blue-white clouds and lightning. He let the entrance curtain jangle obnoxiously behind him as he strode in, waving cheerfully in the man’s direction. “Ah, Acatl! Good thing I caught you.”

Acatl got to his feet. They were much the same height, but his fellow priest had two working eyes, some very protective family members, and what Acamapichtli suspected would be an incredibly vicious temper if properly roused. And he didn’t sound happy. “...What do you want?”

Smile. He smiled. Nicely. He arranged it into something less likely to get him punched in the face. “I can’t simply stop by and say hello?”

He had the sense Acatl was folding his arms across his chest. “No.”

He sighed heavily. “Fine. If you must know, I just came from a meeting with your sister.” And we bonded over how stupid you and your student are, he didn’t add. (No matter how tempting it was.)

Well, that got Acatl’s full attention. He took a step forward, not incidentally bringing himself into stabbing range. Acamapichtli held his ground. “Is she alright?”

He sounds worried. How sickeningly brotherly of him. He had seven younger sisters, and nobody could ever accuse him of fretting over them. He held up a placating hand. “She’s fine. We had a quite pleasant conversation, and I learned something very interesting about Teomitl.”

Acatl visibly stiffened, and the fog of his body swirled under his skin like a coiling snake. “...What?”

Ah, he couldn’t resist. He let his grin widen, even as he took a prudent step backwards. “He has terrible taste.”

“Excuse me?!” The green sparked, and the shadows where his eyes should be deepened. Though he wasn’t drawing on Lord Death’s power—he was annoyingly humble like that—Acamapichtli had the fleeting thought that he ought to be feeling the chill of the grave pouring off him.

Accordingly, he sighed and waved a hand to diffuse the tension before Acatl decided to really take offense to the perceived slight to his beloved sister. “I’m not talking about Mihmatini. Mihmatini is a wonderful girl who deserves better.” Much, much better. Gods, I can’t think what she sees in that reckless young fool.

“Then who is it?” Acatl huffed, outline rippling. There was a definite tinge of hurt in his voice as he muttered, “I’d like to think he’d say something to me if he was planning on taking a concubine so soon—“

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you be jealous?”

And watched as his words went straight through the ballcourt’s hoop. Acatl actually jerked backwards, gray turning to black and black turning to the void between stars. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then a half-hissed snap of, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Yes, you do. With real effort, he bit back a smirk. “You love him.”

Acatl swallowed audibly. “I don’t—“

He made a stabbing motion with his hand. “Don’t bother lying to me.” Or at all. You’re complete shit at it; I have no idea how Ceyaxochitl thought you’d make a decent High Priest. “Why do you think I’m always trying to give you two privacy?”

At least he was spared the sight of Acatl blushing. “It’s not—like that,” he started, but the way his voice wavered was as good as a confession. It might not be like that, but he obviously had no justification planned for what else it could be like.

Acamapichtli sighed, shook his head, and decided to throw him a bone. “You fool, haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?”

Acatl made the most offended sound he’d ever heard. For a moment he braced himself for a physical blow, but the man only took a step closer and snarled, “He’s my sister’s husband.”

“And?” He shrugged. Really, he’d heard of much more unusual arrangements; while it was true that adultery was illegal, Teomitl would one day (probably quite soon) be Revered Speaker, and then nobody would dare speak out against any interesting sexual habits he might have if they wanted to speak about anything else ever again.

“And? And?!” Acatl gestured furiously, the green and black of his magic positively roiling in his outrage. “It would break her heart! I can’t believe—that you would even suggest—“

He sighed and shrugged again. Really, Acatl was much too easy to wind up. “And if she gave her blessing? Imagine it.”

To give him credit, Acatl did seem to be imagining it. At least he took a step back out of Acamapichtli’s personal space, anyway. And he hesitated for a long, long moment before muttering sourly, “Does it matter? He doesn’t think of me like that.”

He hardly ever prayed to any other gods besides his patron, and never to the gods whose domain was love, but he rubbed his forehead and sent a fervent mental prayer to Xochipilli anyway. Flower Prince, You who make hearts to rise up like maguey sap, please come smack some sense into this self-denying devotee of Yours, because I’ve eaten things with more brains than him. The sigh felt like it was coming up from the depths of his soul. “...Really, Acatl? Really?”

Acatl tilted his head. “What?”

“You’re an idiot,” he said bluntly. “For reasons which surpass all understanding of mortal or divine logic, that man is infatuated with you.”

Acatl seemed to have lost the power of speech. Even his magical protections were still as the grave. His mouth opened and shut again with an audible click, but no sound came out.

He pressed his advantage. “Acatl, he seeks you out. He leaps to your defense. He looks at you—by the Duality, he looks at you like you set the sun in the sky personally.” It didn’t matter that he’d lost the ability to personally witness the expression in question; it had been plainly and embarrassingly in evidence long before his illness. And when I insulted you, I swear he was about to stab me over his own brother’s corpse. He decided not to mention that part.

