“I’ve come to supervise,” Nahira said. “You clearly don’t know what’s needed.”
“I’ve never been introduced to a suitor before,” Mehr agreed mildly.
“Look at you,” Nahira tsked. “Have you slept at all?”
“Have you?” Mehr countered.
Nahira made a dismissive sound. “Your sash is loose,” she told Mehr. Nahira cinched it tight with one deft hand, noting each fault with Mehr’s clothing out loud. The maids scurried about, fetching and carrying and adjusting Mehr’s long robe and sash, looking steadily more vexed as time went on.
“I thought you might go with Arwa,” Mehr said tentatively. Nahira snorted and shook her head.
“Me? No, my lady. I’m too old for such things. I sent Sara in my place,” Nahira said.
Mehr started at that. Why Sara, of all the maidservants Nahira could have chosen? She remembered Sara’s face in the flickering lantern light. All of this had started with her.
“Sara,” Mehr repeated.
“She’ll look after Lady Arwa well enough,” Nahira said. “And perhaps it will keep her out of trouble.” The look she gave Mehr was significant. Nahira had always been protective of Mehr, shielding her from the greater strength and will of her stepmother, until Mehr had been better able to shield herself. She was no less protective of servant girls like Sara, who walked through life without the carapace of wealth and privilege that kept Mehr safe from so many of the world’s harms. “Now stay still, girl. Who braided your hair? What a mess.”
Mehr was growing tired of being fussed over. She could feel a headache building. Her head was swimming with faces: Sara, Arwa, the mystic woman with her light Ambhan eyes and her Irin flesh. She shook her head when the next maid approached, hands raised.
“No more. I’ll do it.”
Nahira shook her head at that, narrowing her eyes.
“Your veil is crooked,” Nahira said. When a maid started forward, Nahira waved her sharply away. “Leave it to me,” she snapped. “Fools. All of you.”
“No more!” Mehr snapped. She gave the maids a hard look. “Leave us.”
The maids trailed out, unruffled by Mehr’s abruptness. Mehr waited until they were gone, then stepped out of Nahira’s reach. She placed herself in front of her mirror and reached for the pins of her veil.
“Lady Mehr,” Nahira said reproachfully.
“I can fix my own veil,” Mehr said. For now it was thrown back over her hair, leaving her face bare. She met Nahira’s eyes in the glass. “You need to tell me what has you so worried.”
There was a surprised silence. Mehr huffed out a sigh.
“I recognize worry when I see it,” Mehr said impatiently. “Please, Nahira. I don’t have much more time.”
Nahira’s mouth thinned. “You should have left with your sister,” she said. “You should haverun. Fool child.”
Mehr didn’t respond for a long moment. She made a show of adjusting her jewels, her hair, her veil again.
“How could I have run from the mystics? Emperor’s grace, Nahira, we pray to their master. Running from them would have done me no good. Where could I run where they wouldn’t find me?”
“You shouldn’t walk into this pit of vipers.”
“They’re the Empire’s vipers,” Mehr snapped back. “Better I walk into a pit than have us all thrown into one.”
She turned to face Nahira. She reined in her temper.
“Don’t make me doubt myself now,” Mehr said. “I’ve made my choice. There’s nothing I can do to change it.”
She thought Nahira would argue with her, and part of her—a large part of her—welcomed the idea. She wanted the opportunity to vent some of her rage, which felt too big to carry. It was a terrible weight upon her shoulders.
Instead Nahira walked over to her and took hold of the seal hung on its length of ribbon around her throat. She adjusted it slightly, so the seal lay centered just against Mehr’s breastbone. Her fingers were trembling.
“There,” Nahira said. “You look perfect.”
