It was the first time he’d spoken it so openly: the despair that lay at the heart of him. The truth that they were enslaved, bound—that one day Mehr would become vow-bound too. That they would die here.

“No.” Mehr shook her head. “We’re not going to die here, Amun. No more of this. I told you before the storm, and I meant it: We’re going to escape. Both of us.”

Amun had tried to give her time. A little bit of freedom, a little bit of mercy before the Maha gained control of her. But time was running short. The Maha had bound the dreams of the Gods for too long, had manipulated their dreams so the world favored the Empire above all else. Now the natural order was perverted. The world was imbalanced.

As long as Mehr was free, her imperfect service provided an outlet where the dreams could manifest freely, a place where all the dreams the Maha had suppressed over his long years could be unleashed. Dreams that would have brought the Empire plague or natural disaster, rebellions or death or betrayal.

Ruin.

The Maha had been willing to believe that Mehr had erred in the rite. But by the next storm, he would know something greater was amiss. He would know Mehr was flawed, and he’d seek out the source of the flaw—the incomplete mark on her chest. Her unconsummated marriage.

Facing the Maha had already hardened her resolve to stop hesitantly searching for escape, and to pour all her energy into the task of setting her and Amun free, no matter the costs or the risks. But now, thinking of the rite and the terrible fury it had created and now barely held at bay—looking into Amun’s eyes, as he murmured her name, as he shook his head—Mehr had an idea.

They could use the Rite of the Bound.

Bending the dreams of the Gods was a heresy, a terrible, forbidden thing. But it was a heresy she and Amun had already committed under the Maha’s orders. What more harm could it possibly do to the both of them to turn the rite to their own ends, to bend the dreams of the Gods to their will, instead of his?

As the idea formed in Mehr’s mind—as it grew, stretching its wings, soaring in her heart—she felt a hope growing within her that no shame could possibly quench.

“It’s impossible,” Amun said lowly.

“No,” said Mehr. “No, it isn’t. Amun, we’re going to use the Rite of the Bound. We’re going to find freedom together.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY