“I shouldn’t have seen it,” Arwa confided. “I was supposed to be asleep, but it was so loud that I woke up.” She told Mehr about how she had peered out of the window at the dreamfire, watching it twist against the skyline. The maidservants had been in their own quarters. Nahira had been asleep. Arwa had stood all on her own for ages and ages, hours and hours, watching the storm color the sky and the daiva fly through it, until Nahira had finally woken up and dragged her back to bed.
Mehr listened to her silently, marveling at her sister’s quicksilver nature. Mehr had been a serious child, thoughtful and quiet, and slow to forget. Arwa was not that sort of girl. She was easily swayed by kind words or cruel, and the beauty of the dreamfire had smoothed away her fears by blinding her with pure wonder.
“You’re not afraid of the daiva anymore, then?” Mehr asked her, when Arwa finally seemed to run out of breath.
“I don’t know,” Arwa said. She frowned. “I don’t want one in my room again. Do you think there’s going to be another storm, Mehr? I’d like that. It wassobeautiful.”
“It was,” Mehr agreed. “But no, I don’t think there will be another storm. Not for a long while.”
And whenever it came, Mehr wouldn’t be here to see it. But Arwa would be. Now that she had heard Arwa’s bright, burbling joy, now that she’d seen Arwa’s shining eyes and breathless smile, she could take comfort in that. Irinah was as much Arwa’s land as it was Mehr’s. Blood and bone, they belonged here.
She looked up and found Nahira watching her with hooded eyes. Waiting.
“Come,” Mehr said, urging Arwa off the divan. “I have something to show you.”
She led Arwa to the array of pots and dyes, bright colors and dark sticks of kohl on the dresser, and told Arwa she had free rein to play with them as she liked. Arwa dug into them with glee. Once she was suitably engrossed, Mehr went to Nahira’s side.
“Does Maryam know you’re here?” Mehr asked. She kept her voice low, so as not to attract Arwa’s attention.
“She doesn’t know, and she won’t be told,” said Nahira. “Don’t whisper, girl. Your sister isn’t listening.” When Mehr continued to look conflicted, Nahira sighed and led her out into the living room.
They sat down on the floor cushions. “The Governor has visitors. Important people, I’ve been told.”
Mehr nodded in understanding. That explained why Maryam would have no time to worry about Mehr. Important visitors—courtiers, perhaps, from Jah Ambha itself—required the attention of the entire household. If Mehr had not been grieving in isolation, she would no doubt have seen the preparations take place. “What do you know?” she asked.
“I know you created a scandal,” Nahira said. “Of course everyone knows that now.” She reached into the folds of her shawl. “I know that one of my girls brought me this, and that I would not expect you to part with it lightly.” She took out Mehr’s dagger. “I know you are in trouble,” Nahira said softly. “What do I not know, child?”
Mehr took the dagger. Her hand trembled.
When her Amrithi clothes were taken, her dagger must have been taken with them. But she hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t cared. How could she have forgotten something so vital, so precious?
When she’d gone out into the storm she’d lost a piece of her old self. That was the only explanation she could think of.
She placed the dagger on the cushion beside her and lifted her seal up, away from where it had been concealed under her clothes. She showed it to Nahira.
“I’m being sent away,” she said.
Nahira nodded. Her expression was unreadable. “Tell me the rest,” she said.
Mehr told her haltingly about everything that had passed over the last few weeks. She told her about Lalita, and Maryam, about the storm, and Sara’s debt to her, and holding Usha as she had died. She didn’t cry, and was grateful that, for once, the tears stayed at bay.
Nahira listened silently. When Mehr trailed off she held open her arms.
“Come here,” said Nahira.
Mehr leaned forward, letting Nahira embrace her. She drew Mehr to her firmly but not roughly. Her old hands gripped Mehr like iron, but her fingers on her shoulders were so very gentle. Mehr had forgotten how well Nahira understood the complex needs of grieving children. It had been so long since anyone had treated her as a child. She let out a shuddering breath. The coil of tension wound up inside her loosened.
“Hush now,” Nahira said. “All is well.”
Mehr nodded. When Nahira released her, Mehr tucked her seal away, straightening. She didn’t want to be hunched over and miserable any longer. She wanted to be strong. Nahira watched, waiting until Mehr had regained her composure.
“You know you put Sara at great risk,” Nahira said finally. Her voice was disapproving.
“I know,” said Mehr. She had made a bad choice and dragged Sara along with her. The fault—and the guilt—were all on her shoulders. “Has she been found out? Is she—well?”
“Oh, she’s well,” said Nahira. “But only by pure luck. People are not tools to be used, Lady Mehr. Don’t start following the example of your elders now. You certainly never have before,” she added in a mutter.
There was a crash from Mehr’s room, then a guilty silence. When Mehr began to move, Nahira shook her head and motioned at Mehr to sit back down.
