“Your father may allow you to indulge in your mother’s heathen customs, but you will not inflict them on Arwa.” Maryam touched the seal hung around her throat. Inscribed with the Governor’s genealogy in ancient Ambhan script, it marked Maryam as his other half, his partner in all of life’s duties, his bride and his property. It was a reminder of the power Maryam had that Mehr did not. “When I married Suren I vowed to raise you both as proper Ambhan women. I wanted to help you rise above your roots—both of you. But I knew from that moment I first set eyes on you that your mother had already rotted you with her barbarian ways.” Maryam leaned forward, intent. “I have failed to save you, Mehr, but I won’t fail Arwa. I won’t allow you to drag her down with you. Is that clear?”

“Very,” Mehr said. “I won’t disobey you, Mother.”

“If only I could believe you,” said Maryam.

Maryam took another sip of her drink. She watched Mehr over the rim of the glass, her eyes sharp. She was ready to pass judgment.

“No more contact, I think,” she announced. “When you’ve shown me you understand how to obey your parents, Mehr—as a true Ambhan daughter should—you’ll be allowed to visit Arwa again.”

Mehr felt her own rage rising. This was why she should have groveled. This was why she should have held her pride in check. Wielding truth had unpleasant and unavoidable consequences.

“I have the utmost respect for you, Mother,” Mehr said. Lie. “But if Arwa needs me, I won’t turn away from her.” A beat. “She’s my blood, after all.”

Maryam flinched as if she’d been struck. Mehr felt an ugly rush of satisfaction tangled with shame. Maryam could claim Arwa as her own as often as she liked. It would not change the truth. Maryam had never borne the child she’d so longed for. As the years had passed, it had become clear there would be no little Ambhan daughters carved in Maryam’s image, and no sons to carry on the family name. There would only ever be another woman’s child to raise and mold into her own as best as she could. For all Maryam’s efforts, Arwa would never be the child she truly craved.

“You value blood ties far more than you should,” Maryam said. “Blood wasn’t enough to make your birth mother stay, after all, was it? No.” Her voice trembled. She swallowed and held her head high. “Like it or not, we are family. And you will obey me, as is your duty.”

A wound for a wound. Mehr supposed there was some fairness in that. She sucked in a breath and held on to the iron in her spine, refusing to relent or apologize.

Maryam’s mouth thinned.

“Leave us,” she said to her attendants.