They exchanged an embrace, and Balam let the boy lead him across the plaza. It was bustling now, workers repairing the earthworks and servants hurrying between the Grand Palace, the smaller palaces, and the massive kitchen.
“Tell me of your house names,” Balam asked idly. “Mole, Otter… what else?”
“The Grand Palace is there, Lord. That is where the Sovran and his”—he flushed under his brown skin—“her attendants stay. Honored guests may stay in Otter, Mole, Beaver, and Mink.”
“And do they mean anything, these names?”
“They are animals, Lord.” He said it as if Balam was a simpleton.
“Are they given according to favor or rank?”
The boy scratched at his nose, clearly confused by Balam’s question.
“Never mind.” He suspected the boy was playing the simpleton himself. “Just take me to the Teek woman.”
“Princess,” the boy corrected.
Ah, so the boy certainly knew what a title was and what it meant but played coy about the palaces, which suggested they did indeed mean something, and Mole, perhaps, was far down the pecking order. He made note.
Despite whatever rank each palace name might imply, the inside of the Otter looked much like the Mole. Two long outer hallways with interior rooms branching off and a vaulted thatched roof high overhead. Woven rugs in bright colors hung from the walls, and across from each thatch door was an alcove that contained a small ceremonial figurine. Here, fittingly, they were otters.
The boy led him to the last door in the hallway and knocked before entering. “Lord Balam of the House of Seven, Merchant Lord of Cuecola, Patron of the Crescent Sea, White Jaguar by Birthright,” he announced, and Balam was impressed that he had taken the time to learn his address.
The room was dominated by a low table surrounded by sitting cushions, and through a doorway farther in, Balam spotted low reed bedding draped with fabrics, the packed dirt floors swept clean. A woman rose and came into the front room to meet him. Her deep plum hair coiled down her back, and she wore a sea-green robe wrapped tightly around the pronounced curves of her body. She carried a bottle of xtabentún in one hand and gestured to the table. He lowered himself onto a cushion, and she joined him, plunking the bottle down between them.
The boy hurried to a side shelf and retrieved two small clay cups and set them on the table.
She rolled dulled eyes to him. “You can go back to the Grand Palace to await my mother, but remember, not a word to anyone.” She pressed a cloth bag that rattled with cacao into his hand. He bowed smartly before departing.
“So we meet again,” she said, pouring Balam a drink. “And once more, I find myself in jail.” She slid the cup toward him, her rainbow eyes taking him in.
“A much nicer cell than the one in Kuharan.”
She laughed, the sound bitter. “Still a jail.”
“A princess,” he said, smiling. “You surprise me.”
She made a face of distaste as she poured herself a drink, although it was apparent she had already been drinking directly from the bottle. “I don’t know what game my mother is playing. The Teek do not have royalty. We barely have a government at all. Just village elders and grandmothers.”
“And yet your mother comes claiming the title and the authority.”
“To impress the likes of you,” She downed the drink in a long swallow and poured herself another. “Lords and matrons and the Sovran. But her power is not unilateral. When she returns, they will argue her decisions in the listening house just like anyone else’s.”
Like most outsiders, Balam knew nothing of how the Teek governed. It was impossible to infiltrate their insular islands and floating cities. They had limited trade and no tourism and were notorious for killing anyone who did not respect their rules. Xiala, princess or no, had told him more in a few moments than he had been able to glean in a decade of spying.
“And so why did you call me here?” he asked. “It is not to renegotiate our agreement, I hope.”
She blinked her large eyes at him.
He smiled. “Now I jest. I have heard that you successfully brought our mutual friend to Tova.”
“To die!” She said it with such venom that he flinched, his fingers tightening involuntarily around his cup.
“It was his choice.” He set his cup to the side and folded his hands on the table.
She pressed the meat of her palm against her left eye, as if her head ached. “It doesn’t matter. He didn’t die, or at least he was still alive two weeks ago when I left Tova. I do not know how he fares now.”