Mexico could sense that America wanted to say something. He seemed to be fidgeting and waiting for the moment that he could finally say what was on his mind. Mexico sighed to himself and decided that he would let America talk. He said, "What is on your mind, Alfred?"
The blonde stirred like he was thinking about what he wanted to say. Then, he finally said, "I thought you were a republican. Other than that Austrian one, you have always chosen democracy. You fought for it."
Mexico tried not to react to the unexpected mention of his second emperor, thought he did not like America's tone. Maximilian didn't deserve that kind of scorn.
He shook his head very slightly and then turned his gaze to America and said, "And you are going to ask me how I could have supported Agustin?"
America seemed to hesitate before he said, "Well, yes. How could you be happy about that?"
Mexico sighed. He had expected the question, since America didn't seem to understand that he had made a decision based on the specifics of the situation. It was frustrating that America believed that it was always possible to find a democratic solution.
He responded, "I wanted to keep Tony away from me, and I did what I had to. As for happy, I cannot say that I was exactly happy with the way things turned out."
He pulled the trigger and a bullet smashed through the middle of the target. Mexico lowered the rifle for a moment to start reloading. He thought to himself about the coronation again. It had been beautiful, but it had changed so little.
It had been weeks and Spain had only sent him an ominous, threatening letter in response to the coronation to tell him that the invasion was still coming. One line stuck in Mexico's mind, and he repeated it to himself in his head as he reloaded his rifle, "I've never hung an emperor before, and I look forward to doing it."
He slammed the ramrod back into place a little more aggressively than necessary. He had given Spain the credit of thinking that he might have been sad, but the letter smacked of vindictive anger. He raised the rifle to his shoulder again and leveled it at the target. He needed to be able to shoot accurately if he was about to be faced with an invasion. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on alert, waiting for something to go wrong and violence to break out again.
He thought as his finger tensed on the trigger that he should have done more when he had Spain under his blade. He pulled the trigger and the bullet hit the middle of the target.
He should have not shown the mercy he did. He had the chance to end it and he had given it up for some petty moral victory.
He lowered the gun again. It felt bitter to think that his mercy had meant nothing to Spain. Even if he could not have killed Spain, he should have inflicted some sort of grievous injury that would have kept Spain from acting against him again so quickly. He cursed his own naive belief that the war would be over and he could show himself to be a stronger person. Only a naive child could put so much weight in showing himself to be more moral.
He placed the rifle to the side. That was enough practice for the moment. He walked over to the target and examined it. His shots had hit the middle, exactly as he had thought. He touched one of the marks where it had hit, and he thought that at least his aim was would serve him well with what was coming from Spain. The best he could do at this point was to try to prepare for the storm, and hope that the damage he had done would be enough to weaken the man.
But, he also had to hope that he would be able to maintain his own stability for that long. Iturbide had offered him that much through the coronation. But, he reflected, he knew there was only a matter of time before there would be dissent again. He knew Guerrero too well to think that he would quietly withdraw. His driving will was part of him that was so easy to love, but Mexico expected to be deeply frustrated with it soon.
As for the other insurgent leaders, Mexico had no idea how they could possibly react to the coronation. He had known them too shortly to be sure, and many of them had left as soon as it became clear that Iturbide was going to be crowned.
If Guerrero still had any of his old influence, he would have little trouble convincing them to start fighting again. It was that thought that was the source of much of Mexico's worry. He could not be fighting himself when Spain chose to make his move.
He glanced back and realized that Guatemala was patiently waiting for him to finish his thoughts. As soon as he noticed, he walked towards his brother.
He had asked one of the servants earlier to find his brothers and gather them to talk. But, he had asked for Guatemala to speak to him first. It was not hard to see that he had taken a leadership role in Mexico's absence and provided the comfort of a big brother. Now that Mexico was going to step into that role, he intended to learn about his brothers. He knew that while they were his land, he had a responsibility to act as an older brother.
Guatemala spoke first as Mexico approached him, "What did you want to talk to me about?"
Mexico chose to gesture so that his brother would follow him while he slowly walked to meet with their other brothers. He said, starting with the words he had thought of the night before, "I want to know more about my brothers. I know I have not been as present as a brother should be, and I want to change that. But, I do not know them like you do."
Guatemala fixed him with an expression of hesitant questioning, which slowly turned into a kind of acceptance, Mexico decided not to push him, not until he chose to share the thoughts he was having.
But, Mexico also hoped that he could glean valuable information from him brother. He was hoping that there would be less tension between himself and his younger brothers.
Slowly, Guatemala answered, "Our brothers will be happy to hear it. Both of them having been asking for you."
Mexico found that hard to believe considering how cold El Salvador had been to him so far. He asked, "Even the youngest?"
The response came with a sharpness that Mexico had not thought his small brother capable of. Guatemala said, "Salvador is not our youngest brother."
Mexico paused, and tried to think. He had seen his brothers consistently enough to remember how many there were. He said, "Then who is?"
He was certain that it was a question that would bring more anger, but he needed an answer. Guatemala's voice was harsh when he said, "Belize. Little David. Spain sold him to England and never gave me any say in the matter."
