But Hema did not.

Whatever Hema saw in Amun was enough to make her mouth take on a bitter curl and her forehead draw into a frown even at the thought of him.

“I know what Amrithi are like,” Hema said softly. “They’re not like us. They don’t understand loyalty, or order, or the peace and safety the Empire has brought to many. They’re just … barbarians.”

Mehr froze.

“Hema,” Mehr said. “I’m Amrithi.”

“Oh no,” Hema said, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean you. You’re not like that. You’re a noblewoman, Mehr. You have an Ambhan father,” she said, as if that made all the difference in the world. “You’ve been raised to see all the good in the Empire, haven’t you? You’re not like him.”

She knew it was wrong to ask. But she did so anyway.

“What is he like?”

Hema’s lips pursed.

“He’s a monster,” she said flatly.

Mehr thought of the other women. Her stomach curdled. No doubt they saw what Hema did in Amun. They saw something to be hated. An Amrithi. A barbarian. A monster. When they’d spoken to Mehr with bright curiosity, when they had invited her to visit them and join their game … all that time, they had secretly pitied her for being bound to him.

“He’s said nothing to me,” she said, equally quiet. “I have the Maha’s work to do and it takes—a great deal of time.”

“We all have our duties,” Hema agreed. But she looked far from convinced.

She left Mehr at the entrance to the temple. Mehr returned to her room, where she found Amun in bed, at least feigning sleep. She blew out the lantern light and climbed into bed with him. She’d grown familiar with having him next to her. She traced the turn of his shoulder, the vulnerable line of his neck, with her eyes. The sight of him was strangely comforting.

She wanted to reach out. A foolish instinct. Instead she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes tight.

Everyone kept their distance from Amun. Everyone wanted to.

Except Mehr.

When she’d first seen Amun she had thought him a monster too. But she had seen a true monster now, and all horrors paled in comparison to the Maha. The women bowed before him, worshipped him, but they didn’t wear his mark. They hadn’t been bound the way Mehr had. Only Amun understood the Maha’s true nature as she did.

Mehr felt loneliness close over her like a vise. She turned onto her side, facing away from Amun. Her own motives lay bare before her. She’d lied to herself. She had gone to the women not because it was clever or cunning. She had gone because she was lonely. She missed her own family. She missed her loved ones so much it felt like utter heartbreak.