Ah. She was one of those who had left Irinah and tried to begin again elsewhere. Once, Kamal had wanted to be like her. He’d hungered to see the world. But he’d loved his clan too much to leave them, and he’d been afraid if he went into the world beyond even for a short time, he’d come back and find them dead or gone, and never be able to find out what had become of them. The thought alone gutted him.

“Why have you come back to Irinah?”

“Oh, the usual reasons.” She shrugged, a faint ghost of a smile gracing her lips. “Furious noblemen, desperate to cleanse the Empire of the scourge of our blood. I left before they could punish me and drive me out here themselves. It seemed … wiser.”

Kamal swallowed.

“Have you had food?” he asked. “Water?”

“Some,” said the woman. Her voice cracked with exhaustion. “A little. An Irin woman assisted me. But since then I’ve struggled. I find life on the desert … difficult. Far more difficult than I remember.” She shook her head, then said, “Just tell me if you know where I can find the clan. Please.”

It was in Kamal’s nature to be suspicious. Distrust had saved his life numerous times. But this woman was Amrithi, gaunt and still, and she knew his Tara’s name. He thought of the villager, her threat, the child flinging its rock and laughing. He handed her his water container. “Drink,” he said.

She drank.

“My name is Kamal,” he said. “And yours?”

“Lalita.”

“That isn’t an Amrithi name,” he said.

“I gave up my Amrithi name long ago.”

She took another swig of water.

Gods save him, he couldn’t allow a fellow tribeswoman to perish out alone upon the Salt. He didn’t have it in him to lie.

“Ruhi is my clan’s Tara,” he said, when the woman lowered the container. “You must be blessed with good fortune, to have found me.”

The woman laughed. Her laughter sounded perilously close to weeping.

“Yes, I must be blessed,” she said. She pressed a hand over her face. “Ah. Thank the Gods.”

She lowered her hand. “Please,” she said. “Take me to your Tara.”

“Walk with me,” he said. “We’ll see what the Tara says.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A frustrating morning was followed by more prayers—Gods save her—and another thinly apportioned flatbread flecked through with vegetable to stretch the meager serving of grain. They returned to the hall where Amun continued to encourage her onward with growing impatience. But Mehr couldn’t do as he asked, and they were soon sick of the sight of each other.