The call had come at dawn.
By midmorning, Ehecatl was seated at the edge of the noble chamber—stone beneath his knees, arms resting on his thighs, sweat clinging to his brow. He wore no fine cotton cloak, no gold rings or jade-studded earrings. Only a common white tilmatli, loincloth, and cactli.
Across from him seated in a circle, the pipiltin watched in silence.
And at the center of them all, draped in a royal tilmatli of blue, sat Cuauhtémoc, Huey Tlatoani of the Mexica.
It was the emperor himself who spoke first:
"Ehecatl. You've been summoned not as a macehualtin, a warrior today, but as your first day as a pipiltin."
"You may speak your request."
Ehecatl met his gaze, then bowed his head briefly before answering.
"I wish to serve this altepetl not only with my strength… but with my mind.
I request to be considered for the seat of Cihuacoatl."
There was no rustle. No whispered shock.
Only measured silence.
Then, one noble leaned forward—Tecuehuatzin, the elder with the voice like dry leaves.
"A bold request," he said plainly. "That seat is second only to the emperor's. It does not belong to warriors, no matter how skilled. It is a burden of law, judgment, governance, and restraint."
"Why do you believe you are suited to it?"
Before Ehecatl could answer, Yaotzin, the high priest of Huitzilopochtli, grunted.
"He has shown restraint. We've seen, or heard it. He crushed the Caxtilteca, but fed the people. He took war spoils, yet gave tribute back to the us in the form of their weapons. He did not seize the palace of Motecuhzuma, nor raise it to the ground. He chose a commoner's home and made it his own."
"That is not the act of a beast."
Another noble, younger and sharper-eyed, interjected:
"And what of his blood? He is not of pipiltin birth. His father was no lord, his mother not of house or lineage."
A third voice, this one female—cut in smoothly:
"He may not be of noble birth… but you forget that before Motecuhzuma became Huey Tlatoani, we had included commoners into our ranks based on merit, and merit he has."
There were murmurs of agreement, some quiet scoffs, and at least one grunt of reluctant approval.
Cuauhtémoc raised his hand to silence them.
"In war, Ehecatl has proven himself. In resource-sharing, he has earned respect. And when a few of us and I met and spoken with him, he has never spoken out of turn."
"But the role of Cihuacoatl demands more."
He looked directly at Ehecatl now.
"Tell me… how do you judge a theft between two merchant guilds? A tax dispute between altepetl lords? What do you do when a widow of noble blood petitions for land stolen by her cousin?"
Ehecatl answered with what he could.
They probed him with questions, hypotheticals, and case disputes. He fumbled on some, stood firm on others. But he showed the one thing most valued in council: he listened.
After a long silence, Cuauhtémoc stood.
"Then it is decided. You may be considered."
"But if you are to truly become a pipiltin… it must be sealed by blood."
He turned to the side of the chamber and gave a slight nod.
A girl was brought forward.
On it sat a girl no older than ten. She wore a huipil, her hair unbraided in the style of unmarried daughters. She held a calm, trained expression, neither smiling nor afraid.
"This is Xochitl," Cuauhtémoc said plainly.
"Daughter of Motecuhzoma, and half-sister to my wife. She is of high birth, untouched, and well-schooled. She is the flower we offer you."
A pause followed.
"A ceremonial marriage to her will mark your blood as one with our house. Until she comes of age, she will remain under the watch of her caretakers."
"But the bond will be permanent."
More nods. This time, no scoffs.
One elder added:
"This is not the only path to the Cihuacoatl's seat. You must still prove yourself in civic matters. Law. Trade. Mediation. Construction. All that falls beneath the palace walls."
Another added:
"But without noble blood, or a noble wife you cannot truly call yourself a pipiltin. When she bleeds, she is yours."
Then, the final word from Cuauhtémoc:
"Marry her, and serve well. Do so… and you will not be a second king."
"You will be something greater, its shield."
All eyes turned to Ehecatl.
His answer would decide everything.
He did not flinch. He did not smirk. He only gave a firm nod, lowered his gaze in respect, and spoke with restrained weight:
"I… I thank you for the opportunity for considering me for the position.
