“As we grow near a storm, the celestial bodies begin to change their behavior,” Edhir explained. She could hear the enthusiasm in his voice, the sheer love he had for his subject. “Their patterns alter. We’ve theorized that the storms are a time when the world the Gods have dreamed is at its most fragile, softened so it can be remolded. But—it’s only a theory,” Edhir said, looking up, a flush rising on his cheeks.
“It’s a wonderful theory,” Mehr said, trying to reflect his enthusiasm back at him. Bahren had told her Edhir fancied himself a scholar. Looking at him now, Mehr realized Edhir was more than just a pretender to that title. He was clever and—praise the Gods—unable to resist sharing his knowledge with an interested listener. “We must talk again, brother.”
“How long until the storm?” Amun asked impatiently.
His voice was a dull blade, and it forced the light from Edhir’s eyes. Edhir blinked, swallowed, and said, “Two weeks. That’s as much accuracy as I can give you.”
Amun nodded sharply and turned to go.
“Our thanks,” Mehr said, and followed him. She realized all eyes in the room were still on them. She stood straight, avoiding those eyes, and swept out after him.
Amun was walking so fast that Mehr nearly had to run to keep up with him. “Two weeks,” he repeated. “That’s no time at all.”
“Amun,” Mehr said. Hearing her voice, breathless as it was, he slowed down. Marginally. Walking by his side now, Mehr said, “You could have spoken more kindly to Edhir.”
“What would have been the point?” Amun’s voice was cool, glassy. “You want to be kind to them now, Mehr?”
Them.She preferred his stony silence to this sudden upwelling of bitterness. She preferred it to the reminder that they were alone, with no one to trust but each other. She crossed her arms.
“People are more helpful when you treat them well,” she pointed out.
“He’ll do what his duty requires.”
“I’m not talking about his duties. Amun, he had maps,” she said, speaking as quietly as she could without being inaudible. “Not just maps of the stars or of the Empire, but maps of Irinah itself. If we ever want to escape, we’ll need some way to find a safe route through the desert.”
“There is no escape for me,” Amun said woodenly. “I’m bound.”
Mehr bit her lip. Then she said, carefully, “But I’m not. Not entirely.”
“Not yet,” Amun said. There was a pause. Then Amun said, “Do what you must. They don’t need to like me. Just … don’t involve me, Mehr. Please.” There was a long pause. Then, abruptly, Amun said, “I can’t hope. It would—hurt.”
Mehr suddenly felt very foolish.
“As you wish,” she said softly. She said no more.
Amun couldn’t escape the Maha, bound as he was. No wonder the thought of escape—the possibility of something he could never achieve—pained him.
For all that she wasn’t entirely bound, Mehr had precious little chance either. Before Mehr had even spoken, she’d known that the idea of escaping the Maha was at best a foolish girl’s fantasy. With eyes always on her, how could she possibly slip away from the temple without being noticed? How could she leave Amun here, knowing what the Maha was and how being bound to him felt?
And even if she did escape, how long would she survive? Without a map, without food or water or a robe to protect her from the sun, she would perish in short order.
But hope was insidious. It had its claws in her now, and it wouldn’t let her go.
Edhir has maps, she thought.And Hema works in the kitchens. She’ll have food. Water.
A way to look again at the maps of Irinah, a way to hide food and water, and find a robe to protect herself, and a way to set Amun free along with her. That was all she needed now.
She wanted to laugh. Ah, she’d set herself an impossible goal, hadn’t she?
“I’d hoped to work on your technique longer,” Amun said, after a long silence. “But you will need to be taught the rite immediately.”
“Tell me about this rite,” she said, pushing her hopes to the back of her mind. “For a start, what is it called?”
“I don’t know if it has a true name,” said Amun grimly. “But the person who taught it to me called it the Rite of the Bound.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They returned to the same dim hall they had practiced in the evening before.
