“She hasn’t hurt herself,” she said. “The girl’s hardier than that.” Sure enough, Mehr heard more guilty scuffles emanate from the bedroom.
“I’m never going to see Arwa again,” Mehr blurted out. Nahira said nothing, and Mehr clenched her hands into helpless fists. “I don’t want marriage. Not yet.”
“Well, you can’t wait forever,” Nahira said, ever practical. “You’re older than most girls are when they wed. Think of that.”
“Amrithi don’t wed at all,” Mehr said, somewhat churlishly. “Perhaps I should follow my mother’s example.”
“You’re Ambhan enough that marriage may suit you.”
“It doesn’t matter if it will suit me or not,” Mehr said bitterly. “I have my father’s orders.”
Nahira made a tutting noise. “You think you have no choice? My lady, marriage is theonlychoice your father’s people hold sacred for their women. Use that to your favor. Make a wise decision, and you’ll see so much of the child you’ll be sick of her.”
“What is a wise decision in marriage?” Mehr asked, even though she knew Nahira would laugh at her. And she did. Nahira’s laugh was a harsh bark, nearly a cough. She shook her head.
“No one knows, child, though they may claim they do. We Irin marry who we will, and end our marriages when needs be. We don’t make a fuss of such things. But an Ambhan marriage is a special beast.” Nahira leaned forward conspiratorially. Her Irin eyes were narrowed. “You belong to your father,” Nahira said. “And you will belong to any husband you choose. His duties will be your duties, his burdens your burdens. Your immortal soul will be bound to his.”
Mehr knew, of course, what an Ambhan marriage was meant to be, but it was strange to hear it spoken aloud. Stranger still to think of marriage when she wore her own seal around her throat. She thought of its weight, its ribbon, the feel of it like a rope around her neck. A chill ran through her.
“Do you truly believe that?” Mehr asked.
“Ambhans do,” said Nahira. She gave an exaggerated shrug. “What does it matter, what I believe? I can only tell you this, child: A good choice for you would be a man who doesn’t enjoy wielding power over his people.”
A man who would give her a long leash.
She thought of her father. He was the only man she had ever truly known. No brothers, no uncles, no cousins. Her father had kept her well concealed for her own safety. Her world was so small. Her heart faltered.
“Are there any men like that?” Mehr asked.
Nahira patted her cheek firmly.
“Don’t be foolish,” she said. But she said it kindly. “Now, go and help your sister clean up. Try not to scold her if you can.”
“I was never very fond of my kohl anyway,” Mehr said.
She had barely gotten to her feet when she heard another crash. This time it wasn’t the sound of Arwa wreaking chaos, but the reverberation of the doors being slammed open by a guard. The guardswoman was breathing heavily, weighed down by her ceremonial attire. Beneath her golden helm her eyes were afraid.
“Lady Mehr,” she said. “You need to come with me immediately. Your father has summoned you to the Lotus Hall.”
Despite the guardswoman’s urgency, Mehr refused to leave immediately. She dragged Nahira back into her bedroom and left the guardswoman pacing between the floor cushions like a caged tiger. Arwa watched quietly, wide-eyed, as Mehr undressed and Nahira rummaged through her clothes, cursing under her breath. Mehr was too tense to muster up a single word.
The Lotus Hall was the political heart of the Governor’s residence. It was in the Lotus Hall that the greats of the Emperor’s court were welcomed and lavished with Irinah’s treasures. It was in the Lotus Hall that all the political games of the Empire took place.
The politics of the Lotus Hall were the politics of the Empire, and thus it belonged to the realm of men. Married women often attended and watched events unfold, seated veiled in a screened area behind the Governor’s dais. The women shared their husbands’ duties and burdens, and therefore had good reason to observe politics at work. As an unmarried woman, and an illegitimate one at that, Mehr had only been to the Lotus Hall very rarely.
Why her father wanted her there now, Mehr couldn’t fathom. But she wouldn’t go unprepared.
The guardswoman had her ceremonial golden garb, symbolic of the wealth of the Empire and Irinah’s illustrious place within it. Mehr needed armor of her own.
With Nahira’s help, she put on an underskirt of pale rose and a long, layered robe of gossamer white silk. She had no time to apply cosmetics, but she was sure her veil would hide the tiredness in her eyes.
Mehr swept out of her room with her head held high. She drew her veil over her face. The veil was thin enough around the eyes for Mehr to see, but her surroundings were colored in shades of white and silver. The guardswoman started toward her.
“Ready, my lady?”
Mehr nodded.
“Take me to my father,” she said.
