The guardswoman led Mehr out of the women’s quarters. The corridors were wider, grander. There were male guards lining the walls. They were careful not to look at her directly, but Mehr could still remember the weight of the commander’s eyes on her, the embarrassment thinning his mouth. She was glad for the anonymizing weight of her veil, the grandeur of her clothing. In her armor she was Suren’s daughter, and no eyes could touch her.
The guard led her to a side entrance to the Hall. She opened the door. Hesitated.
“This will lead you behind the Governor’s throne,” murmured the guardswoman. She hesitated again. “Emperor’s grace upon you, my lady.”
She stepped back, allowing Mehr to pass.
Mehr took a deep breath and went through the door. On her left were women—a dozen at least, wives of courtiers dressed in their finery with their faces carefully veiled. On her right was a long partition screen, thin enough for the color and noise of the Hall to pour through it. She took a step forward. Another. Through the screen she could see her father’s shadow. He was seated on the other side, on a raised dais facing the Hall. Above him, hung from the ceiling and visible through the screen, was an effigy of the Emperor, ornately gilded in facets of mirror glass in hues of bronze and silver. Its position above him was symbolic. Although the Governor ruled Irinah, he was merely the Emperor’s representative, appointed by the Emperor to act in the Emperor’s—and the Empire’s—best interests.
“Sit by me,” a voice said quietly. Mehr looked down. Maryam was kneeling on floor cushions at the Governor’s right-hand side, separated from her husband’s by the screen. Her face was veiled, but there was no missing the ferocity in her voice.“Sit.”
Mehr kneeled down deliberately to her father’s left instead. A ripple of unease ran through the women behind her. But Mehr could not, would not, flinch. She sat tall, her hands clasped before her.
“Daughter,” her father said. His voice carried across the Hall. His words weren’t meant just for her. “My firstborn. Our visitors requested your presence.”
Mehr could see clearly through the thin mesh of the screen to the Hall beyond.
The Lotus Hall lived up to its name, with alcoves shaped to mimic the open folds of a flower, its mirrored walls shimmering in the glow of the lanterns like rippling water. Above it all, the effigy of the Emperor glowed most brightly of all, haloed with light. She could see the courtiers crowded into those alcoves with their swords in their scabbards and their hands in fists. She could see the guardsmen in their ceremonial attire, golden and still, barring the doorways.
She could see the visitors.
There were five of them. They were dressed in identical heavy robes, suitable for the desert but certainly not for the finery of court. They wore thick cloth wound around their heads and shoulders. Some had the cloth drawn up over their faces, concealing everything but their eyes. Others were barefaced. It was one of the barefaced visitors, a slight figure in a dark robe, who looked up at the sound of Suren’s voice and fixed their eyes unerringly on Mehr’s shadowy figure through the screen. The visitor’s eyes were light, their skin Irin dark. Mehr realized with a jolt that the visitor was a woman.
“We’re glad you’re finally with us, my lady,” the woman said, speaking to Mehr as if the screen and Mehr’s veil and the sudden disapproving muttering rolling through the crowd were no barrier at all. “Please, allow me to make proper introductions on behalf of my brothers and me.” She swept a bow. Her eyes never left Mehr’s figure.
“We are the Empire’s mystics, my lady, come from the desert to speak to you on behalf of our master, the Great One, the Maha, who bids us to pray for the Empire’s glory.” She smiled. Her teeth were so very white. “We have heard a great deal about you, Lady Mehr.”
“You do not speak directly to her,” Suren said. His voice was hard as iron. “My daughter is a noblewoman under my protection, and as such you will not stain her honor by breaching the veil. You speak to me.”
“Your desire to protect your women is a great virtue, Governor,” the mystic said. She looked away from Mehr. “I meant no offense.” When Mehr’s father made no response, as the mutterings from the watching courtiers grew more pronounced, the woman gestured at one of her companions to come forward. “Perhaps it will ease your mind to know we come at the bidding of the highest power,” she said.
The other mystic stepped toward the dais, only to find his way barred by a guardsman. He turned to look back at the woman. When she nodded, he reached into the folds of his robe and took out a sealed scroll. The noise of the crowd grew. They could all see what Mehr could see. The scroll was marked with the two entwined seals: the Emperor’s and the Maha’s. Law and faith. Even Mehr, raised in seclusion, knew their marks. Her breath caught. She felt the roar of the crowd fill her ears like water.
The guard accepted the scroll with shaking fingers and took it up to the Governor’s dais. Suren did not try to quiet the courtiers. His focus was on the paper in his hands.
The woman’s voice cut through the mutters of the courtiers. She seemed to take no notice of the displeasure of the crowd. She stood straight and tall, a faint smile still lifting the corners of her mouth. “Among our order is one son highly favored by the Gods. He has served faithfully, with all his soul. Our Maha told the Emperor how wisely this son has served him, and they both wish to reward his loyalty with a suitable marriage.”
“A marriage,” Suren repeated. His voice was colorless. “I did not know your kind married.”
“The Maha decides what we are and what we do, Governor, for we are his tools and his devotees,” the woman said. “Like all people of the Empire, noble to beggar, everything we have and everything we are has been granted to us by the faith and law of the Empire. We do not question. We merely serve. Just as you serve upon your throne, Governor, at the Emperor’s decree, we come to you seeking a specific marriage for our brother because the Maha and our Emperor have said it must be so.”
Mehr felt, more than saw, the way the nobles quailed back from the woman as she spoke. Around her the women were deathly silent. They all heard what the woman had not said:
Whatever the Emperor and the Maha gave, they could also take away.
The woman held out her hands, palms open. “Your daughter’s name reached the Maha’s ears on the wings of a storm, Governor. So here we are, my brothers and I, to offer her a great honor.”
Mehr felt a thud in her lungs, her bones. She felt like the ground had collapsed beneath her. She was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. She watched her father through the screen. He carefully rolled up the scroll. He placed it on his lap.
“I am afraid my daughter is unsuitable,” Suren said. “She is illegitimate. Her blood is impure. She is by no means worthy of a favored mystic of the Empire.”
“We know of your daughter’s blood,” said the woman. “It is no impediment. The Empire is vast, Governor, and the Emperor loves all his subjects. Even those with barbarian blood have their part to play.” The woman gestured at her own face, a smile still playing on her mouth. “I am not pure myself, Governor. But I serve, nonetheless.”
There was a beat of silence.Speak, Mehr thought.Speak.
Tell them I walked barefaced in the streets. Tell them I’m a disgrace. Convince them.
Please, Father.
