“Has the Maha done this before?” Mehr asked. “Has he bound women like me with a marriage vow in the past?”
Amun shook his head, back still turned.
“He has never needed to before,” said Amun. “And he has never had to bind a woman like you.”
A noblewoman with Ambhan and Amrithi blood. A woman who could not be stolen away without the use of a binding palatable to the nobility, a marriage sealed with a vow—yes, Mehr could imagine that there were not many women in the world like her.
“What does the Maha want me for?” Mehr asked.
Amun turned back to her. His expression was blank. She knew, without pressing, that she would get no more answers out of him tonight.
“I would like to know,” Mehr said, pressing him regardless. Amun shook his head.
“Lady Mehr, I don’t wish to speak any longer,” he said in a voice too cool, too even to be a plea. “Will you respect my wish?”
I don’t have a choice, thought Mehr. She stared at him silently as he stepped away from the wall, as he sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes without looking at her.
“You must be tired,” he said. “The night has been long. You should sleep.”
Mehr was tired, it was true. She didn’t know how the nobles had found the energy to continue celebrating. Even when she and Amun had left, their wedding guests had been deep into their cups and in a bright and glorious mood. But even tired as she was, she didn’t really believe she would be able to sleep. Her mind was too full, her heart was far too heavy.
She lay down anyway. Amun lay down beside her. She stiffened. He must have felt her tense, because he turned over to look at her. The lantern light bled shadows across his face, hiding his expression from her.
“I only want to rest, Lady Mehr,” he said. “No more than that.”
She knew they were both expected to do far more than just sleep, but Amun had already rolled back over and tucked himself tight against the other side of the bed. If he wasn’t going to mention it, then Mehr wasn’t going to either.
A shudder ran through her. Her marriage should have been a sacred thing, but the mystics and their Maha had twisted it into a mockery of itself. The marriage bed—the consummation—was about becoming one flesh, one soul. Now Mehr lay next to her husband with her soul already marked by trickery, her skin and his burned with the perversion of their marriage vows. She didn’t want to become any more bound. She was terrified, and she was done.
Mehr folded her hands over her stomach. She was uncomfortable in her clothes, weighed down with hidden clasps digging into her spine, but she couldn’t do anything about that now. She squeezed her eyes shut. She could hear Amun breathing. Trying to sleep next to someone felt strange to her.
“You don’t need to call meladyany longer,” Mehr said. “I’m your wife now.”
Amun said nothing. She didn’t know if he had fallen asleep or if he was awake and had simply chosen not to respond. She thought the second option was more likely than the first. She closed her eyes tighter, pretending to sleep along with him, until pretense finally turned into reality.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was early morning when Mehr woke. Amun was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her. As she sat up, he turned. His tunic was loosened and the collar had fallen open. His neck, she noticed, was bare. She sat up straighter, the weight of his seal rubbing at the skin of her own throat.
“Where is it?” Mehr asked.
He held a hand out to her. The whole length of her seal, ribbon and all, was curled up in his palm. Mehr let out a shuddering breath.
“You shouldn’t have removed it,” she said. “You haven’t earned the right.”
Nahira’s unwanted talk of the marriage bed had at least done Mehr the favor of dispelling her ignorance in this one matter: Newly married men wore their wife’s seal until the marriage was consummated. Once husband and wife were bound in flesh as well as soul, a man no longer needed to carry the burden of his wife’s past around his neck. A wife was a newly born creature, after all: an extension of her husband’s flesh and his will, her old self no more than a ghost for the pyre.
“We’ll be disturbed soon,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her. He was moving the seal restlessly between his fingers. The ribbon was twined around his wrist. “The feast ended hours ago.”
“Husband,” she said.
“Your maids will come. Or Kalini. Either way, you should prepare.”
“Amun.Will you listen to me?”
He looked away from her.
She grabbed his wrist. His arm tensed, all wiry sinew and hard muscle, then relaxed abruptly. The seal slithered easily into Mehr’s grip. She took it from him and laid it on the bed.
