Mehr needed no mirror to know that she looked nothing like the Governor’s daughter any longer. She’d grown thinner on the journey, her body all muscle and bone. Her skin had darkened in the sun. She wore no ornaments, and her clothes were clean but plain and ill-fitting. She’d bound back the tangle of her hair with frayed thread, but she knew it had done little to improve her appearance. She thought of the way the mystics spoke of the Maha, thought of Amun’s blue marks and bleak eyes. Nervousness gripped her insides. Being herself was not enough. She wanted fine clothes and jewels and a veil to protect her from the Maha’s eyes. She wanted an armor of beauty, strong and glittering. But she had nothing. She was unarmed.

Kalini led Mehr out of the darkness of the corridors up onto a wide balcony open to sky. The sudden change in light left Mehr blinded for a moment. Dazzled, she stood still and listened to the howl of the wind. She could smell water. Before the desert, she hadn’t known water had a scent. She did now.

Her vision cleared. At first she thought her eyes were tricking her, that she was seeing one of the wavering illusions common in the desert heat. But then she took a step closer to the edge of the balcony, breathed in that scent of water, and knew that what she saw was real after all.

Like the havelis of Jah Irinah, the temple had an inner courtyard. But the courtyard was massive, its breadth equal to the size of a village. It had to be, to encompass the oasis lying at its heart. The oasis was huge, and surrounded by vegetation and signs of irrigation. Its water glimmered in the light. Mehr had never seen such a large natural body of water. She’d never expected to see so much lush life here. It took her breath away.

She heard footsteps. Kalini bowed low to the ground beside her, her head pressed to the floor. Mehr’s mark, the one etched into her skin above her breasts, began to ache.

Mehr bowed down, following Kalini’s example, her limbs doing what was necessary for survival even as her senses sharpened, taking in every detail of the world around her: the sharp acid sting on her skin, the heat of the sun. The sound of those footsteps going still.

It was his boots that she saw first. They were sturdy, hard leather, unmarked by the outdoors. The hem of his robe was a deep, lustrous blue, dark like the robes of the other mystics but made of a far finer material. If there was one thing Mehr had learned as the Governor’s daughter, it was how to identify finer things.

“Stand up,” said the Maha. Mehr and Kalini stood.

Mehr looked into the Maha’s face.