Captain Jazmín Caldera, a Spanish conquistador, cannot eat the ceremonial lunch in the Hall of Past Emperors at Axayacatl’s palace in Tenochtitlan. He is seated between two priests: the priest of Xipe, who wears a flayed human skin as a cape, and the priest of Tezcatlipoca, whose hair is matted with sacrificial blood, his body painted black, and his teeth filed sharp. Their stench makes even the chocolate nearly unbearable. Hernán Cortés, the captain general, sits at the head of the table beside Princess Atotoxtli and silently orders Caldera to eat. When Caldera finally voices his disgust, Cortés threatens him in a low voice to be quiet.

The translators—Malinalli, who speaks Nahuatl, Maya, and Popoloca, and Aguilar, who speaks Maya and Castilian—decide not to relay the exchange to the princess. Malinalli lies to Atotoxtli, saying the guests are praising the food. When the priest of Xipe proposes sacrificing the Spaniards immediately, the princess overrules him, and Malinalli again misleads Aguilar about what was said. Aguilar bluntly tells Caldera to eat so the meal can proceed. Reflecting on how hard they fought to get here, Caldera drains his bowl in one gulp; Cortés raises his glass.

Badillo, Cortés’s stable hand and longtime personal servant, is introduced as a quiet young man with an almost supernatural gift for handling horses. Even Tenebra, Captain Alvarado’s notoriously difficult black stallion, obeys Badillo without question.

After the brief, awkward initial meeting with Moctezuma—who greeted the Spanish and quickly withdrew—the large Indigenous army that had been supporting the conquistadores turned back at Moctezuma’s command rather than enter the city. Tlilpotonqui, the cihuacoatl—effectively the city mayor of Tenochtitlan, army commander, and Moctezuma’s closest governing counterpart—rushed them into Axayacatl’s palace amid ceremony. Everyone was directed somewhere except Badillo, who found himself alone with 27 horses. He leads them through the palace in search of a stable, not yet realizing the city has none because it has never had horses. Following the nose of the captain general’s horse, Cordobés, the animals find their way to a large orchard deep in the palace. When Tenebra defecates in a corridor, Badillo goes back to clean it and finds that someone has already done so.

The lunch continues without incident through its ninth course. Cortés boasts of his Tlaxcalteca, Huexotzinco, and Otomí coalition; Princess Atotoxtli responds through the translators that this army dispersed at Moctezuma’s command when the Spaniards were permitted to enter. Cortés insists the troops are waiting at Iztapalapa by the emperor’s permission. The princess grows tense and exchanges sharp words with the mayor, who denies that the army is there. She then singles out Caldera as the one she trusts most, noting that he had the good sense to object to the priests but ultimately the discipline to eat as commanded. She demands he tell her honestly where the Tlaxcalteca are. With Cortés’s approval, Caldera answers: Iztapalapa. The princess rises and leaves. When Caldera asks Cortés if he made an error, Cortés reassures him he did the right thing.

Furious at being assigned rooms in her own former quarters at Axayacatl’s palace, Princess Atotoxtli storms across the palace complex to confront Moctezuma. The emperor has withdrawn from public life over recent months—and especially since the fall of Cholula and the Texcoco rebellion—spending his days in his nightshirt and reportedly consuming increasing quantities of hallucinogenic mushrooms. A serving girl named Xochitl, a niece to both, is present in the corner. Moctezuma finishes eating before calmly threatening to have Atotoxtli hanged for the intrusion.

She complains about the room assignment; he dismisses it, noting that her place is in his palace. Their marriage is entirely symbolic, designed to stabilize succession: His brother Cuitlahuac is next in line, followed by his nephew and son-in-law Cuauhtemoc. The chapter notes the different names used for the empire’s people: The emperor and his family belong to the Colhua people, longtime rivals of the Mexica. However, centuries of intermingling have made the distinction largely theoretical. Those who live around Tenochtitlan view everyone inside the city as Mexica, while those in the city call themselves Tenochca—“the descendants of Tenoch” (16). To resolve this confusion, 19th-century English historians, “who really had no clue” (16) will eventually coin the term “Aztecs.”