May we rise above greater heights than previously before."
There was no applause.
Only the quiet ripple of approval as Cuauhtémoc stepped down from his seat and raised his hand.
"Then rise, Ehecatl. From this day forth… you walk with us."
And behind him, the nobles began to rise too.
One by one, until Ehecatl was no longer kneeling alone, but standing among the pipiltin.
…
…
…
Ehecatl said nothing as he left the council chamber. Not a word.
He walked like a man returning from war. Shoulders squared, eyes forward, limbs stiff with discipline. He passed guards who bowed their heads. Servants who whispered. Advisors who looked at him like he was now something more than mortal. The future Cihuacoatl. The man who made the Caxtilteca kneel.
But none of them knew what was screaming inside his skull.
"I'm getting married to a fucking child."
He kept walking.
He was barely halfway down the hallway when the nausea hit. Not the battlefield kind. Not even the "I just crucified a guy while making him wear women's clothes" kind. No, this was the kind that made his ears feel hot and his stomach twist like he'd eaten bad food.
"She's just a kid. A fucking kid."
"Why the fuck did they say 'when she bleeds she is yours' like that was normal??"
He turned a sharp corner and finally stopped near a darkened archway, one hand bracing against the cool stone.
He exhaled. Slowly. Controlled. But even then he couldn't stop the quiet, mortified whisper from slipping out in attempt of humor to ease his discomfort.
"Chris Hansen's going to pop out and say, 'Why don't you take a seat over there.'"
He closed his eyes.
"JiDion is gonna pop out with a camera and put me on EDP Watch"
"The fuck am i supposed to say? 'I didn't know she was ten! I thought she was just really short! I swear! It was her brother in law who offered!'"
"JiDion, don't do this to me. Not like this."
His jaw tightened. He tried to steady his thoughts, tried to tell himself this was normal for the time. That royal marriages had always functioned like this. Political. Symbolic. She wouldn't even live with him until years later, and even then it wouldn't be romantic. Not for a long time. Maybe never, and even then trying to rationalize and justify makes him feel like shit.
Then there's the realization he's literally only concerned about how this makes him look and feel, not even considering her perspective makes him feel haunted, and disgusted.
"Have I truly lost it?"
"Is me being here making me a product of this environment? How fucked up am I to not even consider her perspective, how she's getting married to an older guy she barely even knows and heard of, her life already planned out when she's not even a woman yet."
He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.
Then sighed.
"Cuauhtémoc you son of a bitch…"
…
…
…
Catalina is cleaning a clay bowl when Ehecatl walks in like a man who just witnessed three war crimes and a toddler wedding in one afternoon.
Catalina glanced up, eyes soft. "¿Todo bien… mi señor?" (Is everything all right… my lord?)
Ehecatl closed the door. Locked it. Then stood there, shoulders still tight.
"Me ofrecieron una esposa."
(They offered me a wife.)
Catalina blinked. "…Oh."
She slowly set the bowl down. "Eso… eso es bueno, ¿no?"
(That… that's good, right?)
He didn't respond.
She watched him walk toward the nearest wall, press both palms to the stone, and lower his head like a man praying for divine strength.
Then:
"I thought they were going to offer me a noblewoman."
"Someone my age."
"Maybe older."
"Someone with… you know. Breasts."
Catalina, now very confused, nodded slowly.
"She is ten, Catalina."
He turned around dramatically, arms outstretched like a priest denouncing the end times.
"TEN!"
Catalina's mouth opened slightly. "…¿Niña?"
(A girl?)
"Yes. A niña. A literal child."
He started pacing.
Catalina held in a laugh. Or a cry. She wasn't sure which one it was.
Ehecatl kept going.
"I thought all they were going to ask if I had governing experience. Diplomatic skill. Budgeting. But no. They also offered me a girl with dirt under her nails and called it a prerequisite."
Catalina cleared her throat. "Tal vez… es una costumbre?"
(Maybe… it's tradition?)
Ehecatl stopped mid-step.
