“I know you can.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.” He turned his gaze on her again, his voice so earnest that it shocked her into silence. “I have faith in your strength.”

His gaze was unflinching. Her heart fluttered strangely in her chest. She looked away first.

“Fighting him would only hurt me,” she said, thinking of what her defiance to Maryam had always cost her. She thought, too, of what the Maha would do if he discovered the secret she shared with Amun. Her father had told her the Maha’s wrath had destroyed entire cities. What would he do to a servant who betrayed him? “You will have to teach me how you defy him.”

The longer she played the subservient role, as Amun did, the longer she would maintain her small measure of freedom—as small and as vital as the open shutters around her, the sight of the wide blue sky.

“I show the Maha obedience, always,” Amun said. He spoke softly, as if afraid his voice would carry. “I defy him only in the margins. Every line of every vow I wear, I obey.” His fingers brushed his sleeve, as if he could feel the shape of the vows marking his skin beneath the cloth. “But all vows have their limits. Words can be misinterpreted. To choose not to obey isn’t an option. But how I obey … that I can control. Do you understand, Mehr?”

“Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

You don’t allow him to break you, she thought. You bend instead.

Could she mimic him? Could she learn to play subtle games to protect herself from the Maha’s grip? Amun believed she could. Mehr would have to believe the same. She had to believe she was strong enough to learn the truth and hold it safe inside herself, because the alternative was to allow her circumstances to drown her.

“Truth, then. Why does he need Amrithi?” Mehr asked. “Why does he need Amrithi like you and I—who the daiva recognize as their own? How does binding us serve the Emperor?”

Amun hesitated for a moment. Then he strode over to the door, pushing it wide.

“Come,” said Amun. “The best way is to show you.”

Mehr didn’t think she would ever make sense of the temple’s layout. The corridors were all winding, uniform darkness. To Mehr they were an undecipherable maze, but Amun led her through them confidently, moving through the gloom without the need for a lamp to guide him. She wondered, not for the first time, how many years he had been in the service of the Maha. He walked through the temple the way she had once walked through the women’s quarters. It was as if he’d been born to this place.

She walked behind him, matching his footsteps. Every few seconds he turned his head, listening and looking.

“Do you expect us to be found?”

“We will be,” he said.