Mehr cupped her hands in the water, raised them to her face, and rinsed out the foul taste in her mouth. Then she cupped her hands again and drank one, two sweet mouthfuls of water. They did nothing to clear her head. She looked at Hema. Hema was staring down at the water, her face still gray, her mouth a solemn line.
“Better?” she asked.
“Why are you trying to be kind to me?” Mehr asked in return. “I’ve done nothing for you.”I am nothing.
At first Hema was quiet. Then, carefully, she placed a hand on Mehr’s shoulder.
“I wanted to have Amrithi blood when I first came here. I knew the Amrithi were heathens, weren’tright, but I wanted to be useful. I wanted to serve with more than my prayers and my adoration. Your husband has always seemed like an animal, but the lady he served with … she was better than her kind, she was beautiful, and I wanted to be her more than anything.” Hema’s voice was soft, contemplative. “I watched her sicken and die, and I—I pitied her. I didn’t want it anymore.” She shook her head. “What you do is hard enough, Mehr. But to have to serve with him …”
“You’re kind because you pity me,” Mehr said. Hema looked at her, eyes flashing with unfamiliar fire.
“No, Mehr. I’m kind because it’sright. You have a hard service and you deserve the support of your sisters.” She leaned forward, gripping Mehr’s shoulder hard enough to hurt. “I’m kind because the kindness of the Maha saved me. He took me and mine from hunger and poverty and gave us hope. You may not have come from hunger, Governor’s daughter, but you have purpose now. Your life has meaning.Youhave meaning. Can’t you see how wonderful that is?”
Mehr was silent. She wished Hema would let go of her. Her heart was hammering in her throat. There was no room for words. She felt Hema’s grip slacken, just a little. Saw her gaze soften. “I am going to try to forget what you told me,” Hema murmured. “I am going to decide I misunderstood you. Perhaps I did. But I will hold you in my prayers and hope you do what is right. Do what’s right, Mehr, and all will be well in the end. So the Maha wills.”
Mehr nodded wordlessly. Hema smiled.
“Good. Good.”
Mehr heard a scuffling sound behind them. She looked up and saw Anni watching them. She didn’t know how long Anni had been standing there; she didn’t know how much Anni had heard. But Anni looked no different from usual, just a little cold, her arms wrapped around herself to keep warm.
“Hema,” Anni said timidly. “Mehr. Are you coming back in?”
Hema sighed. She released Mehr and kneeled back. “You can stay here tonight,” she said to Mehr.
Mehr shook her head. “No,” she said. “No. My … my place is with my husband.”
Hema gave her a faint, approving nod.
“Drink some more water before you go,” she said. “Your head is going to feel foul in the morning.”
Hema accompanied Mehr to the staircase of her room. Mehr made the journey up by herself. When she entered the bedroom, she found Amun asleep, curled up on his side. For all his bulk, he looked as innocent as a child. When she sat down on the bed beside him, he woke up with a snap, eyes sharp and alert. He took in her tearstained face and sat up.
“Mehr. What—?”
“I made a mistake, Amun.” She swallowed. “A very bad mistake.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
She told Amun everything. He listened in silence. It may have been her imagination, but as she talked, the sigils on his skin seemed to brighten, faded blue growing a deep and livid indigo. When she finished speaking, he was breathing hard. His jaw was clenched tight.
“Amun,” she said finally, tentatively. “Amun, what—”
“Get off the divan.” His hands were fists. “Please, Mehr.”
She got up. She made her way slowly, warily away from the bed to the edge of the room.
“You want to hurt me now, Amun?” A dark pit opened in her stomach. She felt cold. The water hadn’t been enough to clear her head, but Amun’s anger was a sharper shock than ice. She’d expected his anger, deserved it, but she could still hardly stand to see it. She remembered the Maha’s fists and flinched internally. “I can hardly blame you.”
“No,” he snapped. “Hurt you? No.” He lowered his head, chin to chest, breathing deep and harsh through his nose. Then he looked up. “My vows are just growing hard to bear.”
Mehr pressed her back against the wall. Amun gave her a thin, pained smile before lowering his head again.
“Oh, Amun,” she said softly.
“Don’t talk,” he managed to say. “Just for a moment. Please.”
Mehr waited, and waited, barely daring to breathe.