"Oh it's tradition alright. Cuauhtémoc basically smiled like a goddamn matchmaker. 'You want to be Cihuacoatl? Here. Marry this… this… kid.'"
He sat down heavily on a reed mat.
"I'm gonna end up in a scroll one day. Not even a glorious one. A fucking warning for other men."
He mimicked a narrator's voice:
"Here lies Ehecatl, Cihuacoatl of the Mexica. He rebuilt the Empire… and also married someone who still eats dirt."
Catalina finally gave in and laughed. She covered her mouth, trying to be respectful, but Ehecatl shot her a betrayed look.
"Oh you're laughing? You think this is funny? You're Castilian. Your people have a law marrying 12-year-old girls."
She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "¿Y tú lo aceptaste?"
(And you accepted it?)
He stared at her.
Then laid back, staring at the broken ceiling.
"…I thanked them."
Catalina burst out laughing.
"…You really thanked them?"
She raised an eyebrow, lips curled in amusement.
"I thought you said you weren't interested in marriage. Not with… anyone."
She stirred her own bowl with a small wooden spoon.
"Yet now you have a wife who probably thinks frogs are gods."
She paused, eyes flicking to him.
"…So what are you going to do about it?"
Ehecatl drags a hand down his face, then gestures vaguely at Catalina's hips and chest with a tired, defeated wave.
"…I was just stunned."
He leans back on his hands, exhaling hard through his nose.
"I figured since they know you're my concubine, they'd arrange someone who at least had a body like yours."
His hand lifts again, vague, circling in the air to indicate her curves before he drops it onto his knee with a tired thump.
Catalina blinks at him, cheeks warming a little, unsure if she's supposed to be flattered or offended.
He keeps going.
"I mean I asked for the position of Cihuacoatl."
He taps his chest once, as if reminding himself it actually happened.
"To help you understand, that's basically the emperor's right hand. The number two in the entire empire."
He shakes his head, scoffing under his breath.
"So of course— of course— they tie that position to marrying into the royal family."
He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closing.
"And the girl… Xōchitl. She's a daughter of Motecuhzuma. The one Cortes and all your people kept calling 'Moctezuma'."
Catalina's eyes widen. Her spoon freezes halfway to her mouth.
Ehecatl opens his eyes again and stares at the fire pit with the defeated expression of someone whose soul has temporarily left his body.
"And yes we do have a god with frog‑like features."
His tone is flat.
"It wasn't a joke."
Catalina presses her lips together, trying, and failing not to laugh.
Ehecatl throws his hands up once, then lets them fall to his sides.
"I can't back out now. This isn't some noble. This is the ruling family."
He scratches the back of his head, shoulders tensing.
"One wrong move and I look like an idiot. Or a traitor. Or both."
Catalina finally exhales, somewhere between sympathy and barely contained amusement.
…
…
…
The heavy scent of copal lingered in the warm air of the chamber as the council resumed the next day after the marriage proposal and Ehecatl's position of Cihuacoatl. Sunlight filtered through, casting golden rays on the scratched stone floor. Outside, drums sounded in the distance—mourning rituals, rebuilding chants, and distant cries still echoed through the cracked city.
Ehecatl entered in silence, His presence was acknowledged with silent nods.
Cuauhtémoc sat in the center once again. To his right stood the priestly delegates, and to his left, the stewards of engineering and urban order. The warriors remained outside the chamber, assigned to their rebuilding commands.
The air was less tense than before, but only just.
1. Water Supply
Tlazohtzin, the steward of aqueducts, stood first. His voice was rasped from smoke inhalation.
"The Chapultepec aqueduct was severed during the final assault. We've begun repairs using stone from the temple platforms that collapsed. The northern channel was less damaged. If we divert the flow properly, clean water can return within twelve days. We only need time… and labor."
Ehecatl spoke without rising.
"Prioritize the sections shielded by standing walls. Use canal-bottom stone, and reinforce with lime and plaster. Boil alerts must be issued until full flow is restored. Use messengers and drums to spread the warning."
