“Daiva,” he gasped. “There’s a daiva—attacking the other couriers—we needhelp—”
There was suddenly a great deal of noise as some mystics ran outside, and others crowded the boy, asking questions. It was only then that Mehr saw the cut on the boy’s sleeve. The skin beneath it was bare and wounded, livid with blood. His face was wan with terror.
Amun gripped Mehr’s hand.
“You should go now,” he said. “They’re going to want our blood soon.”
“The maps,” Mehr said quickly. “I could go now, they’re distracted—”
“Mehr. Just go.”
He squeezed her hand tighter, then released her.
The crowd was large and cloying, but Mehr slipped between the mystics as swiftly as she could, and raced toward the scholars’ tower. She ran up the winding staircase; out of breath, she stopped when she reached the room and looked inside. For once, luck was on her side: The room was empty.
Catching her breath, she walked over to the rows of shelves. She traced them with her fingertips, trying to ascertain where the map of Irinah was located. She probably didn’t have much time. The boy would only serve to distract the mystics for so long. She needed to act quickly.
She drew down one map, then another. Neither was of Irinah, so she placed them back on the shelves in short order. The third—thank the Gods—was a map of Irinah in all its glory. She unfurled it fully on the table and took the sight of it in. There, limned in bright color, were the villages that surrounded the Northern Oasis and the Eastern, and the trade routes that spidered across the desert. Even the temple was there, set at a distance from all other human settlements, and signified by the Maha’s seal.
She drank it in with her eyes.Remember. I must remember this.
Only a few minutes had passed when she heard a noise echo from the bottom of the stairs. Someone was coming.
Mehr cursed inwardly. The map was far too large for her to conceal and take away with her. Her memory would have to suffice.
She had just managed to put the map away when a mystic walked into the room and paused abruptly at the sight of her. His eyes widened, then narrowed.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked.
Mehr leaned back against the shelves, her hands shaking with adrenaline. She felt light-headed with terror.
“The daiva,” she said. Her voice was shaking too. Good. She could use that.
“What?”
“The daiva, is it … is it gone?” She crossed one arm over her body and held the other to her cheek, as if she were trying to ward off tears. “I—I saw someone had been injured and I was frightened. I thought if I hid in my room I’d be safe but I—I think I’m lost, and I didn’t know what todo—”
The mystic didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing.
“It’s gone,” he said. “Come on. I’ll take you to your husband.”
“Are you sure …?”
“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “Follow me.”
Much to Mehr’s relief, Amun was in their chambers rather than their practice hall. The mystic left her, and Mehr sat by Amun’s side.
“I saw the map,” she said.
“Describe it to me,” he said. He listened to her as she spoke, as she closed her eyes and envisaged the map, the trade routes, the villages. When she opened her eyes Amun was drawing on the ground with kohl.
“At least this way we can wash away the evidence if we need to,” he told her, when he saw the look on her face.
Mehr kneeled down beside him and looked at his drawing. It was close, very close, to what she’d described. She rubbed some of the kohl away with her thumb, altering the edges of one route.
“Did you find out what happened with the daiva?” Mehr asked.
“Of course,” Amun said. “They needed me to will it away.”
