Warriors sang joyfully outside the tent, and bamboo flutes played. Inside the tent, the war dance had just ended, and the aroma of wine drifted through the air. The king asked with a smile, and all the generals instantly grew solemn, falling silent at once.
"Sing high and offer a dance."
The four City-State Legion commanders looked at one another, their expressions all somewhat unnatural. Each of them held sway over a region; they were the most honored nobles in their city-states, each grasping real local power, their word law within their states. It could be said that they were the true masters of their states, always the ones who watched others offer dances, and almost never danced for anyone else.
The city-state commanders were quiet for a moment, somewhat dissatisfied in their hearts. According to the Alliance's most ancient traditions, the Mexica king was the great Tlatoani, while they were all lesser Tlatoani—a distinction between greater and lesser chiefs within a tribal alliance, not the strict ruler-and-subject relationship of the Celestial Empire.
This was especially true for the elderly "Sour Wood" clan chief, Jotico, an honored noble from Tepanicapan. He was fifty or sixty this year and had controlled his city-state for twenty years, residing year-round in distant Sour Wood City. The last time he had danced for a revered one had been eleven years ago, on The Elder's eightieth birthday. But that had been the Immortal Sun, the great man who shaped the Alliance, a heroic spirit living in the present world!
"Hmm... the king of the capital, and the leaders of the states..."
Chief Priest Petel narrowed his eyes, silently pondering like an old fox. Watching the situation in the tent, he gained a somewhat deeper understanding of the distribution of power within the Mexica People.
"Good!