When Moctezuma presses Atotoxtli for her real purpose, she tells him that Cortés boasted at lunch about the Tlaxcalteca remaining in Iztapalapa—and that the Tlilpotonqui denied this, while Caldera’s honest answer proved that Tlilpotonqui was lying. Moctezuma responds with a dangerous look and sends Atotoxtli back to her rooms under guard. He then learns that she left the lunch before the guests were properly settled, a serious violation of protocol at a time when the empire is in jeopardy. Furious and saddened, he sends her away before the guards arrive.

After the lunch, Caldera is already re-buckling his armor when Cortés asks where he is going. Fellow captains Luengas and Vidal pause arming themselves as well. Cortés is satisfied with how the lunch went and sees no reason for alarm; Caldera, more cautious and privately aware that escaping Tenochtitlan will prove harder than entering it, suggests at minimum that they check on the troops and horses.

A flashback reveals that the group finished the remaining courses after the princess left. Malinalli reassured them through Aguilar that the Colhua are simply temperamental by nature, then excused herself to bathe. Cortés, who has banned wine, called for more chocolate. Several of the lunch sauces were mildly hallucinogenic, accounting for the captains’ comfortable stupor. Alvarado goes to lie on a stone bench.

Another flashback to just before lunch reveals that the local barrel-shaped chairs offer no place to hang a sword; seeing their hosts unarmed, Cortés removed his armor, and the others followed. These chairs are designed precisely so no one sits armed at table—a custom so binding that opposing armies reportedly pause battles at midday to eat and nap.

In the present, Cortés compares the palace to Granada; Caldera, who has traveled more widely, compares it to Venice because of the canals; Cortés dismissively likens it to a hellish Venice. When concern about the horses surfaces, Cortés orders Caldera to go check, and to go armed.

Moctezuma is still weeping when Xochitl returns with a platter of trout. She hesitates at the doorway upon hearing him; he tells her to enter and asks that no guards be called. When he notices that her hands are shaking, he asks whether she failed to summon the guards to prevent Princess Atotoxtli from leaving her room, as he instructed. She stays silent, then admits she did not, because the princess is her father’s sister and raised her as a child. Moctezuma asks whose daughter she is; she says she is the child of his half-brother Centli. He strokes her cheek warmly—then orders her to find a replacement servant and report to the guards to be executed in private. Xochitl, looking at him directly for the first time, confronts him: He does not know her name despite 23 years in the same palace and five years of daily service. Moctezuma dips a tortilla in his sauce and tells her to make the execution public instead.

While bathing after the lunch, Malinalli reflects on how her fate was sealed the moment she entered Tenochtitlan. She recalls her baptism at the Cintla River, where the expedition’s chaplain gave her the name María del Mar—Marina—which she preferred over her original name, Tenepal. In her pronunciation, it became Malina, and those who knew her began to use the diminutive Malinalli as an expression of affection. The Colhua call her Malintzin (an honorific analogous to the Spanish Doña Marina); because she speaks an archaic form of Nahuatl, the lords of Tenochtitlan view her with awe, and she has become more famous than Cortés. To them, Cortés is known as El Malinche—the companion of Malintzin.

Her father died young, and her stepfather sold her off to secure his own child’s succession. After various hardships, she ended up in the court of the Maya king Tabascoob, who was defeated by the Spanish at Cintla, and was handed over as one of 20 enslaved women. Aguilar recognized that her ability to speak Nahuatl, Maya, and Popoloca makes her the essential link in the translation chain. Cortés brought her into his personal entourage and had her formally baptized.

