“You need to be solidly tethered to the world around you,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard her speak. “Your feet are earth, your hands are heaven. Your body is the bridge. Your body must be strong. Straight and tall.”

“I know, Amun,” Mehr said, arms crossed. She watched him pace about, for all the world like a creature trapped in a cage. “My technique isn’t as terrible as you seem to believe.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Mehr said. “I’m sure you didn’t.” She gestured impatiently. “Continue.”

His footsteps slowed as he tried to will himself calm.

“Everything you know, this rite demands you discard. You cannot be grounded. You cannot be strong. You need to ignore the earth beneath your feet and the sky above you. When you dance the rite, the storm will lift you up. It will raise you and fill you up with the fire of the Gods. In order to direct the fire as the rite requires, you will need to reach beyond the mortal world, the desert salt, to the place where the Gods dream.” He spoke slowly, carefully, weighing his words. “You need to touch your own immortality in order to become the vessel of their fire. And when that power has almost consumed you, you need to open yourself up to the will of the mystics and the Maha, and let them use you. That is the Rite of the Bound.”

Mehr swallowed. Dreamfire was beautiful, holy, but it belonged to the Gods. For all that the Amrithi were far-distant descendants of the daiva, and therefore long-distant descendants of the Gods themselves, Mehr knew that she was all blood and bone. There were no shadows in her skin, no gold in her eyes. She was mortal.

She couldn’t imagine how it would feel to try to hold the dreamfire within her. Couldn’t imagine, and didn’t want to.

“That doesn’t sound pleasant,” she said quietly.

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.” His expression was grave. “This is what I was taught, Mehr: When a paired man and woman perform the rite, they become a channel between the dreams of the Gods and the prayers of the mystics. They can suppress dreams the Maha and his mystics don’t want in the world, and draw forward only the dreams that are desired. They become the perfect tool for sculpting the Empire. That is what I was taught, and that is what I have to teach you too, pleasant or not.”

“Why a man and a woman?” Mehr asked.

Amun shrugged fluidly. “Because the rite is an act of creation. Apparently.”

It was perverse to call this terrible rite, this destruction of the natural order, an act of creation. But Mehr didn’t say so. She doubted he would disagree with her anyway.