There were nods. Tlazohtzin added
"We'd already planned plaster reinforcement, though not to that extent. Still… it can be done."
2. Disease Control
Next stood Chicahua, the temple's appointed hygienist, a wiry man with hands calloused from tending corpse-fires.
"We've cleared over five hundred corpses from Tlatelolco and Tenochtitlan's central wards. But many remain in collapsed homes, buried shallow, fouling the air. Pestilence is already rising. The people bathe in the same water they drink."
Ehecatl grimaced.
"Mark latrine zones far from canals, near ash pits. Distribute boiled water for the ritual cleansings. Place elder midwives and herbalists in charge. Let it be known those who defile clean zones will face public beatings, regardless of caste."
Chicahua crossed his arms, and nodded.
"No complaints here. I'll make sure it gets done, Cihuacoatl."
3. Rubble Clearing & Rebuilding
Itzquauhtzin, an elder from the warrior class, now turned steward of rebuilding, stood next.
"We've cleared only three main causeways. The rest are blocked by rubble and bodies. We lack wheel carts or beasts of burden."
Ehecatl replied
"Assign six-man teams. Use broken beams as sledges, lash them with temple cords. Anything unburnt—timber, stone, tools—recycle for civic repair. Rebuild not as it was, but with open corridors. Fewer chokepoints, more drainage."
Itzquauhtzin blinked, then said
"We had thought to mimic the past layout. But… your suggestion may ease patrols and disease both."
4. Food & Labor
The next speaker was Ayauh, one of the new ration wardens, who had been a priestess before the siege. Her face bore healing cuts from a collapsing temple wall.
"Rations are low. Maize from the eastern stores is rotting. Beans were stolen last night. Some have begun hoarding. Others steal from the dead."
Ehecatl's voice hardened.
"Stealing from the dead is desecration. Anyone caught whether man, woman, or child will be whipped publicly at market square. Repeat thieves lose a hand. The people must see that we still have law."
Ayauh bowed her head.
"It will be done."
He turned slightly.
"Issue food drafts. Two tlaxcalli (tortilla) per able worker, four for laborers on aqueduct teams. Brew Huauhtli (amaranth) gruel for children and elders."
5. Word From the Valley
Finally, Cuauhtémoc raised his hand for silence.
"Word has arrived… from Tlacopan."
Murmurs rose.
"No tribute. No supplies. Just a delegation request. Their runners say they wish forgiveness… that they mourn with us. That their nobility weeps."
One priest muttered, "As they should."
Another, older man spoke up, voice bitter:
"They sent warriors against us. Their 'mourning' is shame."
Ehecatl didn't speak this time, as it's one thing to have learned about Mesoamerica politics and nobility from the past, and his cheat. It's another to see this in person, instead he studied the reactions. No one looked convinced.
Cuauhtémoc continued:
"I will not receive them yet. Let them wait in the fields. All altepetl who once aided the Caxtilteca will see that we have not forgotten. When the time is right… we may consider forgiveness."
6. Transition to Cortés and Malinalli
Then came the moment that shifted the mood entirely.
Cuauhtémoc glanced toward Ehecatl.
"There remains one final matter. The Caxtilteca 'Capitán-General' and his interpreter, do you wish to see them tortured in the ways you've done?"
Heads turned, and this time the room felt cold.
Cuauhtémoc's voice grew darker.
"They've been kept still watched and bind. Fed like dogs."
Ehecatl's expression didn't change, but his answer—whatever it would be was now awaited by every noble in the chamber.
…
…
…
Ehecatl leaned back in his seat, fingers slowly drumming against the stone floor. "I do intend to torture one of them," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "But not in the ways I've done before."
He shifted his weight forward, elbows resting on his knees now. His tone changed—less cruel, and more calculating. "For Cortés… we'll keep him fed. Washed. Cared for. If he gets sick, he gets treated."
His gaze flicked toward no one in particular, as if weighing a heavier thought. "That's how we break him."
Then he straightened again, jaw tightening. "The woman… I'm undecided."