Caldera, Luengas, and Vidal, all armed, set out through the eerily quiet palace to find the horses. They reach the throne room, where, upon their arrival that morning, a heavy incense ceremony sent Cortés into a coughing fit. Now empty, the blue-painted hall—with ocher skirts, a polished cedar ceiling, and a dais holding the ancient throne of Acamapichtli—prompts the men to joke about Cortés’s earlier blunders. A flashback reconstructs these: A councilor with an elaborate title had politely offered the throne as a ceremonial courtesy. Cortés took the offer literally and tried to sit on it. The mayor intervened. Cortés then complained of fatigue, visibly shocking the councilors, until a second councilor steered proceedings toward the incense ceremony.

Back in the present, the three captains cross the empty throne room, explore the palace’s mirrored opposite wing, and rapidly become lost in a succession of identical corridors and courtyards. They press on until the scent of cacao and vanilla draws them forward.

After his meal, Moctezuma orders the Tlilpotonqui summoned and takes his pipe to a private courtyard fed by springs from Chapultepec. He sits on the shady side among recently watered flowers. A serving girl brings his loaded pipe on a jade plate with glowing coals; he lights it, and by the time he glances up to ask her name, she has already left.

The chapter flashes back to the Spanish entry into Tenochtitlan. Aguilar, riding beside Caldera, explains the city’s structure: Each floating neighborhood, called a calpulli, is built on artificial islands (chinampas) and organized around a single trade. The expedition passes neighborhoods devoted to waste collection, butchering, turkey farming, algae gathering, flower growing, and chile and tomato cultivation.

At the arch to the central islet, Moctezuma’s retinue awaits them in spectacular ceremonial dress. Tlilpotonqui leads the welcoming party and offers an elaborate formal greeting; Cortés responds with blunt small talk and stays mounted, ignoring protocol. Moctezuma arrives late on a litter, steps down casually, and offers a formulaic welcome. Cortés kneels, rises, then attempts to embrace the emperor. Moctezuma’s generals surge forward to kill him; the young general Cuauhtemoc, his son-in-law, nearly does so before the mayor intervenes. Moctezuma issues a veiled warning about Cuauhtemoc’s violent propensities. Strained negotiations follow about the Tlaxcalteca troops. Moctezuma announces he will visit them that evening, then departs as he arrived—indifferent. Both sides are disappointed.

Tlilpotonqui is summoned from pre-nap preparations and reluctantly dresses. A flashback covers the morning from his perspective. He negotiated Cortés’s terms at the causeway, steering the bulk of the Tlaxcalteca army to wait in Iztapalapa while their four lords and guard entered the city. The procession was staged as a victory parade; the Tlaxcalteca lords understood the danger, while the Spaniards were oblivious. General Cuauhtemoc then reported that the Tlaxcalteca army had encamped at the foot of the Hill of the Star in Iztapalapa—the site of the New Sun ritual—meaning they could potentially prevent the ceremonial sunrise and symbolically collapse the empire. Tlilpotonqui is more unsettled by the conspicuous absence of Cuitlahuac, Moctezuma’s brother and king of Iztapalapa, from the day’s events. No one addresses his repeated questions.

The chapter traces his lifelong relationship with Moctezuma, from shared boyhood to complementary governing roles, and explains the political logic behind the bloody festivals: They promote social cohesion, buoy the local economy, and manage the population. The tlatoani oversees the empire and its conquests, while the cihuacoatl presides over the city of Tenochtitlan itself.

Caldera and two other members of the expedition climb to the upper floor and locate a group of Spanish soldiers by following the noise. The major is cutting his toenails; Caldera orders him to come armed. The major eventually arrives with all 34 of his soldiers. The enlarged group gets lost, picking up carpenters, enslaved Taíno people, and 20 wandering lancers along the way. A carpenter notices that one wall is warmer than the others from the morning sun, giving the group a directional reference. Following this clue, they reach a stairway to the roof.

The roof is unguarded. From above, Caldera sees that the palace is far smaller than it seemed from inside. He spots the horses below in the orchard, grazing calmly through the fruit trees, with Badillo sitting nearby, unarmed and half-asleep. When asked if all the horses are accounted for, Badillo proudly replies that all 10 of them are there, revealing his inability to count. Caldera orders Luengas and Vidal to count all 27 individually—two having already been lost on the road—then heads back down.

