“You love me, that I don’t doubt. But your sister has not shown me her love as she should have. I am sorry for your loss, Kalini,” he said gently, kindly. When Kalini said nothing more, he turned his attention back to Hema. “Stand and turn away from me, child.”
Hema’s gaze finally drifted to Mehr. But she looked right through her, her eyes full of uninflected terror. She stood, shaking, and turned. “Kalini,” she said. Her voice was small, so small.
“Maha,” Kalini said in a strangled voice.
“Kalini, it is my love for you that takes this responsibility out of your hands,” he said soothingly. “Stand down, before I change my mind and ask you to prove your love.” He waited. Kalini was silent again. The threat had stoppered her. “Close your eyes, if it makes matters easier,” he suggested.
Then, without further ceremony, he raised the blade and cut Hema’s throat.
Hema didn’t die instantly. That was the worst of it. Mehr watched Hema sway for a moment, as if the shock held her steady; she watched Hema raise her hands as if she thought, somehow, she could stem the bleed. There was silence in the hall, utter silence, but even if there hadn’t been, there would have been no way for Mehr not to hear the choking noise Hema made, as she tried to breathe, tried to scream, and failed at both. Mehr would remember that sound for the rest of her life.
She watched Hema crumple to the ground. It took her a long time to realize the noise had stopped, and longer still to feel the hot wetness of the blood pooling around her knees.
“This punishment was not for you, Mehr. But I hope it teaches you a lesson,” the Maha was saying. His voice sounded like a faraway thing, an echo through water, even though he was walking closer to her, breaching the barrier of blood between them. “The Empire expects loyalty from its people. Disloyalty must have a price.”
He kneeled down before her, heedless of the blood staining his robe. But what did it matter to him? The thought was vague, hysterical, tripping through the frozen horror of Mehr’s mind. He probably had many robes to spare, just as he had many people to kill, if the mood so took him. What did a little bit of blood on one robe matter, when he had such a glut of property at his disposal? What did it matter to a man like the Maha, that Hema had been kind and good and faithful, that she had been a leader of women, a sly and clever and kind friend?
“You and Amun have failed me repeatedly,” he said, low and soft. “Hema earned an easy death, but you, Mehr—you have earned my disappointment. All the power of the storm wasted. Because ofyou.” A shake of his head. “I would not enjoy killing you both, but I would do it.”
Oh, how he lied. She looked into his eyes. There was a nightmare inside them. He would enjoy it.
“But you are the Empire’s tool,” he said slowly. “Harming you would only harm our good Emperor. So you will live, and be thankful. But if you betray me again, Mehr, if you tell me a single lie, have no doubt that I will make you dance until your feet bleed, and I will make sure my mystics pray for dreams that curse your sister and your father and every gentle soul in the Governor’s household. I will focus all my strength on making them die the death you rightly deserve, and it will be your dance that kills them. You will be the blade at their throats, as surely as you were the blade at Hema’s.”
He traced her throat as he spoke, one fine fingertip following the hummingbird beat of her pulse. She almost wanted him to close his fingers around her neck. At least then she could stop being afraid of the unknown.
“Are we clear, Mehr?” he asked.
She could feel the blood staining through to her knees.
“Yes, Maha,” she whispered.
His hand moved lower. He gripped the edge of the braid of cloth around her neck, the braid that held her marriage seal. He raised it, looking at the wooden carving Amun had made for her, so many months ago.
“Let me begin with a simple question. How did Amun leave you untouched? How did he lie to me?”
Her knees hurt. She could hear Kalini now, keening, a low, terrible sound of mourning.
“He followed the word, not the spirit of your orders.” Her voice was dull, her mouth full of ash.
“Did he now?”
“Truth can be twisted,” said Mehr.
The Maha made a noise, a soft hum of acknowledgment. “I see. Ah, Amun. I thought I’d molded you into something better than this. A shame.” He looked over Mehr’s shoulder. She wished she could turn, wished she could see Amun’s face. But the Maha still had her marriage seal in his hand, holding her as steady as a leash held a hound.
Amun. I’m so sorry. So very sorry.
“I’m not going to be coy with you any longer, Amun.” The Maha’s voice hardened. “Make her your wife in more than name. Fuck her. Are we clear? On your vows, you will make this woman yours in flesh now, or may your damnable vows eat you whole.” He flung Mehr to the ground and stood. Mehr scrambled back onto her hands and knees and turned, fixing her frantic gaze on Amun.
Whatever expression he had been wearing before was gone. She saw black in his starless eyes, utter emptiness in his face, as if his soul had been banished behind a wall. Perhaps it had been. He’d been given his order. He would obey it. Everything in Mehr recoiled. Her breath grew shallow with panic.
He was going to reach for her here, with Hema dead, with the floor bloodied, with the Maha and the Emperor’s effigy staring down at them; he was going to reach for her, and he was going to—
Mehr swallowed, nauseous. No. She could survive it. She could survive anything if she had to. But Amun had fought so long and so hard to be good. Hurting her—doing this?—would destroy him beyond repair. She couldn’t allow it.
She crawled across the floor, head swimming from the blows of the Maha’s hand, from the metal scent of blood, from the pure acid of terror. She placed a hand on Amun’s chest, right over the mark of that unfulfilled vow, that spidery white mark of a marriage seal that bound them both together as husband and wife, as slaves, as survivors.
“No, Amun,” she murmured. “No, no. Remember yourself. Remember me. Please, Amun. Not like this. Amun, remember.”