He paused, and then added without Mexico asking, "And one day I will get him back."
Mexico could hear the echo of a grudge in his voice. He could not feel any surprise at the fact that Tony had traded a child for peace. He vaguely remembered that Spain had mentioned that he had found a way to ease the tension between himself and England in the Gulf, but Mexico had never heard the details.
After all these years, he was no longer surprised to hear that Spain had been exploiting his brothers without his knowledge. He was well aware that Spain wanted to isolate him from all of his brothers.
Without thinking, he put his arm around his brother's shoulders and said, "Tony is a complete bastard. I promise you that we will bring our family back together."
Guatemala nodded. His small smile made Mexico feel like he was at least making the right steps with his brothers. Then, the younger man said, "To answer your question, Salvador does ask about you."
Mexico replied, "He does not seem happy with me."
Guatemala let out a long sigh. He said, speaking like he was choosing words carefully, "Salvador is not the easiest child to understand. He was always like that. Our tutors always had trouble with him because he did not like to sit still and learn. But, please don't mistake his temper for malice. He feels things strongly, and he can't stop himself from saying it."
Mexico nodded to himself. He had never had the luxury of being so open with his feelings. If he had been so easily provoked around Spain, he would have been quickly and painfully corrected.
He was not happy about El Salvador's temper, but he would rather let it be than act like Spain would. Once they had settled into a family, El Salvador would learn to be more measured. He had decided that it would never be worth it to fight with them while they were still getting to know him.
Mexico drew in a breath, and said, "He should learn to control himself better. I am not going to punish him, but the world is not kind of that kind of impulsiveness."
Guatemala sighed heavily and said, "I have tried to teach him, but it is a difficult thing for him. Please don't be hard on him about it."
Mexico could hear the tone of a kind of parental fatigue in his voice, and he wondered what it had been like to raise him. He had never thought about it much, since raising his brothers had never been an option for him.
But, he did not want to continue on this topic, because he was sure that it would just reveal more and more frustration. He thought about the ways he saw the frustration, in the way that Guatemala always kept a close eye on El Salvador, in the way that Guatemala was very quick to correct his brother.
Mexico said, trying to be reassuring, "I will not. I hope that I can show him that he does not need to be suspicious of my intentions. What about Honduras? What is he like?"
He had some idea, but the boy did seem quiet and reserved. Maybe it was the unintended consequence of standing next to paternal, anxious Guatemala, and hot-tempered El Salvador.
Guatemala swallowed hard, like he was trying to push an emotion down. Then he said, "I wish I had a better answer for you. I have not been able to spend time with him the way that I would like. If I leave Salvador alone, he will cause havoc. Tomas has suffered for it, I admit. I think he asks about you, because he wants you to see him more than I have."
Mexico felt a strange sadness when Guatemala said it. It must have been lonely to feel like he was unseen. Mexico couldn't understand that feeling. His life had been a curse of being seen too much.
He knew there was some reason that his brother had been so eager for war stories and conversation. But, Mexico had never been able to give them to him. There had been too much to do to prepare for the possibility of Spain coming back in force.
He wished that he had time to sit with his brother and talk to him the way he wanted. He spoke some of these thoughts as he said, "I will have time for him, but not yet."
He took this as the moment to prepare Guatemala for the reason he wanted to talk to them. His arm slipped off of his brother's shoulder as he turned himself to more serious business.
He said, "We are not at peace yet. I have gotten threats from Antonio, and I need you to be prepared for the fighting that will come."
He saw his brother pull in a breath, like he was bracing himself. Then Guatemala said, his voice almost sounding completely different as it lost all the tenderness it had when he spoke about his brothers, "So that is what this is about. You have something important to tell us."
Mexico swore that he could almost hear bitterness in the voice. But, he would have to ignore it. They did need to hear what he was going to say. He responded, "I needed to tell you before our brothers, because you look after them. I may have to go fight again, and I will need you to keep them safe."
They had reached the door of the dining room, and their brothers were just on the other side. Mexico shook his head to indicate the end of the conversation, and then pushed the door open.
There was only one person sitting at the table, and it was Honduras. Guatemala let out a long sigh, and said, "Where is your brother?"
The boy shrugged indifferently, and said, "I don't know. He said he was coming."
The older boy huffed, and said, "I'll find him."
And then he left, carrying stress and frustration in his shoulders.
Mexico wasn't sure how long that would take, so he settled himself at the table and looked at Honduras. The boy looked up at him and said, "Chava doesn't understand important things."
Mexico tried to smile at him, and said, "But you do."
Honduras ran one hand through his hair, and said, "I remember when I was younger, there was a time when we visited you here. Do you remember it?"
Mexico did remember it. It had been before Spain arrived, and he had been able to keep his brother's close. His mind had nearly forgotten it in the shadow of what happened next, but it came back to him now. He nodded.
Honduras was now running a nail over one of the grooves in the wood of the table, seeming to be thinking as he did. He said, "You had time for us, and I was so happy being able to sleep in your bed with you."
