She swathed herself in a heavy robe and slipped boots onto her red-stained feet. If Lalita was in danger, if she couldn’t come to Mehr, then Mehr would go to her. She would go out into the city and find Lalita. She wouldn’t let her be hurt.
That, of course, was easier said than done. She couldn’t simply leave the women’s quarters. As one of the noblewomen of the Governor’s household, she was protected by high walls and maids and guards. When she went into public, she went with an armed entourage and traveled securely in a palanquin veiled with gauze. Outside the palanquin she wore a heavy robe to conceal her features. The robe she wore now, in fact. From a distance it was like the robes all women wore, regardless of status: plain and neat and suitable for concealment and for protection from the elements. Only closer inspection revealed the fine quality of the fabric and the swatches of rich color that lined the interior of the sleeves and the hem. It would still provide the anonymity Mehr required. She would have to do without the rest. There would be no palanquin or armed entourage today.
If she wanted to leave the household quietly, she would need help.
She slipped through the marble corridors on light feet, barely breathing, trusting that her dancer feet would know how to move softly. She made her way to the nursery.
She was in luck. Sara was leaving Arwa’s chambers, her arms full of clothes. Mehr held a finger to lips, bidding her to be silent, and gestured at Sara to follow her.
When they were alone, she asked, “Have you used the blood?”
“Yes, my lady,” Sara said. Her eyes were dark and watchful. Perhaps she knew what was coming. “Is that all you wanted to ask, my lady?”
Mehr shook her head.
“I am sorry, Sara,” she said. She drew the hood of her robe over her face; dark netting covered her view of Sara’s stricken expression in a dim haze. “It seems I’ll be needing that favor far sooner than I expected.”
Because of the double-edged sword of her status, Mehr knew very little about the world beyond the women’s quarters. But Sara did. She guided Mehr swiftly away from familiar chambers into the winding passageways of the servants’ quarters. Here there was no marble. The walls and floor were bare and windowless, the corridors lit by torches. The farther they walked, the more strongly Mehr could smell the scent of the kitchens, a rich odor of burnt oil and spices.
“This way,” Sara whispered. She gestured at Mehr to follow her.
They crept down a staircase and came to a barred door. “We receive deliveries here,” said Sara. When she caught Mehr’s questioning look, she went on. “Supplies, my lady,” said Sara. “For the kitchens.”
Of course. With so little food able to grow in the desert, Jah Irinah relied on imports from more fertile regions of the Empire. Mehr knew that. What she hadn’t considered—had never thought to consider—was the need for a delivery entrance near the kitchens, and its usefulness to her as an exit from her home. She’d never thought about it because she’d never had to.
She grimaced inwardly at her own ignorance. Despite her best efforts, she knew so little.
No more. Tonight was a step in the right direction: out of the comfort of known things into the whirling, terrifying chaos of the light.
Together they hoisted the bar holding the doors shut and lowered it to the floor, struggling to muffle the sound of metal clanking against stone. By the time they were done, they were both breathing heavily. Under her heavy cloak, Mehr’s skin was covered in sweat. She ran a hand over her forehead, staining her knuckles with red and black ash.
“Please don’t make me go with you,” Sara said quietly. Her jaw was firm, her eyes hard with desperation. No matter what Mehr said, she wouldnotgo. What lay beyond the door terrified her more than Mehr ever could.
“You’ve paid your debt,” said Mehr. She pressed a hand to the door. “Keep the blood close. It will protect you.”
She shoved the door open. Light poured in. Dust, glowing like slivers of candlelight, crept over the curve of her boots.
Sara stepped back. Mehr strode outside.
She was consumed instantly. The light moved around her wildly, whipping sand up from the earth to abrade her skin wherever it was exposed. She drew her hood hastily down over her face to keep the dust from getting into her eyes or her mouth. She couldn’t let herself be afraid. There was no going back now. Instead she steeled her resolve and started walking.
Mehr hugged close to the perimeter of the Governor’s residence, searching for the hint of a familiar path away from the palace toward the city streets. It was a more difficult task than she’d expected. She’d thought the dreamfire would light her way, but now that she was standing in the midst of it, she realized it was worse than darkness. She could barely see a few steps in front of her. Everything was light, and the light was blinding. If there were guards nearby—and there had to be guards—Mehr had no way of avoiding them. She had to trust that the fact that she was equally invisible to them would protect her. As long as she didn’t walk headfirst into a unit of men, she’d be safe.
It took her far longer than she would have liked, but eventually Mehr found her way to one of the long, deserted streets of the city proper. Near the Governor’s residence the houses belonged to the wealthy, and it showed. Here the light was thinner, and Mehr could see that the wide, paved streets were lined with large white havelis, mansions with courtyard gardens and ornately carved verandas. Mehr had been to Lalita’s home twice before, and both times she had traveled by palanquin through streets just like these. Those journeys had been long and stifled, with the curtains shut around her and her cloak heavy as a shroud. But she’d been curious enough, hungry enough, to fold back one of the curtains and drink in the sights with her eyes. She’d memorized those journeys. She should have known the way.
The city was so changed around her that her memories were little use. She walked through the storm for a little longer, pushing hard through the beating force of the wind, before she finally accepted that she was no closer to Lalita’s home than she had been when she’d been standing in her own chambers, watching the dreamfire fall.
The dreamfire was everywhere now. It was in the air she breathed, in the sweat at the nape of her neck. She could feel the strength of it churning the city into a storm. The buildings were drenched in light, debris flying through the air as if the world had tipped on its side and sent everything sprawling. Even the earth felt like it was moving beneath her feet. It was dizzying, terrifying.
Exhilarating.
She was lost, but everything inside her was aflame with nameless joy, the feeling of a perfectly danced rite or the bright recognition in a daiva’s eyes. She was lost, but her body knew this storm. It knew it was home.
She breathed in steadily. She tried to keep her mind clear of euphoria. Joy wouldn’t help her right now. Frustration wouldn’t either. She had tothink.
She couldn’t trust her memories, or her knowledge, or her own emotions. But she could trust the dreamfire. She could let its current guide her, move her like water, like blood.
When you dance with the Rite of Dreaming, you dance with the Gods.Her mother had told her that. Right now it felt like only divine intervention would get her where she needed to be.
