Head throbbing, prince Tezozуmoc stumbled into a door-frame, bruising his shoulder. His eyes were having trouble focusing, but he seemed to be in some kind of domicile, a bedroom, a sitting room…Glorious savior, where am I? Is this someone's house? The prince tried to kick sheets tangling his feet away – part of his mind recognized they were of exceptional quality – but he wound up on the floor, staring up at a white ceiling. Gripped by nervous fear, Tezozуmoc's addled brain started to babble: I hope her husband does not come in right now. Whoever she happens to be – oh, Christ the Risen Sacrifice, I hope she was pretty! Or at least from a good family – that would please my divine father – getting some foreign princess heavy with jade and gold – then what would I do? What can I do? Should I run away? If…if I could stand up…
"Mi'lord?" A familiar voice intruded. The prince stopped struggling with the entangling cloth and looked up. The shorter of his two bodyguards stood over him, hands clasped behind his back. "Would you like some breakfast?"
"No!" The thought of food made Tezozуmoc's stomach roll over queasily. "Something to drink – my mouth is terribly dry. A beer? A cold Rabbit? Or peyotl if they have some – aaah! – even octli liquor will do…"
Face impassive, Sergeant Dawd knelt beside the prince and took his wrist in gentle fingers. The Skawtsman considered the lights on the prince's medband carefully, and then stood with an easy motion, dragging Tezozуmoc to his feet. The abrupt change in position sent blood draining from the prince's head and he nearly fell over again.
"Ahhh…what did I do? Was there a party?" Tezozуmoc let himself be led to a chair in the sitting room. He stared around owlishly, throbbing head, parched mouth and general ill-feeling beginning to inspire a very poor humor. The prince tapped his medband peevishly. "This cheap trinket isn't working properly, is it? I feel…I feel wretched! Wrung out, stamped, dried, put away with the short kernels! Oh, my head…"
"Mi'lord," Dawd opened a refrigerated cabinet hidden in one of the walls. "Your medband shut down days ago. The level of drug toxicity in your system exceeded the band's safety limits. So you've been sleeping… Here, drink some ofthis."
Tezozуmoc took the glass with a horrified expression on his face. "This looks like bile."
"Drink up, mi'lord. Enzymes to help your liver process the alcohol and drugs and other toxic chemicals polluting your system."
"I am not drinking bile!"
Dawd's eyes grew rather cold and he leaned close to the prince. Surprised, Tezozуmoc quailed back into the overstuffed chair.
"Mi'lord, it's my business to keep you alive and healthy. By whatever means please your honored father. So – drink this and let the fluids do their work."
Flushed, the prince looked away and gagged down the glass. Stupid Skawt – I've gotten drunk before! This is no different than last time…though that rose-colored girl did let me taste some giddyup from her fliptop…everything got woozy after that. I wonder…
"What happened to the beautiful singer?" Wiping his mouth, Tezozуmoc tossed the glass carelessly behind the sofa. He peered at Sergeant Dawd expectantly. "Is she here? Oh…did we mate? I was wondering what she'd feel like -"
"There was no mating, mi'lord." Dawd assumed parade rest by reflex. He looked down at the prince, who sprawled bonelessly across the chair. "You were…touching her in an inappropriate way and…"
"She was very smooth!" the prince exclaimed, flushing copper. "I asked her permission first!"
"…her patron, General H umara, did not like that at all." Dawd's voice was quite cold. "No indeed. He came within a hair of splitting you open with as fine a damascene-style blade as I've ever seen."
"Fine. Fine. I'm very grateful." Tezozуmoc started to feel stymied. This always happens. I hate this. Why won't anyone answer my questions? "What happened to the rose-colored girl?"
"Humara took her away. Under local law, she is his legal possession…"
Tezozуmoc grunted and stood up – swayed unsteadily for a moment, but found his footing – and gestured violently at the Skawtsman. "Oh, shut up. Shut-shut-shut up! Do you know where she is? Was she hurt?"
Dawd shook his head. "We moved you to safety as quickly as possible."
"Listen to me, Sergeant." The prince rubbed a fine-boned brown hand across one cheek. Pain stabbed behind his eyelids at the touch. Oh, I have done myself an injury this time. What was in those red crystals? Gasoline? What if they like to drop shots of petroleum distillate here? "There are very few things in this world I find enjoyable. That girl…"
Tezozуmoc stopped and closed his mouth with a snap. He felt truly terrible, worse than he had in at least two weeks. Despite the stabbing pressure threatening to burst through his eyelids and spill blood down his cheeks, the prince could see enough of the sergeant's face to realize the man was only barely disguising open contempt. A groping hand found the back of the nearest chair. The feel of solid wood under his fingertips kept him from pitching over.
"Did you hear her singing, Sergeant? Did you listen to her at all?"
Sergeant Dawd shook his head minutely. "Mi'lord, I was…"
"Be quiet." Exhausted, Tezozуmoc's anger flared, the stabbing reflection of sunlight from a drawn blade. "I am speaking. If you cannot listen, then you are discharged from my service. Did I choose you to watch over me? No – so you may go at any time. You were forced upon me, just as Colmuir was." The prince's thin face twisted in anguish and his right hand scratched angrily at the side of his neck. "Two Eagle Knights set to guard a Prince Imperial – yet I am Otomitl – an officer! Where are my captives? Where are the men I've defeated in battle? There are none!"
Dawd stepped back, gray-green eyes narrowing in puzzlement.
"You barely even comprehend what I say." Tezozуmoc looked sick again, but the hangover was losing its hold. "My father and my brothers don't even bother to speak to me – why should they? My mantle of red and white feathers is ash and glue and paint, my victories – not one plume is mine. Not one. Only my father's name shields me from disgrace – his will, and men like you, who watch over me and keep me from harm."
Tezozуmoc abruptly wrenched the chair from the floor and hurled it into the nearest wall. Hardwood shattered, sending splinters clattering from the light fixtures. Dawd braced himself, but did not move.
"I am a Mйxica!" The prince's voice was bitter and furious. "The blood of conquerors is in me – every nation bows down before my father – our enemies know only ruin and exile or lie dead, their nations wastelands under the Blow. My brothers…" Tezozуmoc gasped for breath, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. "They are strong – those Blades Undimmed – what am I? Only a broken mirror, distorted, filled with shadows. A blunted edge."
Dawd, alarmed, thumbed his comm, sounding a warning on the circuit he and Colmuir shared.
"The eagle screams," Tezozуmoc said, his voice starting slow, chanting.
"Jaguars howl, and you – O Prince – you are
Macuilmailnalli.
Here, in a region of smoke, in the land of red color,
bravely the Mйxica are fighting."
The prince stopped, body drained by the outburst. His hands were trembling.
"I am intoxicated – I, Tezozуmoc.
I of the flowery, shaven hair.
Again and again, I drink the flowering liquor.
Let them pass me precious flowery nectar.
Oh, my brother, you are young and strong.