“I don’t know how you managed to do this on your own,” Mehr said to Amun once they were alone, wincing as she tightened the bandage an increment further. She was exhausted; her fingers were trembling with tiredness. “That was difficult enough for both of us.”
“Give me your new tunic,” Amun said. “You’re going to need it tomorrow.”
Of course. She’d have to make an effort to look presentable in front of the Maha. The Maha would not care how hard they had worked. He wouldn’t care how exhausted they were, or how long they’d been bled. He would expect them to dress and act in a way that showed him the proper respect and reverence. Mehr gave Amun the tunic and lay back on the bed, letting her exhaustion take her. She watched through half-lidded eyes as he moved around the room, picking up a needle and thread. He sat down next to her, close enough that his leg brushed her knee, and began to sew. Mehr watched, letting the silence blanket them both. She’d thought the sight of him with a needle would be absurd, but instead it was strangely comforting.
She closed her eyes to the sound of the wind howling beyond the windows, and the gentle in-out of Amun’s breath.
Tomorrow there would be no such comfort. Tomorrow they would face the Maha. But Mehr didn’t want to think of that. To think of the Maha was to think of all the ways she could fail—the secrets she could reveal, the freedoms she could lose. She had to be stronger and braver than she believed she could be. She had to meet the Maha’s terrible eyes and lie to the man who held her soul in the palm of his hand.
“You’ll need to try this on,” Amun told her.
“Now?”
“When I’m done.”
Mehr murmured her agreement. She could feel the heat of his leg against her knee.You believe in me, she thought.I don’t know why, but you do. And I’ll try not to fail you, Amun. No matter what, I promise you I’ll try.
On the evening of their dinner with the Maha, they were led to a balcony facing the desert. The glow of the coming storm mingled with the gold of the lantern flames, giving the walls a rose-hued warmth. But it was the opulence surrounding them, not the light of the storm, that left Mehr stunned and silent. There was a fine, handwoven carpet unrolled on the ground, the like of which she hadn’t seen since she had left her father’s household. The low table was covered in an exhaustive array of food: meat in a heady spiced broth, rice plump with heat and dotted with golden raisins, honeyed figs and rose sherbet. The Maha’s table was set with a true feast.
And Mehr, hungry as she was, was too afraid to touch it.
The Maha left them kneeling for a long time. When he finally entered, the food had begun to cool, the steam rising from its surface fading to thin wisps. Mehr and Amun bowed their heads, pressing their foreheads to the floor as the Maha kneeled down across from them. He didn’t touch the food.
“Sit up,” the Maha said. “Eat. Don’t be shy.”
Mehr raised her head. She looked at all that food, sweeter and richer than anything she’d had since the moment the marriage seal was placed around her neck. She couldn’t touch it.
Amun ate a little. A piece of bread. A sip of fruit nectar. Mehr echoed his movements, grateful that he was here to show her the way. Her fear was choking her. If the Maha asked the right questions, if he grew suspicious of her …
Mehr had far, far too much to hide. She tried not to let her fingers tremble as she raised a bite of food to her lips.
“The storm closes in,” the Maha said, after a time. He didn’t seem to expect a response.
Mehr watched his hands, and only his hands, as he poured a glass of mint tea, green leaves swirling in the fall of steaming water.
“Tonight the Saltborn will begin their fasts.” She watched him stir in a spoonful of honey. “Food, hunger—these things are of the flesh. I have been blessed by the Gods, and I have moved beyond such needs. When the storms approach, I ask my mystics to try to do the same.” The spoon clicked against the edge of the glass. Again. Again. “By putting aside sustenance, they are better able to focus all their desire on one purpose: the glory of the Empire. My dear mystics.” His voice was full of affection. He lowered the spoon back to the table. “Their dreams, their hopes—do you know how strong they are? Ah, children, you can’t imagine it. They pray so fervently that I truly believe they should be able to sway the Gods without intercession. Their prayers should be able to part oceans, set the sky ablaze.” A sigh. “But alas, the daiva’s children must carry their prayers for them.”
He spoke, Mehr thought, exactly like a man who was used to being listened to, and never argued with. He spoke like an Emperor himself. His voice was mild and calm, but every word he said made her mark flare with pain. She bit down on her tongue, reminding herself that the pain would pass. After the dinner, the Maha would leave her and Amun alone again for a time. One dinner, and then she would be able to focus her attention on the Rite of the Bound, and the storm that lay ahead of her.
“It is a shame,” the Maha continued with utter calm, “that the daiva’s children are such lazy fools.”
Mehr suddenly felt very cold. Both she and Amun stayed utterly silent.
“Kalini was not pleased with your progress, Mehr. She said you were clumsy. Unskilled. What do you have to say for yourself?”
She didn’t know what to say. The words were stuck in her throat.I am doing well, Maha. I know I’m doing well.He spoke like a teacher chiding a student, but Mehr knew what lay beneath that civil veneer. Beneath his smiles, his gentle voice, his heart was a starless night. His anger, she feared, would be a terrible thing.
“She is doing everything she can,” Amun said. “Maha, I promise you, no one could work harder.”
“I didn’t ask you to speak, Amun,” the Maha said. His voice was pleasant. Far too pleasant. “So now you will not, until you leave my presence.”
There was a sharp intake of breath at Mehr’s side. Then nothing. Mehr had felt the order, a cold shadow passing under her skin. She knew Amun would not be able to help her anymore this evening.
“Speak to me, Mehr. Tell me truth.”
“I am trying, Maha.” This, at least, she could be honest about. She let the compulsion wash over her, forcing the words from her lips. “On my honor, I am trying as hard as I can.”
“You believe you are,” he said gently. “But I believe you could do better—and I am a great deal older and wiser than you are, Mehr.”