Mexico remembered him specifically, never far away from him. If not for Spain's arrival, he could have been able to built on that friendship. But, there was not any use in regretting it. Instead, he said, "I promise that I will have time for you again. Once I am sure that you and your brothers are safe, I will."
Honduras' thick dark eyebrows went up, and he repeated, "Safe from what?"
Before Mexico could clarify, Guatemala reappeared, dragging his brother by the elbow. El Salvador looked angry and surly as he sat. But, Mexico could not wait for him to be in a better mood.
He said, like he was making an announcement, "Spain has declared our independence illegitimate, and has sent me letters making it clear that he intends to act on it."
The youngest boy's mood changed visibly. He smiled, and said, "So, we are going to fight?"
He had the naive excitement of a boy who had no experience of war. If he had seen the blood and mud and gun smoke, he would not smile like that.
Mexico said, "No. I am going to fight. You are going to stay here."
El Salvador's expression shifted from excitement to anger in a moment. He looked so hurt as he said, with incredulity, "Again? You expect me to stay here and wait again."
Honduras was regarding his brother with the expression of someone looking at a smoking volcano. Mexico drew a deep breathe and said, "I am your eldest brother. I am responsible for this family. You asked me to care for you, and I am going to do that."
El Salvador said, cutting off what Mexico wanted to say, "Then let me fight!"
The shrill anger in his voice echoed off of the walls. But, Mexico was not going to change his stance. He said, firmly, "You are fourteen. You have no idea what you are asking."
He saw the boy's cheeks turning redder in anger. It was such adolescent emotion, and Mexico knew he would have to make his point. He said, "Suppose I were to take you with me. What would happen if Antonio captured you and demanded my surrender?"
His speculation made little impact, since El Salvador immediately looked like he wanted to respond.
Before he could, the door opened again. This time, it was Texas who came through it. He said, as he sat, "Someone told me that there was a family meeting. Unless you do not want me here, since you did not ask for me."
Mexico could have been irritated by the intrusion, but it seemed strangely well timed. He responded, "Your presence is helpful, actually. Why don't you tell my little brother what it is like to be captured by Antonio?"
All of the smugness and color drained out of Texas' face.
Mexico stepped into the emperor's chambers, and didn't have to look far to find Iturbide. He was looking over piles of papers, which was stacked on a map of the country.
If Mexico did not know him well, he might have thought that the man looked overwhelmed. But, he had no doubt that the man was just engrossed in planning.
He stepped closer, and cleared his throat so that Iturbide was aware of his presence. The emperor looked up, and gave him a warm smile. The look seemed too serene for the present situation. But, Mexico was not going to immediately snuff out his good mood.
He said, "Was the coronation to your liking? Was it as glorious as you imagined?"
Iturbide straightened up, and his smile remained. He answered, completely ignoring any of the judgement in the question, "I think it gave the people a good spectacle to inspire confidence. I gave them what they asked me for."
Mexico scoffed, "How selfless of you."
Iturbide smirked, like he was enjoying the joke. Mexico was not going to continue to press him about his pride, but he was completely sure that Iturbide's motivations had never been that pure.
But, Iturbide had something planned already, it seemed. The emperor said, stepping out from behind the table towards another, smaller table, "I wish I could have given you a coronation too, since you have also become an empire."
Mexico was about to say that he didn't need it, no matter how much the idea did excite him. It would have been a different feeling entirely to have a crown placed on his own head. But, it was impossible. It could never be that public.
Iturbide was not yet done. He continued speaking, "I could not give you that, but I did have something made for you. I wanted you to have something beautiful to commemorate this moment, so I had this made."
He picked up a long box, and then slowly opened it, so he could see a decorative ceremonial sword laying on red velvet. It was beautiful and golden.
He reached out and ran his hand over the pommel, which was sculpted in the shape of an eagle eating a serpent. He knew the symbol well, and he knew it had been his mother's.
He felt a strange, uncomfortable knot in his throat. It was a sword meant to show that he was an empire, and that he was his mother's heir. Iturbide said, gently, "Do you like it?"
Mexico realized that he had been standing still with his hand on the sword. He said, "Yes, I do."
He finally picked up the sword, and slid the blade out of the scabbard. It was beautiful work, and clearly not meant to be practical. It was a beautiful thing meant to commemorate a beautiful moment.
He slid it back into the scabbard and said, "Thank you for that, Agustin. You must know that it is my mother's symbol."
Iturbide's eyes were already sparkling with his own knowledge and awareness. Mexico could guess the answer already. But, Iturbide provided him with an answer. He said, "I am aware of that. I think it is fitting that you use it. After all, you are inheriting what she left you."
Part of Mexico knew that Iturbide must be saying it to charm him. But, another part of him didn't want to resist the charm. He didn't really care if this was just meant to buy his favor, as long as he could find security and certainty as an empire.
Iturbide said, continuing to speak as he put down the box, "I have some ideas that I want you to see as well."
Mexico nodded and responded, "That is why I am here, isn't it? You need me to run an empire."
Iturbide returned and put an arm around his shoulders, to lead him over to the table with all the papers. In the light from the window behind him, he could see sets of sketches of a design of a crowned eagle.
