As the daylight began to wane, the two men finally interrupted Mehr and Amun’s lackluster training and gestured for them to return to the temple. Mehr was glad to stop. She had no heart for the rites now, not after everything Amun had revealed to her.

The men waited for Mehr and Amun to enter the temple before barring the door behind them. “We will need to practice again later,” Amun told her, as one of the men paused to light a lamp. “You still have a great deal to learn.” He hesitated. “I will speak to Edhir tomorrow. He may be able to tell me exactly when the dreamfire will fall.”

Mehr made a noise of agreement.

They made their way through the dark corridors, not speaking to one another. Mehr couldn’t bring herself to utter a single word. She had no desire to ask any more questions, and innocent conversation felt like it was beyond her reach. The truth was a heavy weight in her skull. She couldn’t think beyond it. She couldn’t even muster up surprise when they entered a large hall filled from end to end with people. Some looked at her curiously. She looked back.

Mystics, divided by gender, were kneeling on the floor. Lamps flickered along the walls. Before them all, wreathed in incense, stood an altar. Upon it was a carved statue, faceless, wearing a jewel turban, a world etched into one upraised palm.

“You need to sit with the women,” Amun said. He stood stubbornly next to her, even as mystics jostled past them. She knew he wouldn’t move until she responded.

Mehr nodded. That was all the response she felt able to offer. She joined the throng, kneeling down on cool stone on the women’s side of the hall. She wished she had a pillow or a low divan to perch on, but there was no such comfort here.

The Maha was standing before the altar. He didn’t kneel as the mystics did. He stood tall, as proud as the effigy of the Emperor. She watched as he clasped his hands, closed his eyes. She saw the women kneeling on either side of her bow their heads. Mehr stared at the Maha’s own head, blinking away the sting of incense from her eyes. She was heavy. Heart heavy, soul heavy. But there was rage building inside her, growing ever stronger as the voices rose around her and the prayers began.

Mehr had always avoided prayer. The rites had always been her preferred form of worship. But this was an Ambhan temple, and Mehr had no guilt-stricken father to indulge her any longer. She was the Maha’s property, and she would have to play at praying the way the Ambhans prayed: with mortal words and mortal song.