Tomorrow there would be no such comfort. Tomorrow they would face the Maha. But Mehr didn’t want to think of that. To think of the Maha was to think of all the ways she could fail—the secrets she could reveal, the freedoms she could lose. She had to be stronger and braver than she believed she could be. She had to meet the Maha’s terrible eyes and lie to the man who held her soul in the palm of his hand.

“You’ll need to try this on,” Amun told her.

“Now?”

“When I’m done.”

Mehr murmured her agreement. She could feel the heat of his leg against her knee. You believe in me, she thought. I don’t know why, but you do. And I’ll try not to fail you, Amun. No matter what, I promise you I’ll try.

On the evening of their dinner with the Maha, they were led to a balcony facing the desert. The glow of the coming storm mingled with the gold of the lantern flames, giving the walls a rose-hued warmth. But it was the opulence surrounding them, not the light of the storm, that left Mehr stunned and silent. There was a fine, handwoven carpet unrolled on the ground, the like of which she hadn’t seen since she had left her father’s household. The low table was covered in an exhaustive array of food: meat in a heady spiced broth, rice plump with heat and dotted with golden raisins, honeyed figs and rose sherbet. The Maha’s table was set with a true feast.

And Mehr, hungry as she was, was too afraid to touch it.

The Maha left them kneeling for a long time. When he finally entered, the food had begun to cool, the steam rising from its surface fading to thin wisps. Mehr and Amun bowed their heads, pressing their foreheads to the floor as the Maha kneeled down across from them. He didn’t touch the food.

“Sit up,” the Maha said. “Eat. Don’t be shy.”

Mehr raised her head. She looked at all that food, sweeter and richer than anything she’d had since the moment the marriage seal was placed around her neck. She couldn’t touch it.

Amun ate a little. A piece of bread. A sip of fruit nectar. Mehr echoed his movements, grateful that he was here to show her the way. Her fear was choking her. If the Maha asked the right questions, if he grew suspicious of her …

Mehr had far, far too much to hide. She tried not to let her fingers tremble as she raised a bite of food to her lips.

“The storm closes in,” the Maha said, after a time. He didn’t seem to expect a response.

Mehr watched his hands, and only his hands, as he poured a glass of mint tea, green leaves swirling in the fall of steaming water.