He asked, "What are these for?" They were appealing to him, the symbol of his mother recreated in his own style and crowned. But, he could not imagine what they were for.
Iturbide responded, like he was talking about things that he was very proud of, "They are designs for the imperial crest. We should put it on the flag and coins. It will be official."
Mexico turned a skeptical eye to Iturbide, and said, "Tony is threatening to invade, and you are busying yourself with flags and coins? Don't you think that there are more important matters?"
He couldn't help but feel like those things could come later, once there were not military matters that needed attention first. These things were pretty, but they were not armies and defense. Iturbide released his shoulders, but said in a tender voice, "Flags are more important than you think, Ale. Men need something unified to follow, and we are reminding them that there was an empire here before."
It was very poetic, but Mexico felt a certain frustration at it. He felt like Iturbide was playing with him. He responded, more sharply than he intended, "I do like it all, but it will mean nothing to Antonio."
He felt Iturbide's hand on his back, like it was meant to reassure him. He said, pushing the sketches to the side, "This is just one matter. I am not neglecting your defense."
Mexico could not help that he was being coddled more than he liked. He took to shuffling the papers with his own hands, and trying to figure out what they each were. He wanted to be completely aware of what was happening in his politics.
He moved one of the letters to see one on the bottom of the pile. He saw Iturbide in his peripheral vision, reaching out like he might stop him. But Mexico was determined.
He saw a single set of words in the letter, and his eyes widened. He recognized "arrest" and "plot."
That was enough to make him take it before Iturbide could insist on stopping him. He pulled away, just far enough so that he could read it. Quickly, he read through the letter. Each point was a shock.
There had already been a meeting of the former insurgent leaders, and they had discussed the empire. They had spoken openly about opposing the emperor, and the concept of empire.
Mexico drew in a breath as he read it, and felt anger beginning to burn in his lungs. He had guessed that they would not be happy about Iturbide's accession, but he had not expected it so immediately.
He kept reading the letter, though he could feel himself getting angrier with each passing moment. The letter was to inform Iturbide that Guadalupe Victoria had been arrested, because of this plot.
Mexico was going to read more of the letter, but Iturbide pulled it from his hands. His anger welled up as he looked up at Iturbide. He could hear his own restraint as he said, "Why are you keeping this from me?"
The man sighed and said, "I was going to tell you at the right time."
Mexico could feel himself growing even angrier. The restraint snapped, and he said, "How was this not the right time to tell me about a rebellion?"
As he said the word, a second anger started smoldering. He was mad that Guerrero and Victoria knew how precarious the situation was, and they were using it as a time to get their republic. They both knew him, and they were still willing to risk him.
Iturbide said, like he was soothing a worrisome teenager, "I knew you would be upset and-"
Mexico rounded on him, incensed by the feeling of being managed, "I need to know what is going on, whether it will upset me or not! I am not a child!"
He caught a breath, and said, "And what else?"
He had heard the weight in that last word, and he needed to know more. It could not be worse. Iturbide had hard set lines on either side of his mouth. He said, "And I knew you were going to ask about him."
From his tone, it was impossible to think that he meant Victoria. He didn't have to guess that this was about Guerrero. But, Mexico was not going to ask about him. His pride was so bitter and strong, and he refused to ask. He felt almost childishly stubborn in his refusal to speak Guerrero's name.
However, once Iturbide had brought up the subject, he could not avoid it. Mexico replied, "And what of him? Have you issued his arrest too?"
Iturbide looked like he was talking about a subject he would much rather avoid. But, he said, "He is in the wind. I would feel safer if he was arrested too, but he remains as difficult to find as ever."
Mexico had no idea what face he was making, but Iturbide was looking at him with a mix of concern and anxiety. He could only guess that his anger was showing all over his face.
Unexpectedly, Iturbide took one of his hands. His touch was almost comforting, but it felt like it was an attempt to pacify him. He said, "Alejandro, I hope you understand that Guerrero is choosing to threaten your independence. I know what he means to you, but he does not care."
Mexico wrenched his hand free from his grasp. He responded, "You have no idea what he meant to me." He was angry at Guerrero too, because his actions showed at least a reckless lack of caution.
But, he was not going to let Iturbide tell him how he should feel about it. He was not going to listen to anyone patiently trying to explain his emotions to him. No matter what Iturbide had seen from the outside, he could not have any idea what it felt like.
He knew nothing about the way it had felt to be with Guerrero during the war. He could not possibly understand the trust that Mexico had put in his general. There was more in those longs nights of uncertainty than he would ever be able to understand. Mexico had laid his whole trust at Guerrero's feet, and it still hurt for him to think about it. These careless actions felt like a transgression against his trust, but that was not Iturbide's to say.
Mexico could feel his own thoughts racing, and it was difficult to stop them and order himself. He stepped further away from Iturbide, and could see the way a look of concern passed over the emperor's face.
Mexico drew in a breath, and tried to calm himself. Iturbide said, sounding distinctly placating, "Ale, I didn't mean to presume."
