She was sure that her faltering had been a symptom, not a cause, of what came next. Her body knew long before her mind did that something had gone wrong. The fire had changed inside her. Something—an unwanted dream, a thread of brittle white flame—slipped free from her control and from the call of the mystics’ prayers. Something that had been carefully suppressed by the rite was suddenly no longer crushed and contained by the force of the rite’s power.

The pale flame grew, and grew, boiling and seething. She felt it pooling at the base of her skull, feeding on her fear and her desperation to be free. She felt it shudder to terrible, sentient life, tracing the shape of her bones, knitting its own terrible sinew and flesh.

She faltered again. Sigils died on her fingertips. And the pale flame—oh, it rushed through her, cloying and cold. It rose up. She felt the sand collapsing beneath her feet.

Nightmare. This was a nightmare.

Mehr stumbled. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t remember what to do. The nightmare had shattered her concentration. The dreams were going to bury her. She was done. Finished.

Mehr!

Amun. She could hear him. Feel him. He was there in the heart of her, in the place where they were both immortal, in the place where the Gods slept. He was there in the fire, the glow of him, the strength. Her ragged breath caught. They were dreaming with the Gods. They were dreaming together.

Amun?

Mehr. I’m here.

The scar of her marriage seal throbbed. She pressed a closed fist to her chest. Her body was distant but alive, still alive.

Amun, I don’t know what to do.

Don’t fight it, he told her. Keep going. Continue the rite.

I can’t.

The nightmare was dragging her under, under. It had hands. It was drawing her down by the body, by the soul. But there was his voice. There was his heart.

You can.

She felt his faith. It coursed through her like dreamfire, like blood. Her own image wavered in front of her eyes—a woman with dark skin and dark eyes, a tangled mess of hair and the bearing of an Empress. She saw the light of her own smile. The dimple etched in her cheek when she laughed. This was how Amun saw her.

In his eyes, she was the one who was strong, who stood straight and tall and never let the world crush her. In his eyes, she was the one who was kind and good. She wanted to laugh and weep at the same time.

Together. Perhaps it was her thought. Perhaps his. She no longer knew anymore. The dream had tangled them together like two skeins of thread. We do it together.