“Where are you going?” Ruhi asked.
“I’m sure you already know,” Mehr said.
“Did you truly believe Kamal would lie to me, Mehr?”
“I hoped he would do the right thing.”
“He did.” Ruhi’s voice was a terrible, soft thing, full of love and pity. “He obeyed his Tara. He kept you safe.”
Ruhi pushed her hood back from her face and walked toward Mehr. “Come with me,” she said. Her eyes were liquid dark, her face gentle. “Please, Mehr.”
“I have to go back,” Mehr said, resisting the urge to step away from her mother. “You must see that.”
“Your vows are misleading you,” her mother said. “You don’t truly want to return to the Maha.”
Of course Mehr didn’t want to return to him. The thought of him turned her knees to water, made her blood run cold. But her wants and her fears changed nothing. “It won’t be long until the dreamfire falls,” Mehr said, struggling to keep calm in the face of her mother’s gentleness. “I need to go now. The price of me remaining here is far too high. You must see that.”
“I told you he would find someone to replace you,” Ruhi said, with the sureness of hope. “Most likely he already has.” Ruhi took one of Mehr’s hands between her own, holding on to her gently, her expression earnest with love. “You would not have spoken to Kamal if you didn’t want to warn me. You want me to stop you.”
“No, Mother,” Mehr said. “No. I’m leaving. I have to.”
Ruhi’s grip tightened into a vise that made Mehr wince.
“I can stop you, Mehr. I will if I must.” A beat. “Please, daughter. Don’t make me do this.”
Mehr looked at her mother. The veil of gentleness had fallen away to reveal the iron that lay beneath it, a desperation so pure and fierce that it took Mehr’s breath away.
“You don’t have the right,” Mehr said.
“I’m the Tara. I protect the clan. I protectyou.”
Mehr swallowed. “The best thing you can do for the clan is let me go.”
“I’m your mother.” Ruhi’s voice wavered. “I can’t sacrifice you. I won’t let you go. It’s too much.”
“This is my choice,” Mehr said.
“Mehr, I can’t allow you to do this.”
“And what right do you have to decide for me?” Mehr demanded. Suddenly she was furious. Furious at her mother for loving her too much, far too late. Furious at herself for standing here, wasting time and courage when there was so much yet to be done. “You left me. You gave up your right to control me a long time ago, and you can’t have it back.” She wrenched her hand back, and this time her mother’s grip faltered and released her.
The silence that fell was sudden and bitter. Her mother looked stricken.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Mehr said, pained, as she rubbed her wrist. “I don’t want to be angry at you.”
“But you are,” her mother whispered.
“How could I not be?” The words—all the words she had held back so carefully, for the sake of building the fragile peace growing between them—began to pour out of her. “Father used me and Arwa as a weapon against you, and instead of fighting him you left us behind. Youchoseto leave us. Arwa was a baby. She doesn’t even remember you. I missed you more than I can say. I still miss you. I miss the mother I had, the mother I dreamed would come home to me.” Mehr’s voice cracked. “Of course I’m angry. I’m angry that I have been caged and sold and failed by the people who were supposed to protect me. I’m angry because I love you still, despite everything, and I want you tolet me go.”
She wouldn’t fail Amun, as she’d been failed. She would save him. She couldn’t allow anyone to stop her.
“I don’t want to be angry at you, Mother,” Mehr said, chin held high. “But I don’t regret it.”
She saw the moment the blow struck. Saw her mother straighten.
“You have a right to your anger,” her mother said. Her voice was wooden, heavy with hurt. “But it changes nothing. I only want you to be safe. I always have. If you can’t resist your vow, I’ll resist for you. I’ll do what’s needful to protect you from yourself.”
Mehr’s stomach fell.
