Then let her die for it, he thought. Once she has used her magic to topple your enemies’ cities. After she serves her purpose, her fate is no concern of yours.
He rubbed at the back of his overwarm neck, which he suspected was beginning to sunburn. He really should go join the other lords under the awning before he overheated. He could see they were eating small plates of seafood and drinking cold cups of thick papaya juice.
He exhaled a long sigh. He would promise Tuun her islands if it would make her amenable to his cause. She was likely correct, and the Teek were so diminished they would not be much of a challenge. And if they were? He had reconciled himself to a hundred deaths. Why not a thousand? Ten thousand?
He stood, pasted a neutral smile on his face, and went to join his peers.
CHAPTER 20
CITY OF TOVA （COYOTE’S MAW）
YEAR 1 OF THE CROW
And Coyote cried, I have been cast down! Here does the thorn pierce me! There does the rock break my back! And yet I live!
—From Songs of the Coyote
Naranpa called Baaya to her rooms. Denaochi had left her an ensemble worthy of the Sun Priest’s first conference with the bosses. Her skirt was a deep yellow, patterned with narrow lines that seemed to shine like beams of sunlight when she moved, and blue and white ribbon ran along the hem like the horizon at dawn. Her shawl-like blouse was the same shade of yellow, and small string tassels hung from the sleeves, threaded through with blue and white. Her cloak was deer hide lined with dark-dyed fur, dots of white, like stars, placed within, and she wore heavy bands of gold at her wrists and even more as cuffs on her ears and ankles. Baaya also fixed her hair, pulling it back from her face with golden combs while letting the heavy bulk of it fall loose down her back. Her ensemble was regal and meant to impress, and Naranpa donned it like armor.
She read over the scroll while Baaya worked, trying to absorb as much as she could about the eight magics outlined in the document. Each had an opposing magic along the wheel: spirit in contrast to blood, fire to water, stone to sky, and the one that most interested her, sun to shadow. The map linked the sun’s power to the firebird and to life. In opposition, the shadow was represented by the crow and death. But it didn’t tell her how to invoke the power or what it could be used for. Or how she might call on it to aid Denaochi. But if Zataya was right and even now her brother was facing the wrath of the other bosses, she didn’t have time to decipher the mysteries of the manual. She hoped that the power would come with her need, as it had before. And if it didn’t, she would have to find another way.
Zataya met her at the door of the Lupine. “I can take you as far as the entrance of the Agave.”
Naranpa remembered the letter Denaochi had showed her marked with three agave leaves. “Is that where he is? What is it?”
“A pleasure house run by a woman name Sedaysa. She is an ally, an old friend of Denaochi’s from days past, and she does not wish him ill. But she will be unable to delay those who do for long.”
Zataya hurried them out onto the streets. Naranpa found herself scanning the rooftops, looking for crows, but saw none. She could only hope the Crow God Reborn had given up on finding her, but to even think it felt like a lie. This was only a reprieve, and she knew it.
“What must I do when I arrive?” They walked quickly down the near-empty street, cowls up and heads together.
“Show them your power. Assure them you will fight for the Maw, that you can bring the Sky Made clans to bend to your authority as Sun Priest, and that the Crow God Reborn can be defeated by your sorcery.”
“I cannot promise all that.”
“Then Denaochi is dead.”
She pulled Naranpa down a side street, and then another, until they came to a building that resembled the Lupine, its half-circle facade facing out. But where the Lupine was whitewashed except for the painting of the flower that was its namesake, this building was a pale blue, and its door was set at street level. Next to the door, itself the deep purple of a bruise, was the painting of an agave plant. The succulent sprouted three fat blue-green leaves that curled sensually upward, their tips crowned with dark maroon thorns.
“I can go no farther.” Zataya smoothed shaking hands over her lap. “I will pray for you to the small gods, and to the Coyote, too.” She hesitated. “And to the sun.”
Naranpa had never wanted anyone’s prayers, much less to gods whose worship the Watchers forbade, but all she said was, “Thank you.”
Zataya squeezed her arm, the most affection she had ever shown Naranpa, and then she was hurrying back down the street.