Mehr looked between them. With her pale eyes narrowed in her dark face, her mouth severe, Hema suddenly looked a great deal like Kalini.

Kalini huffed out a breath. “We’ll talk later,” she said, and began dragging Mehr bodily away, her hand a vise on Mehr’s flesh. Mehr stumbled after her, thinking of the girls, of Hema’s crossed arms and Edhir’s shy smiles, and the way Bahren had always spoken to her—gruffly, gently, as if he had no desire to frighten her.

The mystics had proven to be far more human than Mehr had expected. Only the Maha was completely beyond her understanding. Only the Maha was an evil fire under her skin, setting his fingers like a stranglehold around her will and her soul.

“You have duties, Mehr,” said Kalini. “Sacred duties.”

“I know.”

“Do you? You shouldn’t be allowing yourself to grow distracted. Especially so soon. I will have to speak with the Maha about you,” Kalini said calmly, still dragging Mehr roughly after her. Mehr resisted the urge to scowl at Kalini’s back.

Kalini led Mehr to Amun, who was standing in the shadow of a doorway. Kalini shoved Mehr forward, abruptly releasing her arm. “Take your wife, Amun. You misplaced her.”

Kalini walked away. Mehr rubbed her arm absently, as Amun took a step out of the darkness.

“Did she hurt you?” Amun asked. His fingers twitched at his sides.

“What could you possibly do if she had?” Mehr asked, then bit her lip. That had been cruel and entirely unnecessary. Her only defense was the fact that she could feel the unkindness of her world pressing down on her from all sides. Mystics who showed her gentleness, who showed her humanity, couldn’t change the unforgiving shape of her circumstances. If anything, the friendliness of the women had only made the hurt of it all sting afresh.

But Amun didn’t need her to make her excuses. She brushed past him, still gently massaging the skin that Kalini had bruised with her hand. “She didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”

Amun caught up with her. She could hear the soft thud of his footsteps.

“We’ll need to train a little longer.”

“Outside?” Mehr asked.

Amun shook his head.

He led her to another hall, already prepared with a couple of oil lamps. A burly older mystic was napping in the corner. He cracked open an eye when they entered, then closed it again.

Amun stood across from her. He pressed his feet to the ground, straightening his back and turning his knees to a diamond angle. “Mehr,” he said softly. “We only need to practice until the bell tolls. Then we sleep. If you need a moment, if you can’t continue …”

Amun fell silent. Mehr faced him. Heart heavy, soul heavy, she met his dark eyes.

“I’m ready,” she said.

When she danced, her body moved as light as air.