She didn’t know what to say to him. She wanted to recoil in horror and in revulsion. She wanted to press her hands over her face and blot him out. She thought with longing of the veil she’d worn in her father’s household: a noblewoman’s veil, all soft gauze, that concealed her face in its entirety. He looked at her as if her flesh were itself a thin gauze and her heart a bright and bloody flame.
He can’t see my thoughts, she told herself desperately.He can’t see my secrets.
Mehr had always prided herself on her ability to conceal her true feelings. It wouldn’t, couldn’t fail her now. Her secrets were not written on her skin. Let him have her fear, let him have her revulsion. She would not show him the truth of her unfinished vow, the lie of it, the hope of freedom she couldn’t shake. She could keep those from him. She had to.
Mehr heard the scuff of gentle footsteps. The Maha looked away from her, his gaze lifting beyond her shoulder.
“Amun,” she heard him say. “Your presence wasn’t requested.”
“It is my duty as her husband to be by her side.” Amun’s low, unreadable voice had never brought her as much comfort as it did then, coming from the balcony entrance. She turned and saw him bow low, head to the floor as Kalini had done. His face was uncovered, marks gleaming a fierce blue in the light. He rose. “And it is her duty to remain beside me in return. I came to fulfill our mutual duties.”
“I’m glad to see you take your vows so seriously,” said the Maha. He sounded amused. Much to Mehr’s relief, he stepped away from her, allowing Amun to stand by her side in his stead. “I take it you have enjoyed your reward? Answer me honestly, Amun.”
“We’ve lain together many times.” Amun’s voice was a blank canvas. “She wears my mark.”
True. And not true. They had lain together, but not in the way Amun clearly intended the Maha to believe they had. She wore his mark, but it was incomplete, burning and churning her flesh like a small flame. Amun had not lied to the Maha, not disobeyed—he’d simply twisted his words so carefully, so cleverly, that he’d concealed the truth with a veil of misdirection. Knowing now how the Maha hated dishonesty, knowing the power of his voice, Mehr could only marvel. And bite down on her tongue to keep her own silence.
The Maha gave a soft laugh. He placed a hand on the edge of the balcony, raising his face to the sun.
“She pleases you, then?”
“She pleases me greatly,” Amun said.
If Mehr bit down any harder, she’d soon taste blood.
“A gift to you, and a gift to all of us,” murmured the Maha. “What a gem you are, child.” The Maha looked at her again. “You want to serve the Emperor, don’t you, Mehr?”
“I share my husband’s duties,” Mehr managed to say. She felt Amun’s sleeve brush hers.
The Maha straightened and reached for Mehr. Amun tensed.
“Don’t move,” the Maha said, and both Mehr and Amun froze as he reached for Mehr’s chin and tilted her head up. From a distance his eyes were the light hazel of Ambhan nobility, but this close Mehr could see that the dark pupils of his eyes had points of light within them, light as sharp and jagged as shattered glass.
Whatever the Maha was, he was not entirely human. Mehr was sure of that.
“You have the Amrithi look,” he said, tilting her head to the side for a closer inspection. Mehr’s skin burned where he touched it. “Once there were many of your ilk among us. But there are so few of you now, and still so much work left to be done.” He paused, looking at her. “You will need to learn quickly.”
“She already knows a little,” Amun said. “She’s teachable.”
“Good.” He released her. “A storm will be upon us soon. Make sure she knows her duties before then.”
“Maha.”
Mehr thought he would let them leave. Instead the Maha turned his attention on her again, gaze intent.
“Are you glad to be among us, Mehr?” he asked, his voice dangerously kind. “Does it please you to serve the Empire? Speak truthfully.”
“No,” said Mehr. “I’m afraid.” In horror, she smacked a hand over her mouth to stop herself from speaking on. She hadn’t intended to be truthful. She’d had no choice.
“The fear you feel is simply the first step toward awe,” the Maha said gently. “And awe is what is required for true worship. Embrace it. Let it subsume you, and you will learn your place.”
The Maha brushed a hand over her head, smoothing her tangled hair. Mehr held her breath. Held still.
“Yes,” he said tenderly. “I do believe you’ll learn soon enough.”
He spoke as if he could transform her feelings along with her will, as if he could make her fear turn into awe, reshaping her nature to his whims. In that moment, staring into the refracted light of his eyes, Mehr’s fear deepened and grew, stretching its dark limbs. She was afraid that he could.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