He tapped a knuckle against his chin once, then let it fall back to his lap. "I've heard she's bitter. That she wanted to see us fall. That she was always a slave, using her translating just to climb out of the filth."
He paused.
"I've also heard she never had a choice. That everything she did was to survive."
His fingers clenched slightly. He let out a slow exhale through his nose. "Before I pass judgment… I want to look her in the eyes and find the truth."
The chamber did not stir when Ehecatl spoke.
Stone benches remained still. No murmurs. No ritual reactions. Only the low crackle of braziers and the sound of breathing from men and women who had ruled an empire long enough to know when something irreversible was being proposed.
Tepoztecatl was the first to speak.
"He won't stay silent," the old noble said. "Men like him never do. He will shout. Curse. Plot."
Ehecatl did not look away.
"I know he'll never stay silent," he said evenly. "He'll yell. Roar. Bark. I don't care. His purpose in life now is to work every day until his body gives out."
A pause followed. Tepoztecatl nodded once, slowly.
Ayauh leaned forward next, hands folded.
"You intend to feed him. Treat him if he falls ill. While others still ration."
"Yes," Ehecatl replied. "Because this is cruelty of a different kind. His people expect me to break him publicly. To torture him the way I did others. If I do that, they make a martyr out of him. Just as we've made a martyr out of Chimalxochitl."
Several nobles stiffened—not in disagreement, but recognition.
"If he wakes every day to work," Ehecatl continued, "works until his body fails, sleeps, and repeats there is no glory in that. No myth. No vengeance worth chasing. I won't feed him well. I'll feed him enough so he doesn't die early."
Yaocihuatzin's voice cut in, sharp.
"And the woman."
Eyes shifted to Yaocihuatzin and then back to Ehecatl.
"If she betrayed us willingly," she said, "why does her reason matter?"
"Because why tells me how," Ehecatl replied. "If she helped them because she wanted us destroyed, she'll be punished accordingly. If she survived the only way she could, that doesn't make her innocent, but it changes the sentence."
Tizocelotl's knuckles tightened against his knee.
"My sister died while she translated for them," he said. "What truth changes that?"
"Probably none," Ehecatl answered. "But clarity matters. I won't torture a woman unless she was just as vicious as the rest of them."
Maxtlacuil spoke next, careful and precise.
"If she acted for survival… will you free her?"
"No." Ehecatl didn't hesitate. "She wouldn't go free. Sympathy isn't absolution. I did what I did to survive too. That didn't make it clean."
Coyolchia tilted his head slightly.
"And what do we signal to the valley? That traitors speak and live?"
"I don't care what the valley thinks," Ehecatl said. "I care what his people learn. They came here thinking life would be easy. Cortés working until old age sends a clearer and crueler message than putting men in women's clothes while on a cross."
Yolotzin folded his arms.
"If he falls sick, do our healers tend to him?"
"If the situation requires it, yes," Ehecatl said. "I'm not granting him release from this life through neglect."
The priest from the calmecac finally spoke.
"And the woman, how do you judge her?"
"If she lies, she dies," Ehecatl said. "If she cries, she cries. Facts matter."
Cuauhtémoc had not spoken yet.
Now he did.
"And Cortés," the emperor said. "How long?"
"Until his body gives out," Ehecatl replied. "Work. Sleep. Repeat. That's all he gets."
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
A younger noble finally asked, quietly, "will this be viewed by others as strength… or softness?"
Ehecatl turned his head slightly.
"Some will call it softness to make themselves feel safer. Others will understand we're capable of cruelty without spectacle. Either way, it won't matter."
Cuauhtémoc exhaled through his nose.
"There is your answer," he said to the council.
No vote was taken. None was needed.
"The Caxtilteca Capitán‑General and his interpreter remain bound," Cuauhtémoc continued. "Under watch. Fed. Alive."
He looked at Ehecatl once more.
"You will see them."
The chamber dismissed soon after, not ceremonially, not abruptly. Just the sound of sandals on stone.
Ehecatl remained seated a moment longer, as he will properly meet with a man who thought conquest meant profit, and a woman whose truth had not yet been spoken.