And here I am, thought Mehr.

Amun had seen so much darkness in his life. His parents were gone; the woman who had trained him had died; the vows written on his soul had left him feeling monstrous and alone. She couldn’t fathom how he could still look so steady and so whole, after all he had suffered. She couldn’t understand how he could remain so gentle when he had never sought or received gentleness from others.

“You have so much history,” she said helplessly. “So much.”

The look he gave her was soft, so soft.

“We all do, Mehr.”

She heard footsteps from the corridor beyond the hall. Laughter. She wondered if any of those laughing voices belonged to Hema’s women. She watched the softness leave his eyes. He’d forgotten for a moment that they were constantly watched, eyes and ears always on them. Mehr had forgotten too. But she remembered now. She watched him lean back against the wall, brushing a hand self-consciously through his curling hair.

“I’ll be glad when the storm has passed,” Amun said.

“As will I,” said Mehr.

But she feared the storm too. It was awful, that fear. She’d always considered storms holy. She’d been awed by dreamfire, humbled and joyful. But the beauty had been stripped away, and all Mehr had left was her dread that acted as the bones of awe.

“The Maha will want to meet you again soon,” Amun told her. Mehr’s stomach lurched. “He’ll want to ask after your progress.”

Anyone could have been listening. So instead of asking Amun How do I lie to him? she said simply, “What do I do?”

He gestured with the flick of his wrist. Come here. So she did. She leaned against the wall next to him, their shoulders brushing.

His voice was a murmur, so quiet she had to strain to hear it.

“Surviving with the Maha is just like surviving the Rite of the Bound. The skill will serve you for both. You let his power wash over you. You let it take you. And then you bend it. You give it the shape you need it to have. Decide how to obey him. That’s all.”

Amun spoke as if the task were simple. Mehr wasn’t convinced. She let out a choked laugh and pressed a hand to her mouth.

“Mehr.”

“I’ll try,” she said. “Don’t you worry.”

“I have faith in you,” Amun said in a low voice. Mehr didn’t look at him. On the ground, their shadows were tangled together by lantern light.

She knew he had faith in her. She knew.

It was a shame she couldn’t share that faith.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN