Free Harbinger of the Storm by Aliette de Bodard

on, but obviously my place was upstairs, before Teomitl committed the irreparable.
    I slashed my earlobes, muttered a brief prayer to my patron Mictlantecuhtli, and let the cold of the underworld spread like a cloak around me – the keening of ghosts, the embrace of Grandmother Earth, the descent into flowing waters, the freezing winds atop the Mountains of Obsidian and the ultimate cold, the one that seized the souls in the presence of Lord Death and His consort.
    Thus armed, I pushed my way through the crowd. The protective spells hissed and faded away at my touch, and more than one nobleman grimaced as the cold, skeletal fingers of Lord Death settled on the back of their neck, a reminder of the fate that awaited them should they fail to die in battle or on the sacrificial altar.
    The She-Snake nodded grimly at me as I cleared the top of the stairs, an unspoken acknowledgment that I was responsible for my student, and that this was the only reason his guards were letting me pass.
    Inside, the body of Axayacatl-tzin looked intact – a relief, I had feared the worst. My priests had scattered to the corners of the room, with the pale faces of the powerless. The offering priest Palli, who had been in charge of the ritual, stood a little to the side with his hands clenched, trying to decide if he should intervene.
    At the centre before the reed mat stood two men, glaring at each other like warriors about to launch into battle.
    One, as was already clear, was Teomitl, with the harsh cast of the goddess Jade Skirt subtly modifying his features, and one hand already on his macuahitl sword. The other was Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc, who looked as if he’d been mauled by a jaguar, and intent on striking back. The air around him was as dense and as heavy as before a storm.
    I couldn’t stand Quenami, but I had to admit he had a point about the power of entrances. I released the curtain with as much force as possible, sending the silver-bells sewn in it crashing into each other, a noise that could not be ignored. Only then did I stride into the room to confront them.
    They had both turned to face me with murder in their eyes. I might have shrunk before their combined might, if I had not been so angry. “What in the Fifth World do you think you’re doing?” I asked, looking from one to the other. “For the Duality’s sake, this room belongs to Lord Death now, for the vigil, and I won’t have you desecrate it with whatever quarrel you have with each other.”
    ”Acatl-tzin.” Teomitl was quivering with contained rage. “You don’t understand.”
    I was getting tired of that particular line. I jerked a finger in the direction of the entrance-curtain. “You have the whole palace gathered outside, wondering what all the shouting is about. And, as a matter of fact, so am I.”
    ”He–” Teomitl started, but Acamapichtli cut him off.
    ”Your student,” he said with freezing hauteur, “your student has just accused me of a grave crime. I cannot tolerate such groundless persecution.” He looked at me as if the whole blame for that rested solely on my shoulders.
    ”Groundless?” Teomitl snorted. “Look at me, Acamapichtli, and tell me you don’t know about the envoys.”
    ”I sent no such people,” Acamapichtli said.
    I was slowly beginning to work out what this might be about, even though I wasn’t sure how we had got to this place.
    ”Dark blue paint and heron feathers in a circle around the face,” Teomitl said, with the deceptive stillness of the eagle before it swoops down. “It’s an old uniform that hasn’t seen service since the days of Revered Speaker Moctezuma. But my comrades have a good memory.” His hand, wrapped around his obsidian-studded sword, lifted slightly, as if to draw it out. “And now I find you performing magic in this room, over my brother’s corpse?”
    Magic? The room appeared normal, with no trace of the faint white-and-blue which was associated with Tlaloc’s