Mexico felt his blood running hot, and incapable of being calm or forgiving. He took another breath and said, "I need to be alone. Find me when you are prepared to tell me everything."
Mexico was sitting over his breakfast thinking about what to do next. He pushed a piece of food around his plate with the back of his fork. The conversation the day before had thrown every decision into question.
He had thought that Iturbide would, at least, not deceive him. He knew the man was ambitious and cunning, but being brazenly lied to again made him feel adrift.
He scraped his fork absentmindedly against an empty spot on the plate, and then felt irritated by the sound that it made. For the first time, he felt like he was alone in the midst of self-involved people.
He could not trust Iturbide's intentions, but he could also not change his mind now that he had committed to this course. He had supported the empire, and nothing could change that now.
But, there was a pit of regret in his stomach. Guerrero had always told him that Iturbide was not the right choice, but Mexico had felt like he knew better. He put down his fork with a clatter. He wasn't hungry anyway.
The cup of coffee had long since gone cold since he started thinking. There was a half-rational longing that he was trying to ignore. He longed for Guerrero. He wanted to be able to talk to the man, and ask for some sort of guidance. He wanted the comfort of the man's presence. It was so strange that he could feel such a profound longing for a man who had lied to him.
The thought had crossed his mind more than once that he could write a letter to Guerrero, and ask for his advice again. But, even if it was possible, he was not going to allow his pride to bend to that.
He would have to admit that he had been wrong, and he could not do that. Guerrero had been in the wrong, even if his instincts had been correct about Iturbide. Mexico refused to take that step back; he was still too angry at Guerrero to admit that he missed him.
He took a drink of the cold coffee, and immediately regretted it. There was no enjoyment in the cold liquid, and the bitterness just made him feel more irritable.
He realized that he was mad at all of them. Iturbide was treating him like he could not manage politics on his own. Guerrero was trying to destabilize him. His brothers were being resistant and stubborn.
He sighed; it would be so much better if he could just find one person to unburden himself to. But, in that absence, he had to let the anger fester.
Just as he was about to clear away the half-touched breakfast when there was a light knock on the door. Mexico looked up, and he realized that Iturbide was standing at the door. Mexico was struck by the fact that he was not in uniform or regalia.
By the man's own standards, his clothing was almost casual. He also looked like he had not slept. There were pronounced dark circles under his eyes. The look of fatigue on his face made Mexico feel bad for his anger. But, the feeling was fleeting, and his anger quickly returned.
Iturbide said, "Do you mind if I join you?" His voice sounded genuine, and pained. Mexico felt like he owed him at least that after the unfulfilling confrontation of the day before.
He nodded, which was enough permission. Mexico gestured to one of the servants and said, "Get a cup of coffee for the emperor."
Iturbide waited for the servant to leave, and then he said, "I owe you an apology."
Mexico raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure how to take this development, but he could not reject an apology. He responded, "I think you do. I do not like being lied to, Agustin."
Iturbide did look tired, and he sounded strained as he said, "I am sorry. I did not intend to lie to you." The servant returned with a cup of coffee, and placed it in front of Iturbide. But, the emperor ignored it and kept his eyes on Mexico. He seemed to have no intention of paying any mind to anything else.
Mexico said, matching his gaze, "It is still lying by omission. I expect better from you. If you think I am not capable of knowing the truth, then it will be difficult for you to rule. I am still the country."
He watched Iturbide's face as he spoke, waiting for a reaction to his sharp words. He saw a slight wince, and was stuck by how strange it was to see Iturbide reacting, rather than being firmly confident and self-assured as he usually was.
He momentarily wondered if this was the version of Iturbide that Bustamante saw, and was so willing to protect. He was more endearing this way, stripped of his controlled exterior.
Iturbide repeated, "I am sorry. I made an error in judgement." He fidgeted with a ring on one of his fingers for a moment before saying, "I know you are mad at me, but I want you to know that I do care for you. I took this position, because it is what you need. I promise you that I was concerned with your well-being."
Mexico cleared his throat pointedly. This all sounded very good, but it did not explain anything. He did not want to listen to this when he wanted an honest answer. He said, "Then why did you lie?"
The man drew in another steadying breath, and said, "I did not want you to withdraw for several days again. I realize how sensitive you are about him, and I did not want you to have to question your loyalties."
The look in his eyes was sincere enough. Mexico had not thought that the days he had spent recovering from the shock of Guerrero's lie had concerned Iturbide.
Certainly, the man had not seemed concerned before. Mexico had never considered that there was far more beneath his facade that he had not dared voice. Mexico felt like he had to reevaluate what he had assumed about Iturbide.
He took a moment to think about his response. He felt himself starting to chew on the inside of his lower lip. After a long moment of silence, he said, choosing each word carefully, "I do not want you to hide anything from me. I made my choice to support you, and I am not going to change that now. As for Vicente-"
He paused for a moment as he tried to order what he wanted to say about Guerrero. It would be in his best interest to sound completely unaffected, but he was not certain if that was possible. He continued, "I know that I will have to deal with him. I'm not naive. He hasn't given up, and I accept that he will be a part of my future."
