Naamah's Blessing - By Jacqueline Carey Page 0,173

done?” Raphael asked him.

Manco laid one hand on the hilt of his sword, and the other guards followed suit. “Put them to death,” he said promptly. “All of them.”

Raphael smiled. “There you have it,” he said to Thierry. “My threat is indeed a valid one. You have nothing to offer the Quechua. I do. If you think to act against me in any way, they will retaliate. Is that understood?”

Thierry’s eyes blazed with fury, but he restrained himself. “It is.”

“Excellent.” Raphael dipped into his basket, shoved a few leaves into his mouth, and chewed in a meditative fashion. “I’ll have need of all hands to transport goods on the journey to Qusqu. I need to know you’ll remain compliant. Will you?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “For the sake of my people, yes.”

“Kneel and swear it,” Raphael ordered him. “Swear on the honor of House Courcel that you will not raise a hand against me.”

Thierry hesitated.

“Do it or I put them all to death, guilty or no!” Raphael shouted. “Every last man of you!”

Dropping to one knee, Thierry bowed his head. “On the honor of House Courcel, I do so swear.”

“Good.” Relaxing, Raphael rose from his throne and placed an approving hand on Thierry’s bowed head in an eerie echo of the blessing that Cusi had bestowed on Bao in the Temple of the Sun… last night? Gods, it was only last night. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? I fear it’s the next part that will be.”

Thierry glanced up at him.

“You didn’t imagine this attempt could go unpunished, did you?” Raphael inquired. “You, my friend, I will spare, because… well, technically, you’re the rightful King of Terre d’Ange until that title is accorded to me, and I’d rather not commit regicide unless it’s absolutely necessary. But I fear you must be taught a lesson on the repercussions of ruling unwisely. So…” He nodded to Prince Manco. “You, I think, have earned the opportunity to see how sharply your sword cuts.”

“Raphael…” I murmured helplessly.

“Be quiet, Moirin!” Lightning flashed in his eyes. “Be glad I have need of you, else I’d have you slain for meddling! My tolerance has its limits.”

I fell silent.

“This one is yours,” Raphael said to Prince Manco, indicating the fellow he’d addressed as Michel. “And for the other…” He tapped his lips, beckoning to Temilotzin. “I do believe I’d like to use this opportunity to garner proof of your loyalty, Nahuatl.” He indicated the second of Thierry’s companions. “This one, you will kill for me. Do you understand?” At Temilotzin’s blank gaze, he repeated the words slowly in Quechua, slicing his hand across his throat and pointing to the fellow. “Do you understand?”

Temilotzin nodded impassively.

Raphael returned to his throne, raising one careless hand. “Do it.”

The Jaguar Knight struck without hesitation, his sword rasping clear of its scabbard. Pivoting on one foot, he leveled his blade in a hard, flat swing, beheading Thierry’s comrade with the same remorseless efficiency with which he had dispatched the traitor Pochotl, gouts of blood spraying everywhere, the poor fellow’s head rolling as his body slumped.

As horrible as it was, Prince Manco’s inept effort was worse.

He wielded his sword like a club, hacking frantically at his victim, who fell to his knees, keening, raising his hands in a futile effort to defend himself, his palms and forearms slashed and bleeding.

I clenched my own wounded hand into a fist. “Temilotzin, please!” I begged in Nahuatl. “Make an end to it, won’t you?”

Without acknowledging me, the Nahuatl warrior strode forward and shouldered Manco out of the way, thrusting the point of his blade into the fellow’s chest and shoving it home.

Sighing, he died.

The coppery-sweet scent of blood hung in the air, thick and cloying. The black tide of ants advanced and retreated, mandibles clicking.

“Yes,” Raphael mused aloud. “I think you’ve earned the right, my little darlings, and these men have forfeited theirs. Go ahead.” In a trice, the tide surged forward and poured over the fallen bodies of the slain, covering them in a living carpet as the ants began to feast.

Still on one knee, Prince Thierry retched.

“I am sorry that this was necessary,” Raphael said apologetically. “But I fear it was. You understand, don’t you?”

No one answered him.

I made myself meet his gaze. “Aye, my lord. Your point is clear.”

Raphael smiled at me. “I am glad.”

SIXTY-FIVE

Three days later, word came.

The Sapa Inca discredited the tales the runners had carried of a living god in Vilcabamba with the power to command a black river of