Acatl spluttered, “So he admires me—“

“I have seen him, a grown man and a seasoned warrior, blush like a maiden when you smile at him. He pants after you like a dog in heat.” It was seared into his mind. While Acatl choked, he continued ruthlessly, “You put a hand on his arm once and walked away and I swear by the Storm Lord’s face that he was actually frozen to the spot. And when he stood in that courtyard and wanted to overthrow his brother, it was your words that broke through to him.”

There was a long, shaky-sounding breath. “...I don’t—I didn’t even think...”

“Of course you didn’t. And I’m sick of seeing the results of your not thinking.” He clapped a hand to the general vicinity of Acatl’s shoulder, ignoring the way his magic buzzed like a thousand angry bees. “If you’ve ever trusted me for anything—“

“I haven’t,” Acatl snapped, and pulled away.

“—if you’ve ever trusted your sister for anything, then. She’ll tell you the same thing. Talk to Teomitl. Tell him how you feel.” He allowed himself a smirk. “Or I’ll tell him for you.”

Now he was all prickly dignity again, but Acamapichtli could tell by the shape of his magic and the tone of his voice that it was hiding some very real—and appropriate—fear. “...You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would. You have one week.”

And then he turned and walked away, whistling as he descended the steps. That had gone wonderfully well. Hmm. Should I sacrifice to the Flower Prince on his behalf?...No. Let him muddle through it on his own. There’s no reason for me to exert myself. (Then, too, Xochipilli was known for a tendency to purposefully misconstrue all prayers on behalf of a “friend” to be obliquely referring to the petitioner instead, and romance made him nauseous.)

Truthfully, he wasn’t expecting results. Acatl had always been cautious to a fault, and it stood to reason that his love life would be no different. He let one day go by, then two, then three. Then four. By the evening of the fourth day, he was sure that the fifth day would pass with no word from the Duality House on how their little scheme was progressing, and he would be forced to seek Teomitl out and have a conversation he really didn’t want to have.

They managed to surprise him. And worse (better?) he witnessed the results personally. Or, well, his priests did; they’d been cleaning up after the day’s sacrifices at the Great Temple when he’d heard their low chatter break into a knot of excitement, and he’d hastily cornered the one with the keenest eyesight to describe what they were all looking at. It had taken a great deal of awkward hemming and hawing, but finally he’d gotten an answer.

“Teomitl-tzin and Acatl-tzin—I think they’re holding hands at his temple...!”

A great deal of quills and cacao beans were changing hands around him, and all he could do was sigh and hope he didn’t regret it.

It took another week for him to arrange a second meeting with Mihmatini at the Duality House, and by then he’d made a decision. Yes, he definitely regretted it.

He sat down heavily on the mat provided for him and glowered at the clear-edged ultramarine blue that was Mihmatini. “...Well, it worked.”

She had the nerve to hum cheerfully as she poured him a cup of something that smelled like maguey sap and pushed a plate of frogs at him. “Mm-hmm.”

He took one and ate it just to have something to do. It was actually delicious, which helped, though he thought someone should probably tell the cooks that it was possible to use too much chili. But thinking of chili made him remember the frankly terrifying amounts of the stuff he’d witnessed Acatl eat at royal banquets, and he grimaced as he remembered what the man had been up to lately. And with whom. “And I thought the pining was annoying.”

“I think they’re sweet together.” She sounded like she was holding back a giggle, probably at his expense.

“Mihmatini. I heard Acatl laugh yesterday.” It had been awful. Not the sound of the laugh itself, but the sheer incongruity of hearing it in a courtyard in the imperial palace, where Acatl’s black-and-gray had been tucked too closely next to Teomitl’s gold-veined jade for him to want to come any closer.

“He does that.”

Acamapichtli shuddered.

And then Mihmatini patted his hand and said something even worse. “At least you haven’t walked in on them kissing.”

“...Thank the gods I’m blind.” He squeezed his eyes shut anyway, as though that would help erase the idea from his mind. No, that didn’t work—he could still picture it all too clearly. Is there magic that can remove unwanted images from a person’s brain? If not, can we petition the gods for some?

Worse, Mihmatini didn’t leave it at that. “Tell me about it. I never want to see my brother in a position like that ever again.” She made a sound like a verbal wince. “There was tongue.”

“Eurgh, why are you telling me?!”

She sighed. “Sharing the pain, o my co-conspirator. Sharing the pain.”

“...To think I once thought you were a nice young woman,” he muttered. He was officially rescinding that particular compliment; clearly, the new Guardian of the Duality was a horrible creature who...well, actually, that would probably serve her in good stead when she had to deal with the likes of Quenami, but that didn’t mean he had to approve of it. Especially when it was directed against him.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

Then she giggled, and he was left with the unfamiliar and horrible sensation that he might have just made a friend.