“I am sorry for it,” Lalita said softly. “But I have drawn some unwanted attention. One of the perils of my work, dear one. But I will write to you, and you must write back, you understand?”

As a courtesan, Lalita faced many risks. Mehr understood that well enough.

But Lalita was not simply a courtesan. She was also an Amrithi woman hiding in plain sight under a Chand name and a Chand identity. And that, more than her profession, placed her at risk of terrible danger. It was Lalita who had carefully, gently explained to Mehr the dangers their shared heritage posed.

Mehr looked at Lalita’s hands, which were still trembling faintly. Lalita’s calm, she realized, was as fragile and brittle as fine glass. It was not Mehr’s place to shatter it. Instead, she swallowed her questions away, and simply nodded.

“I hate writing letters,” she said, forcing herself to sound light. She saw Lalita’s face soften back into a smile as some of the tension left it, and was glad she had done so. “But for you, I’ll try.”

“I feel very special.”

“As you should,” Mehr said. “You dreadful abandoner. You know my stances will only grow worse without you, don’t you?”

“I dread to think,” Lalita said with a sigh. She gave Mehr a thoughtful look and said, “You will practice without me, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Mehr hesitated. “Lalita, do you …?”

“Yes?” she prompted.

“I thought your message was about something else entirely.” Mehr shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me,” said Lalita. “Has something happened? Your stepmother?”

“Last night there was a daiva in my sister’s room.”

Lalita’s gaze sharpened. She leaned forward.

“Was it strong? An ancient?”

“It was nothing but a bird-spirit. But I believe it was a herald, Lalita. I think a storm is coming.”

Lalita looked out through the lattice wall, considering.

“The last time I walked the edge of the desert, the daiva did seem restless,” she said finally. “For a benign spirit to move so far among mortals … yes, my dear. I think you may be right.” Her forehead creased into a frown. “I can’t quite believe I missed the signs. I’ve misplaced my head.” She looked at Mehr. “You’ve taken the proper precautions?”

Mehr nodded. There was no chance of a daiva coming into Mehr’s chambers. Mehr had bled on the doors and windows often enough, after all, every turn of the moon since her tenth year, just as she’d been taught.

“And your sister?”

“Her window was freshly blooded. I used my dagger.”

“Then there’s nothing to fear, and everything to look forward to.” Lalita set down her drink. There was a faraway look in her eyes. “How old were you during the last storm?”

“Young,” said Mehr. “I can’t remember.”