It was anathema, an utter heresy—and Mehr would have to learn it, if she wanted to keep what little power she had, and if she ever wanted to find a way to be free.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

She didn’t know how long he held her. She let herself relax, listening to the crackle of the lantern flames, the soft sound of Amun’s even breath. She listened to the rush of blood in her own head. As the seconds and minutes ticked by, she spiraled deeper and deeper into herself.

“Mehr.” Amun’s voice. “Come back.”

Mehr flinched, startled. She wasn’t sure what had happened. She hadn’t been asleep, but she had been—away. Drifting in shadow, the kind of heady silence that lay somewhere between sleep and waking.

He eased her back to standing, letting her go only when she assured him she was back to herself again.

“It worked?” She wasn’t quite sure.

“It did,” he said. “As long as you feel as you do now, when you perform the rite, you will know you’ve been successful.”

Mehr could have cheered. What a relief it was to finally feel like she was making progress. But she could still feel the echo of Amun’s fingers against her back, and her insides were light and strange, something close to embarrassment coiling through her.

“Is that all it is?”

Amun nodded in confirmation.

“Thank you,” she said. “It made all the difference. Your help.”

“I should have tried earlier, but …” He shook his head.

Mehr understood, a little. He was always careful when it came to touch. It was his hesitation, the deliberate distance he kept between them that made her so utterly aware of his strength and the leash he kept it on.

Amun was so sure he was a monster. But it was the way he handled touch—with utter care and respect—that told her he was the opposite of one.

“I was taught the rites in just the same way,” Mehr said, trying to put him at ease. She told him about how she’d learned the first steps of her first childhood rites by placing her feet over her mother’s. Dancing with her. As she chattered on Amun listened, his eyes half lidded, letting her words wash over him.

A thought eventually occurred to her. “How did you learn the Rite of the Bound?” If learning the rite required being held, required weightlessness—who had held him? Whom had he trusted for the task?

“There was another Amrithi here for many years,” he said. “She taught me.”

“What happened to her?” Mehr asked. The lightness in her went leaden. She could guess, but she wanted to hear it.

“The rite was hard on her. The rite is always hard, but she was growing old, and eventually the strain was too much. She died,” he said frankly. “After that, the Maha went in search of a replacement.”