He hated the words, but he knew they were honest. He was aware that he would have to deal with Guerrero, and even oppose him for the sake of the empire. But, he felt a twinge of pain at speaking that truth.
Iturbide nodded slowly. Mexico still wasn't sure if he could forgive the lie, since it would not have come to light without him uncovering the letter. It would have been just another secret that Iturbide would have kept from him. The thought made it difficult for him to consider forgiveness.
Iturbide said, his voice sounding more emotionally pained than Mexico could imagine it could, "I realize that I made a mistake, and I will not do it again. I promise that I will not keep anything from you. I am asking you to forgive me and trust me again."
Mexico leaned back in his chair and thought about it. For the sake of harmony, it would be better to forgive. Being at odds with his emperor would only make the situation more difficult, even if he did not feel forgiving.
But, he had to also consider how much Iturbide had humbled himself by coming here and being open with him. If he rejected this vulnerability, he would only encourage Iturbide to lie to him. He sighed and said, "I forgive you. But, I don't think trust will come so easily. Show me that I can trust you again."
The man nodded slowly, like he was accepting this as enough for now. He said, "Thank you. I do not want more than that for now."
It seemed that a weight had been taken from his shoulders, and Mexico couldn't help but imagine that he had spent the night worrying about this conversation. It was strangely endearing to know that they had both been fretting. However, this also felt like the ideal moment to test that honesty.
Mexico asked, "Now that we are being honest with each other, what are you planning to do with Victoria now that you have arrested him?"
He tried to keep the accusation out of his tone, but in the back of his mind, he was perfectly aware of what Spain would do with this opportunity. He did not think of Iturbide as the kind kind of man who could be so brutal, but he had heard stories about the way Iturbide behaved when he was a Spanish commander. Part of him wondered if this would be the opportunity to return to those tactics. If so, it would make supporting Iturbide much more difficult.
The emperor responded, looking more comfortable once he could answer easily, "Nothing drastic, I assure you. I intend to hold him somewhere that he cannot stir up rebellion. He is popular and beloved, and I would gain nothing by punishing him."
Mexico nodded, more to himself than to Iturbide. It made him far more comfortable to know that he was not backing a tyrant. He knew that he should have not been so shocked by the fact that Victoria was already building support for another rebellion. He had expected it from Guerrero, and it was not a stretch to imagine that the other insurgent leaders would follow him.
Mexico could clearly remember how much Victoria had objected to Iturbide. It was best, he thought, that dissent was limited until after the threat of Spain had been dealt with.
He said, "I would advise you to be gentle with him, and with Vicente if you find him. They are war heroes, and the people still love them."
Mexico felt the lie behind the words, that he was judging the feelings of his people by his own. The thought was interrupted by a second knock at the door.
Iturbide turned as one of his men stepped through the door and said, "Sir, there is a man who wants to talk to you."
Mexico was immediately puzzled by how vague he was being. What could Iturbide be expecting that could be referred to in those terms. He turned a curious eye to his emperor.
Iturbide sighed deeply and said, "He must not have recieved my letter. Tell him to wait."
Mexico asked, now thoroughly intrigued, "Who is it?"
Iturbide looked for a moment like he did not want to answer the question, but then he grudgingly remembered his promise to be honest. He answered, "Tlaxcala. He is here to ask me to make good on a promise."
A feeling of pure rage immediately blossomed in Mexico's mind. It was strong and clear. Mexico could not remember ever hearing that name spoken, but he knew it. He had seen Tlaxcala's name in the story of the conquest so many times. He knew the man was a Judas.
The very thought of the man who had betrayed his mother to Spain made all his anger crystallize around a single point. He asked, "What promise did you make him?"
He wasn't sure that he wanted to know, since it may mean that he was obliged to concede something to the old traitor. Iturbide answered, "I went to him for information during the war."
Mexico could hear the hesitation, but at least it was honest. He pressed further for an answer, "And what did he ask for in return?"
He could not imagine what information was so important that it had required that sort of deal, but he also found it hard to care since the war was over. He did not want to pay a price for the information, especially to a traitor. He braced himself for the answer.
Iturbide said, "He asked for less than I was expecting; he only wants a chance to talk to you."
Mexico scoffed loudly, "What could he possibly want to talk to me about?"
Iturbide shrugged and responded, "I don't know. All he told me was that he wanted to talk to you. I sent him a letter to tell him that you would not be in a fit state to talk to him today. If you would like, I will tell him to leave."
Mexico thought about it for a moment. He could completely avoid talking to the man, especially when he already had so much anger building up from the circumstances of the last couple days.
But, it would only be delaying the inevitable conversation, and he was in no mood to leave another thing undone. He also remembered when he had stumbled across the story of the conquest, and seen the name of the man who had taken Spain's side.
It was an old memory, but he could recall the feeling of anger that any tribe would have trusted Spain and taken the opportunity to aid him. It had seemed like such an unthinkable betrayal to him.
At the time, he had felt such a burning sense of loathing, but he had assumed that the man was dead. It had never occurred to him to think that there were tribes who had survived the conquest. This was the opportunity to confront that old anger, and to put it to rest. He said, "I won't make you break your promise. I will speak to him."
