She stood still and breathed slowly in and out, searching for a state of mind that would take her out of her own skin. She had to be calm. She had to put her feelings aside and focus on learning the first stage of the rite. She had to learn: Time was running out, and when the storm came Mehr would need to be prepared to do the Maha’s bidding. Only by giving him her apparent obedience could she keep her soul unbound.

“Mehr,” said Amun. “Open your eyes.”

Mehr did as she was bid. Amun was frowning at her, a fine crease showing in the skin between his eyebrows.

“You’re holding yourself too stiffly,” he said. “You look as if you’re performing a rite.”

“I am performing a rite.”

“This one is different. I told you,” Amun said. “You can’t be connected to the earth. You need to focus on moving beyond your body, to the immortal place inside you. The place your amata gift comes from.”

Mehr sighed.

“Show me what I’m doing wrong.”

Amun moved. The change in his posture was subtle but noticeable. He stood taller, his spine like iron, his legs bent so that his body was poised for movement. “You see?” he asked. “Your back is too straight and your shoulders are too stiff. You need to relax. Like this.” He closed his eyes and let out a breath. The tension in his body eased away, until he stood before her with all the dazed stillness of a man on the edge of sleep.

“You look ridiculous,” she told him.

He opened his eyes.

“When I’m in the storm, and the dreamfire lifts me up, I won’t,” he said. “And neither will you. Now close your eyes.”

She closed them. She thought about the immortality in her blood, about the place where the Gods dreamed, far beyond mortal flesh. She squeezed her eyes tighter, and slowly exhaled—

“Mehr.”

“I’m trying,” Mehr said, opening her eyes. “But I need you to help me. Direct me.”

“Fine.” His frown had smoothed. “Close your eyes again.”

Mehr did. She heard the scuff of his footsteps, heard him murmur an apology. Then she felt one of his hands against her spine. Her eyes snapped open.

“What—?”

“Relax.”

But Mehr could not. With one hand on her upper back, the other at her hip, he was tilting her body off balance. A nudge farther and she would have nothing to hold her up but his arms.

“You’ll be weightless in the rite,” he told her. “This is as close as I can bring you to how it feels.” A pause. “If you want me to stop …” he said in a low voice.

“Will this help?”

“I believe so.”

“Then go on.” Mehr steeled herself internally. “If you need to show me, show me.”