“You will need to dress appropriately before entering the Maha’s presence,” Kalini said, leading Mehr down a dizzying array of corridors. “Use the bathing room. I’ll send someone to collect you.”
She gestured at Mehr to stop, and showed her into a room with one high unshuttered window, open to the light. The floor was tiled, the air cool.
“I don’t have anything with me,” Mehr said. “My clothes. Kalini—”
Mehr turned, but it was too late. Kalini was gone.
Mehr gritted her teeth, holding back the curses she couldn’t allow to spill from her lips. Kalini wanted her to dress for the Maha? Well, that was a doomed project. Mehr had been wearing these clothes in sweltering heat for days on end. There was no way on earth that she could transform them into acceptable garb. The Maha would have to be disappointed.
Mehr undressed and folded her clothes in the corner of the room. Someone had clearly anticipated Mehr’s arrival, because a low basin of water had been prepared, with a pitcher and soap by its side. Mehr crouched down and took the pitcher in her hands. She skimmed it through the water, then raised it, pouring the liquid over her head. The water was shockingly, gloriously cool. She blinked it out of her eyes, watching dirt-clouded water pool around her knees.
She didn’t know how long she had, so she made a clumsy attempt at untangling her hair before giving the task up. She focused instead on scrubbing herself clean, sloughing away the grime of the journey. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the tunic she’d worn beneath her robe and daubed the underarms with a little water and soap.
She heard a cough. She looked up, tunic still held in her hands. There was a woman at the door, a young woman with a bundle of clothes in her arms. She gave Mehr an embarrassed smile and held the bundle out. “Kalini sent me to bring you this,” she said.
Mehr took the bundle from her, her own tunic clutched loosely in front of her in a semblance of modesty.
“She told me to tell you not to cover your face,” said the woman. “He wouldn’t like that.” Another lopsided smile, and the woman dashed away. Mehr looked down at the bundle. A tunic, a sash, a pair of trousers. No shawl, no veil. She let out a long, slow breath and started getting dressed.
Mehr needed no mirror to know that she looked nothing like the Governor’s daughter any longer. She’d grown thinner on the journey, her body all muscle and bone. Her skin had darkened in the sun. She wore no ornaments, and her clothes were clean but plain and ill-fitting. She’d bound back the tangle of her hair with frayed thread, but she knew it had done little to improve her appearance. She thought of the way the mystics spoke of the Maha, thought of Amun’s blue marks and bleak eyes. Nervousness gripped her insides. Being herself was not enough. She wanted fine clothes and jewels and a veil to protect her from the Maha’s eyes. She wanted an armor of beauty, strong and glittering. But she had nothing. She was unarmed.
Kalini led Mehr out of the darkness of the corridors up onto a wide balcony open to sky. The sudden change in light left Mehr blinded for a moment. Dazzled, she stood still and listened to the howl of the wind. She could smell water. Before the desert, she hadn’t known water had a scent. She did now.
Her vision cleared. At first she thought her eyes were tricking her, that she was seeing one of the wavering illusions common in the desert heat. But then she took a step closer to the edge of the balcony, breathed in that scent of water, and knew that what she saw was real after all.
Like the havelis of Jah Irinah, the temple had an inner courtyard. But the courtyard was massive, its breadth equal to the size of a village. It had to be, to encompass the oasis lying at its heart. The oasis was huge, and surrounded by vegetation and signs of irrigation. Its water glimmered in the light. Mehr had never seen such a large natural body of water. She’d never expected to see so much lush life here. It took her breath away.
She heard footsteps. Kalini bowed low to the ground beside her, her head pressed to the floor. Mehr’s mark, the one etched into her skin above her breasts, began to ache.
Mehr bowed down, following Kalini’s example, her limbs doing what was necessary for survival even as her senses sharpened, taking in every detail of the world around her: the sharp acid sting on her skin, the heat of the sun. The sound of those footsteps going still.
It was his boots that she saw first. They were sturdy, hard leather, unmarked by the outdoors. The hem of his robe was a deep, lustrous blue, dark like the robes of the other mystics but made of a far finer material. If there was one thing Mehr had learned as the Governor’s daughter, it was how to identify finer things.
“Stand up,” said the Maha. Mehr and Kalini stood.
Mehr looked into the Maha’s face.
It was not the blank mask she had half feared it would be.
On the surface, the Maha looked like a mortal man. He wore no turban, no mark of noble status. His hair was cut brutally short in the military style, but what little of it she could see was peppered gray. He was old—she had guessed, of course, that he would be old—but every inch of him exuded strength and charisma that belied his age. His eyes were as sharp as knives and unclouded by time. His bones were hard, but his mouth was shaped into a kindly smile. He reminded Mehr absurdly of her father.
“Kalini,” he said. He kissed her forehead. Kalini closed her eyes, savoring the touch of his mouth. “You’ve done well.”
“Maha,” she said. She pressed a fist to her chest. “It was my honor.”
“Did Amun give you trouble?”
“No, Maha,” said Kalini. Her mouth firmed. She seemed to steel herself. “There was a daiva.”
The Maha gestured at Kalini to continue.
“It was dealt with,” Kalini went on, a pleading note in her voice. “Amun performed the rite. No other disturbances occurred. It didn’t harm the girl.”
“The others?”
“Were also unharmed, Maha. Amun banished it swiftly.”
“You should have been more vigilant, Kalini,” he said.
