Yes. It was beautiful.
The girls were all awake and waiting in their shared room, their bedrolls all stretched out across the floor in service as cushions. They welcomed Hema with joy, and Mehr with warmth and kindness. Anni stood when she saw them. “Come sit by me,” she said to Mehr, and drew her over to the corner of the room.
Although the room was cramped, it was a riot of color, with lengths of fabric draped along the walls, and florid patterns chalked into the corners of the floor. There was a wooden board covered in blocks and markings on the ground between the women. Rena was leaning over it, dusting it furiously with powder. Hema sat across from Mehr and gave her a small grin.
“Our brother is probably still hovering about, so we can’t have anything special to drink, I’m sorry to say.” She shrugged apologetically. “Next time, maybe.”
Rena began to portion out a small pile of dark and light wooden discs, all equally sized and no bigger than the palm of Mehr’s hand. “We’re going to play karom,” Rena said. “Will you join us?”
“I don’t know the game,” said Mehr.
“We can show you, no problem,” Anni said cheerfully.
A dozen voices piped, clamoring to describe the game. But Mehr was more used to the chaos now, and dispelled it by laughing and shaking her head, clapping a hand pointedly to her ear. “Just one of you, please!”
Eventually Rena, frowning until everyone else quieted, began to explain the rules. The game was fairly simple. Each team had a set of pieces they could use to force a central black piece to the edges of the board. Sending the black piece to the end of the board belonging to the other team would result in points; the farther the piece moved into the darker squares at the edges, the higher the score. Beyond that, there were more complex rules about how the pieces could or could not be moved, and penalties for incorrect moves. Mehr understood the gist of it well enough, but she elected to watch for the first match rather than take part.
She realized she had made the right decision when she saw how intently the girls played. They didn’t play simply for the pleasure of the game. As points were gained and lost, they gambled objects between them: a thin silver chain, a beaded necklace, a length of carefully worked leather. Bread scrounged from the kitchen. Spices.
Mehr was reminded of the way Maryam had entertained visitors to the women’s quarters, in the early years when Mehr had still been welcome in Maryam’s private salon and able to watch the refined games of strategy that noblewomen favored. Like the women of her father’s household, the Maha’s female servants had their own ways of exchanging and establishing wealth and power.
Mehr gave Hema a sidelong glance. Hema, no doubt, had the best of everything: dry spices in pouches tucked in the lining of her bedroll; jewels on chains tucked beneath the collar of her tunic; access to food, to water, to the things that made life bearable in this place. That was power. If she asked any of the girls for their winnings, no doubt they would hand them over without complaint. Mehr had seen the way they worshipped her, a worship far more real and personal than the awed, terrified way they bowed their heads before the Maha. Beyond this room Hema may have been a kitchen maid, but here she was a queen.
The powder on the board helped the pieces move more easily, but it wasn’t long before all the women’s fingertips were stained white with chalk, and the residue was threatening to make its way onto their clothes and bedding. Seeing a chance to do more than watch uselessly, Mehr got to her feet and went in search of water. There was a clay jug in a corner. She brought it over and helped one of the younger girls rub her hands clean. Mehr was given a grateful smile in return.
“Now you come play,” Hema said imperiously. When Mehr tried to demur, Hema took her hand and drew her back down to the pillows. The jug was removed from Mehr’s grip.
“I don’t know all the rules,” Mehr protested.
“It doesn’t matter if you know all the rules,” Hema said. “Anyway, this is the best way to learn.”
All avenues of escape were gone. So Mehr sat with them, eyeing the board with its many shades and discs and the fine layer of powder on its surface. “It’s your turn,” Hema prompted.
Mehr had nothing to barter, and no one asked her to offer anything up. Somehow that did not comfort her. If she failed, the possessions of other team members were at stake instead, and although this was a game, just a game, she was still an outsider. She didn’t know if they would look kindly on her failing them.
Mehr looked at the board again, leaning forward. Most of the opposite team’s black pieces sat like guards, defending their corners, but a few were encroaching on the opposite side of the board. She touched her fingers to the edge of one disc. Instead of trying to score a point, she flicked the disc to the left, sabotaging the opposite team by blocking their route. Her side of the room shrieked with delight, as the other side gave good-natured yells of disbelief.
“You can be on our side next time,” one girl said.
Mehr leaned back and laughingly agreed.
She had a few more turns with the discs after that, but there were enough people in the room that—once the novelty of her appearance had worn off—she was able to fade into the background. Eventually as the hours ticked by and the night deepened, some of the women curled up in their bedrolls to sleep. The game drew to a close and the last winnings were carefully apportioned out by Rena, who then wiped the board clean with water and tucked it away. Mehr got up to leave, and Hema followed after her.
“Come back again tomorrow night if you like,” she said, walking alongside Mehr. Her words weren’t an order, but they sounded very much like one.
Mehr would have liked to oblige. But she thought of Amun—of the Rite of the Bound, and the coming storm, and the weight of the seal around her neck—and could only offer up a helpless shrug in response. “If I can,” she said.
“Mehr,” Hema began. Then she paused. Pursed her lips, before she said, all in a rush: “If your husband doesn’t want to let you go, you can tell me.”
Mehr slowed her steps, then stopped entirely as Hema placed a light hand on her wrist. The look in Hema’s eyes made her uneasy.
“We have a great deal to do,” Mehr said slowly. “That’s all.”
Hema took a step closer. They were far enough from both the sleeping quarters and the temple that they were unlikely, at least for a moment, to be heard by anyone else.
“You can tell me if he frightens you,” Hema said in a low voice. “I can try to help you.”
For a moment Mehr didn’t know what to say. Frighten her? Why would Amun frighten her?