Then, without waiting for an answer from the emperor, he said to the servant, "Tell him that I will talk to him in the garden. I do not want him in my house." The servant nodded and left. Mexico stood up and went to grab a jacket.
Mexico stood on the steps above the garden for a moment, looking to catch sight of his mother's old adversary before he spoke to him. To his knowledge, he had never met Tlaxcala before in his life, and he had no idea what the man looked like.
As he looked, he caught sight of an old man. Whatever Mexico had anticipated, it was not an old man slightly stooped with age, and a head of white hair. Perhaps it did make sense after all of these years.
The unbidden thought occurred to him that his mother would have been old too if she had lived. It was enough to urge him down the steps and toward Tlaxcala.
The old man turned at the sound of his footsteps. He smiled in a way that completely baffled Mexico. There was nothing happy in this meeting for him, but Tlaxcala was smiling at him.
He stopped in his tracks, momentarily stunned. Tlaxcala took the opportunity of his momentary silence to say, "I haven't seen you since you were a child. You are so grown up now."
His familial tone seemed completely out of place to Mexico. Why should this man care so much about his rival's son? He said, his tone indicating how unmoved he was, "I do not believe we have ever met."
His shortness was enough to make Tlaxcala's smile fall. But, when he spoke, it still sounded like he was attempting to be friendly, "You were very young, so you may not remember. Perhaps it is better that way."
Mexico pushed aside the fleeting thought that he did not remember much of anything before his mother's death. That would just cause him to fixate on the lack of memories, and he did not want to take that road.
Instead, he decided to make himself perfectly clear. He said, "I may not remember, but I know what you did."
The color drained from Tlaxcala's face as he understood what Mexico meant. It was perfectly clear that he had not expected Mexico to have any idea. Mexico found himself completely unsurprised that the man had intended to lie to him. He knew enough about men by this point to expect it.
Tlaxcala said, still sounding shocked, "Did Spain tell you that? I assure you, his version-"
Mexico snapped before he could finish, "No. Tony never told me anything, but he didn't need to. I know what happened."
There was a look of abject shock on Tlaxcala's face at the outburst. Nothing about this seemed to be meeting his expectations. The other man put up both of his hands in a gesture that seemed to be somewhat supplicating, and replied, "Please let me explain myself. That's all I asked for."
Mexico could feel his blood running hot at the very idea that a betrayal of that magnitude could ever be explained. He could feel himself bare his teeth before he said, "What could you possibly explain to me? Are you going to tell me why I deserved to grow up without my mother? Are you going to tell me that I deserved to lose the only family I had?"
He didn't realize that he was yelling until he stopped and heard his voice echoing. He drew in a breath between his clenched teeth.
He realized that Tlaxcala had taken several quick steps back, and there was a look of horror on his face like a man who had seen a ghost. Mexico could hear his own heart pounding in his ears as he said, "Go ahead. I'm listening."
Tlaxcala looked like he would give anything to escape this situation. He looked pale and terrified. But, he could see that silence would win him nothing. So, he said, "I made the mistake of trusting Spain. He never fulfilled the terms of our agreement."
Mexico could have guessed that much at least, but he did not care what the terms could have been. He replied, "It was your fault for believing Tony when you knew nothing about him. You hated my mother enough to think a stranger would help you. I don't think that absolves you of anything."
The old man swallowed hard, and seemed to be seeking for anything to say. Mexico took a step back with a scoff, "You cannot explain that to me."
Tlaxcala said, breaking through his own restraint, "She would have killed me if I didn't do something! You may not want to hear it, but she was a tyrant."
Mexico could see red in the edges of his vision. He stepped towards the old man, who retreated immediately. He said, now at full, deafening volume, "She was my mother, and I do not have to hear your slander!"
His voice echoed strongly off of the walls, even with the garden around them to buffer the sound. Tlaxcala opened his mouth for a moment, but no sound escaped it.
Mexico took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself. He felt like it would be better to at least lower his voice. He said, after a few calming breaths and complete silence from Tlaxcala, "I am curious though. How have you survived this long?"
He sounded calm, but he knew the hard edge in his own voice. Tlaxcala took a deep breath and said, "Spain granted me special status." He realized that it was a mistake a moment after he said it. His eyes widened with the understanding of the danger that he put himself in.
Mexico said, "Antonio doesn't rule here anymore, and I am not going to pay you blood money. No more special status, no more special agreements."
Tlaxcala responded, tripping over his words, "If you do that, it might kill me." He sounded terrified. The tone in his voice gave Mexico a strange sense of satisfaction. He had the power to get a small piece of vengeance for his mother, and he intended to.
He stepped closer, and said, "I suggest you leave before I make it certain." Mexico then looked away, and saw Iturbide looking at him with complete shock.
—
America let out a long breath, and then said, "You didn't really kill him, did you?"
Mexico raised one eyebrow, and said calmly, "Yes, I did. It was not a rational decision, but I know what I felt."
America shifted uncomfortably where he was sitting, like the very idea made him squirm. There was such an irony to his discomfort at the idea of killing a country, like he had never come close to that before.
