After one inspiring story about a hapless merchant and two business-minded dancing girls, Mehr was almost relaxed. She was laughing when a guardswoman entered, a grim expression on her face.
“Lady Maryam has asked for you to attend her, my lady,” she said.
That put a complete stop to Mehr’s laughter. She straightened up, offering the guardswoman a cool look that was returned in kind. Her stepmother’s servants had no particular love for Mehr.
“Give me a moment,” Mehr said. Knowing Maryam would have demanded Mehr be brought to her immediately, she added, “I must say good-bye to my guest. I’m sure Mother would agree.”
As Mehr stood, Lalita stood with her.
“Mehr,” Lalita said, a hint of hesitation in her voice. “We will talk more when I return for the storm, but do try to be … careful. Your father will keep you safe, my dear, but these are difficult times.”
Mehr nodded. She was very conscious of the guardswoman waiting for her, listening to Lalita’s every word.
“When you return for the storm we’ll speak properly,” Mehr agreed. “I’ll make sure we’re not disturbed, if I can.”
“Thank you.”
Usha came over and placed Lalita’s hooded robe around her shoulders.
“I’ll see myself out,” Lalita said lightly. She touched her fingers to Mehr’s cheek. “Be brave,” she said. “Nothing harms like family. I know.”
“I’m always brave,” Mehr said.
“So you are,” Lalita said, ever so softly. “My dear, I hope you never change.”
CHAPTER TWO
The guardswoman led Mehr down increasingly elegant marble-floored corridors to the Receiving Hall. Used solely for entertaining the wives of visiting courtiers, the Hall was no place for a private conversation between family members. No doubt Maryam had chosen the Hall for exactly that reason. She wanted to remind Mehr of her place. This was Maryam’s household. Mehr was just an unwanted interloper: an illegitimate child, a heathen, avisitor.
Mehr hardly needed the reminder. She knew what she was.
The guardswoman crossed the threshold of the Hall and bowed low as she announced Mehr’s arrival. After a short pause, the guard gestured at her to enter. Mehr steeled herself and stepped into the room with her head held high.
The room was sumptuously decorated with silk tapestries unfurled on the walls and rubies inlaid into the domed ceiling. Mehr swept across the Hall, ignoring the watchful, judgmental eyes of her stepmother’s many attendants. She kept her own gaze fixed on the raised dais in front of her where Maryam waited.
Lady Maryam, wife of the Governor of Irinah and scion of one of the great Ambhan families, looked down at her stepdaughter from her raised seat and offered her a cool smile. Mehr gave her a small bow in return.
“Mother,” she said. “How may I serve?”
“Sit down, Mehr,” said Maryam. “We need to talk.”
Maryam was a true bloom of Ambhan womanhood. Her hair was sleek and dark, wound into a gold-laced braid that fell to the small of her back. Her skin was light brown, her eyes hazel, her face fine-boned and delicate. She looked exactly as fresh and maidenly as she had on the day Mehr’s father had brought her to their home, dressed in wedding silks with his seal hung around her neck. Even the hate in her eyes when she looked at Mehr, kneeling on the cushions before her, hadn’t altered one jot in the last eight years.
There was a tray of pastries and a jug of spiced wine in the arms of a servant at Maryam’s side. Maryam allowed the servant to pour her a drink and set some of the pastries in front of her as she continued to stare down at Mehr with a look that could have curdled milk.
Maryam sampled the wine. Everything else she left untouched. Mehr and the servants waited in complete silence.
“I thought we had an understanding, Mehr,” Maryam said finally. “Arwa’s upbringing is my responsibility.”
“I know that, Mother.”
“Not yours. Mine.”
“I understand perfectly,” Mehr said.
“Then why,” Maryam said, eyes narrowed, “did you go to the nursery last night?”
“Because Arwa needed me,” Mehr replied calmly. “It was a small thing, Mother. Nothing of consequence.”
