His face was still covered, but she could see the bridge of his nose and his dark eyes. She looked at him and thought of the marriage bed. She couldn’t help but think of it.
There was a lull in the chanting.
“Lady Mehr,” someone prompted. Mehr started. One of the mystics was looking at her. “Your seal,” he said.
Face burning, Mehr slipped her seal from around her neck. Amun mirrored her movement, lifting his own seal up on its length of wound silk. Before, it had been hidden under his robe, but now Mehr could see that the surface of it was bare of all names but his own and marked with a winding symbol like a whorl of sand that Mehr didn’t recognize.
Mehr crossed the last handspan of distance between them and raised her own seal up. Amun leaned down, allowing Mehr to slip it over his head. As the ribbon slid over his neck and the circle of stone touched his breastbone, Amun went very still. He took a soft, pained breath. Then he straightened up and swiftly slipped his own seal around Mehr’s throat.
Mehr heard the chanting rise through the Hall as the nobles and servants and guards all took up the call, acknowledging the moment the vows were agreed, the marriage bond formed. But they were all drowned out by the sharp pain spearing through Mehr’s chest, a burning like cold fire that raced from the edges of her new seal directly into her skin. Her first shocked cry was masked by the chanting. She wanted to cry out louder and demand help, but Amun was looking at her and opening his eyes wide in warning. He gave a small, pointed shake of his head.
There was no time anyway. The last part of the ceremony had already begun. A long length of gold cloth was lifted up by the servants and drawn around the edges of the canopy. In seclusion for the first time, hidden by thick and masking cloth, Mehr was supposed to greet her new husband by lifting her veil and showing him her face. Instead she tried to reach for the seal on her chest.
“No,” Amun said sharply, keeping his voice low. “You don’t want to touch it yet, my lady.”
“Why not?” Mehr asked. Her voice was a furious whisper. “What just happened?”
“Not here. Finish this first.” The cloth rustled around them, the chanting continued, and Mehr didn’t move. “Finish this,” he repeated. “Lift your veil, and we can be done with this farce.”
“You first,” she said. He glared at her. “I deserve to see your face. Surely I have earned the right.” A beat. Mehr clenched her hands tight. “Do you want to stand here forever, husband? Because I promise you I won’t relent.”
Beaten, Amun reached for the cloth around his face. The deft removal of one knot allowed it to fall, pooling around his shoulders. He raised his head in the dim light and let her look at him.
Mehr’s breath caught.
Dark skin. Dark eyes. She should have guessed. When she’d seen his dark hands—dark like her own—she should have known.
If she had seen his face before—those distinctive features, the high cheekbones, the fierce shape of the jaw, the full mouth, all strangely like her own features yet not at all—she would have known what he was in an instant.
Amun was Amrithi.
There were marks on his cheeks. She thought they were scars at first, but when he turned his head they gleamed blue in the light, and she wasn’t sure anymore.
He reached for her veil and lifted it up just long enough to see her face. Then he let it fall back into place.
“Mehr,” he said in a louder voice. “My wife.”
Now that he had acknowledged the marriage, the ceremony was done. The gold cloth lowered around them, allowing the sound of muted cheering to pour in. They were married.
The feast was strained. The nobles present attempted to put on a good show, but Mehr was too nervous to do more than pick at her food. Beside her, Amun ate nothing.
As the night dragged on and the men drank more spiced wine, the feast grew louder and merrier. Mehr and Amun were left to sit in their own sea of silence. Mehr’s chest itched, still tingling even though the original burning pain had passed. It was hard to resist touching her skin or the seal itself, but she held fast.
Finish this, he’d said. So she would. She would get through this. Then when they were alone, she would demand her answers.
But the night stretched on and on. The noise of the guests was growing unbearable, and Mehr could feel Kalini’s eyes on her, constantly assessing her. When Mehr thought she could stand it no longer, Amun rose. He held his hand out to her. Mehr let out a shuddering breath and took it.
They retired to a room Mehr had never seen before, one of the many bedrooms in the Governor’s residence left long empty. The room had been cleaned in preparation for its use as a bridal suite, and the lanterns on the walls flamed brightly. The scent of incense hung in the air. The bed was scattered with soft pillows and rose petals, as if someone had foolishly assumed they would want or need romance.
Once the doors were firmly shut, Amun immediately began removing his robes. Underneath them he wore a plain sleeveless tunic and trousers. Mehr threw back her veil. Vision improved, she could see now that his bare arms were covered with the same deep blue marks as his face. They were long whorls and loops that looked like language, just like the symbols Mehr had seen on Amun’s seal.
As he began to remove the sash of his tunic, Mehr froze.
Amun looked over at her. “You asked me for an explanation,” he said. “It’s easier to show you first.”
He finished untying his sash and drew his tunic open at the chest. There were more marks across the skin of his torso, but the one that caught Mehr’s eye instantly was the one on his breastbone: a pale scarred circle, filled with the names of Mehr’s ancestors.
He was marked with her seal.