The cool November air gives Moctezuma a chill in his courtyard. He requests his favorite white goose-feather cloak, which he never wears in public. Dressed simply and barefoot, he feels the swept clay underfoot, and the sensation brings back memories of childhood—running freely through the corridors of the Old Houses before the responsibilities of the empire closed in around him.

Malinalli is floating in her flower-filled pool when Cortés calls for her. She notes that her quarters are larger and more private than the captains’ rooms—suggesting that a queen once lived there—a status she considers potentially within reach. A fine garment has been left for her, a Colhua gesture that blends courtesy with expectation.

She assesses their position soberly: They are in a nearly empty palace, with few soldiers, no idea where the four Tlaxcalteca lords are staying, and nothing stopping Moctezuma from raising the bridges. Their survival depends on their alliances and on Moctezuma wanting something from them—which he clearly does. A rumor that Texcoco may leave the Triple Alliance adds another variable. Malinalli concludes that her best move is to guide Cortés away from his agenda on behalf of the Spanish king and toward claiming a city for themselves.

Tlilpotonqui finds Moctezuma in the courtyard, barefoot and dressed simply in white, looking diminished. He reflects that a hereditary melancholy appears to overtake the emperors descended from Acamapichtli, sapping their will in later life. He addresses Moctezuma tenderly, trying to rouse him.

Moctezuma says he invited the Spaniards in order to acquire them—their unusual physical appearance makes them worth securing before anyone else does. He asks after the horses and orders that none be harmed. When Tlilpotonqui raises his ongoing concern about Cuitlahuac’s absence and the Tlaxcalteca army at Iztapalapa, Moctezuma deflects, saying conflict on the causeway would have endangered the horses. He plans to speak with the Caxtilteca that evening. He also admonishes Tlilpotonqui that he should not have lied to Atotoxtli. Tlilpotonqui then admits he does not know where the four Tlaxcalteca lords are lodged; Moctezuma says he will handle it. He tasks Tlilpotonqui only with ensuring that the horses remain in the orchard. Watching a bee on his finger, Moctezuma remarks bleakly that these are days of blood and filth.

The chapter flashes back to before the expedition reached Tenochtitlan. Friar Gerónimo de Aguilar was ransomed from the Maya lords of Cozumel and brought to Cortés’s ship wearing only a breechcloth. He was so thoroughly transformed—tattooed head to shin with Maya script, shaved, pierced, and deeply tanned—that no one recognized him as European until his height distinguished him. He identified himself calmly, responded to Cortés in Latin, and explained that the other ransomed Spaniard, Gonzalo Guerrero, had chosen to remain among the Maya as a warrior with a family, and threatened Cortés’s life if he came near. A chaplain brought Aguilar a robe; he removed his piercings and dressed, while a Maya lord gave him a parting gift of tobacco.

Aguilar lives with strict priestly austerity—praying, abstaining from alcohol, and avoiding sex with women (though he does sleep with young men)—but never attends religious services. His tattoos make the expedition leaders uneasy; the soldiers love him. He is valued for practical habits such as daily bathing and his love of hallucinogenic mushrooms.

Tlilpotonqui walks back through the royal corridors, maintaining a composed exterior while privately alarmed. He catalogues the simultaneous crises: Tlaxcala pressing at one side, Texcoco wavering, a missing prince, and four enemy lords unaccounted for somewhere in the city. He suspects that Moctezuma is either losing control or deliberately cutting him out of the most consequential moment of both their lives. Frustrated that the emperor remains focused almost entirely on the horses, and aware that the short winter days leave little time to act, Tlilpotonqui returns to his rooms to take his nap.

Moctezuma claps for the new serving girl and requests a small portion of the mushrooms he sampled earlier, hoping they will restore the sleep that his visit from Tlilpotonqui disrupted. He laughs and asks whether she can believe that his uncle has managed to misplace both Cuitlahuac and the four Tlaxcalteca lords at once.