But, as long as he remained silent, Mexico was going to continue. He said, "But, Tlaxcala was not my only problem. Tony was never far away, and I had other issues."
—-
Bustamante arrived late in the night, and joined Mexico and Iturbide in one of the sitting rooms. Mexico was slowly drinking a glass of French cognac, which was not make him feel any better.
Iturbide had not left him all day, but had also not spoken to him about the events of earlier. They had spent hours on the state of the country, and the preparations for another battle with Spain.
The topic had assured Mexico again that he was exhausted, and it would be difficult to muster the force to repulse an attack was better for now to prepare and make it as difficult as possible for Spain to get a foothold. When he came, it would be by sea, and they would have to throw him back into the gulf.
As much as constant war had exhausted Mexico, he felt a longing for battle. It was so much simpler than all these lies and secret deals. On the battlefield, his problems could at least be solved with gun and saber.
He was aware that the thought could be coming from the strain of the day and the influence of the cognac, but it seemed rational enough.
All they had heard in advance of Bustamante's arrival was that he had an urgent letter. He arrived and spoke immediately to Iturbide, "The commander in Veracruz wrote to you. He is asking for reinforcements and permission to dislodge the Spanish forces there."
He looked out of breath after his ride. Mexico could hear the slight breathlessness in his voice and see the flush in his cheeks. For everything he could say about the man, he did seem dedicated.
Satisfied that he had delivered the message, he sat on the sofa next to Mexico. He was far enough away to be proper, but Mexico cast a suspicious eye at him. There were other options of where he could sit, and he close the nearest place that manners would allow.
Iturbide responded, "I think we should send reinforcements. There is no use in avoiding a war now."
Mexico heard the possibility of battle in the comment, and he replied, "I could go with them. I would prefer to handle this in person."
He hadn't really thought about it before he said it, but leaving for Veracruz did sound appealing. He could get away from the frustrations of the capital, and center himself. A new place and a new commander could bring him more serenity.
Bustamante responded first, saying, "No, I would rather you stay here." Mexico also felt him put a hand on his shoulder, and he was too tired to shake it off. The man did have a deeply annoying habit of touching him.
But, Iturbide waved him away, and said, "I think that would be a good idea. Remind the commander who he is fighting for; I don't entirely trust him, and your charm will reassure me."
—-
The trip to Veracruz was exhausting, but Mexico was glad to have the time to think. Iturbide had provided him with a warhorse whose temperament matched his own much better than the horse he had rode at the end of the war. It made him feel more comfortable with the long ride.
The long rides in the sun allowed him time to consider his confrontation with Tlaxcala again. He had never seen himself that angry before, and it was strange to think about it. Though he had no regrets, he couldn't quite believe that he was capable of that kind of explosive temper.
He assured himself, as the sun started to sink towards the horizon, and Veracruz came into view, that he would control himself better than that in future. The accomplice in his mother's murder deserved that kind of rage, but few others would, and it would make him look weak to be easily angered. If he could control his rage when he was faced with Spain's provocation, then he could do it in front of anyone.
The city gates opened in front of him, and he rode through, feeling like he was returning to the war. There were guards at the gates and soldiers in the streets. But, even this feeling of impending conflict was comforting. And he could also not forget that he was here to keep an eye on the commander.
He found himself curious that Iturbide could trust a man with command, and yet doubt his intentions. It made him think that Iturbide may be more alone and uncertain than he let on, with only Bustamante being predictably at his side.
Mexico decided not to linger on the thought, since he had to keep his mind on why he was here. He was intrigued to meet the commander, and assess what kind of man he was.
After the past months of infighting and frustration, he knew it was too much to hope for a levelheaded general with enough sense to prioritize the Spanish threat. But, he hoped that they would at least understand that the Spanish forces should come first for now.
As he reached his destination, he was met by a cohort of soldiers. One took the reins of his horse. Another, who wore the uniform of a second lieutenant, said, "We are very glad that you are here. Please come with me."
Mexico did as he was told, and followed the officer into the inner courtyard. There he came face to face with a man in full uniform, with an air about him that left no doubt that he was in command.
The set of his face, and the straightness of his back gave the impression of a man who was absolutely confident in himself. He said, "I am glad that you came. It is an honor to meet my country."
He extended his hand to Mexico, and there was a twinkle in his eye that made Mexico think that he thought it just as much an honor for Mexico to meet him.
It was a charming self-confidence though, and he felt warmed by it. Mexico took his hand and said, "Please call me Alejandro."
The man put his other hand on top of Mexico's warmly, and said with a charming smile, "I am Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, and I think we will get to know each other quite well before this is over."
A/N: I want to make sure that you are aware that if you want to discuss the story, or have additional oneshots and drabbles, you can find me on Tumblr at sailorgreywolf-legacy
I also have a discord link on my Tumblr blog if you would like to have a conversation.
Malus, I read your review and would like to discuss these things with you, but I cannot respond to anonymous reviews. If you would like to send me an anonymous message on Tumblr, then I would be able to respond and clarify my position on Ale and Alfred's relationship.