Amun took Mehr to his room. It was high in one of the temple’s many spires, a circular room with windows on all sides. When they entered, Amun unbarred the shutters, letting in the vast blue of the sky. Mehr waited for him to finish, then walked over to the nearest window. She leaned out and held her face to the sun. There was no perforated screen to hold her back; she could lean out unimpeded. She drew in deep lungfuls of air, one after the other, trying to calm the panicked beat of her heart.
To think, only hours ago she had been longing for the journey through the desert to end. She’d hungered for shelter and water and a clean place to sleep. Now she had everything she’d desired, and she wanted nothing more than to return to the desert again. The journey had been hard, facing the Maha’s terrible, cutting kindness was infinitely harder.
Amun was silent behind her, but she could hear him breathe, slow and even, and that sound alone was enough to make her head hurt with anger.
“You should have told me,” she said, and knew her anger had leaked into her voice, colored it like blood in water. “You should have told me what the Maha—is.”
“I apologize.”
Mehr was glad for the air against her face. She wished it were cooler. She felt like the Maha was still there, still with her, his presence a hot brand under her skin. She’d almost forgotten the mark of her vow during her journey through the desert. She wouldn’t forget it again.
“Why do you serve him? Why would you …?” She stopped. Took one deep breath. Another. “I want to ask you why you made vows to him, Amun, but I believe I know the answer.” She remembered the Maha’s gaze, the softness of his voice, the way Kalini’s eyes had closed when he’d pressed his mouth to her forehead. “If he had wanted to make me love him, I think he could have.” She turned to face Amun, still gripping the window with her hands as if it could make her steady and strong. “But he didn’t want me to love him. He wanted me to be afraid. Didn’t he?”
The light illuminated the bareness of the room. The sight was a bitter contrast to Mehr’s old, lavish quarters. There was a bed and a trunk for clothing. A single oil lamp hung on a hook by the door. There was nothing else. Just Amun, standing still and watching her with dark eyes.
“He did the same to me,” Amun said. “When I first began my service, the day after I took my first vow. He showed me what the mark could make me do. He taught me to fear.” Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “He didn’t lie to you. Fear is the first step toward awe. Toward worship.”
“I don’t want to worship him.” Her fingers hurt from how hard she was gripping the window.
“He isn’t easily denied.” Amun’s voice was implacable. “The Maha wanted your fear, and now he has it. He wants your awe, and he will have that too. You won’t deny him that, Mehr, because as long as he gets what he wants, he won’t look beyond the surface and see what he doesnothave: your sealed vow.”
Mehr watched him inhale and exhale, and realized he wasn’t breathing steadily because he was calm, but because he wasn’t. The Maha had shaken him just as much as he’d shaken Mehr. Amun was controlling his body, his breath, with a will like iron. He was holding in the torrent of feeling.
“I sent you to him unprepared, and for that I am sorry,” Amun said. “But I believed your ignorance would protect our secret, and I was right.” He swallowed. “I won’t lie to you again. Now that you’ve met him, we can speak honestly.”
Although his voice was hard, he had turned his face away, his neck and jaw in shadows. His hands were clasped behind him, his shoulders eloquent with tension. In the desert she’d told him how much emotion his body revealed. He clearly hadn’t taken her words to heart. She could only find it in herself to be glad of it as she let out a shaky breath of her own and pried her fingers loose from the edge of the window. In those shoulders, in that turned head, she could read everything she needed to know.
He was controlling himself for her sake. He knew exactly how she felt. He’d been in her place, helpless in the presence of the Maha. Owned. He wasstillowned and helpless. But instead of lashing out as she had, he had led her up the narrow staircase to his room with wordless, endless patience. He’d opened the shutters to let the world in, giving her a small taste of the freedom she craved to quiet the fear in her heart.
He was being kind. Mehr swallowed, her throat closing. She was dangerously close to weeping.
“You shouldn’t,” Mehr said, hoping her voice was steady. “Honesty is all well and good, but what if he had asked me about the vow?”
“He didn’t.”
“You took a risk, and we were lucky,” Mehr acknowledged. “But he could have asked me anything, and I would have been honest with him. I couldn’t help myself. My voice wasn’t my own.” The knowledge was bitter on her tongue. She copied Amun, breathing through the fear. “I can’t lie to him, Amun. You should keep your secrets safe from me.”
“I told you I would be honest with you. That wasn’t a false promise.”
“You can’t be,” Mehr said helplessly.
“I can,” Amun retorted. “You can learn to resist him.”
“As you do?”
“Better than I can, Mehr. I’m fully bound by my vows. I can only … alter the shape of my obedience. Or suffer, if I choose to resist.” A bitter smile shaped his mouth. “Your vow isn’t sealed. You can still fight.”
She remembered the Maha’s voice. The ghost of hands on her face, compelling her to face him. She shivered.
“I’m not sure I can,” she said tightly.
“I know you can.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.” He turned his gaze on her again, his voice so earnest that it shocked her into silence. “I have faith in your strength.”
His gaze was unflinching. Her heart fluttered strangely in her chest. She looked away first.
