The Rite of the Bound was different. Other. It was a rite for slipping away from flesh, for harnessing the dreams of Gods. It was a rite for committing a terrible, anathema act, a heresy against nature at the Maha’s bidding. But Mehr knew the rite now, knew its stances and sigils, and her knowledge couldn’t be undone. She had swum in the nightmares of Gods. She had felt their fire run through her. All she could do now was use the rite for her own purposes.

Instead of letting the fury of the Gods pour through her, or the Maha and his mystics use her, Mehr was going to use the rite to draw forward dreams that could save her and Amun from their fate: dreams that weakened the Maha and his temple. Dreams that broke the chains of their vows, and let them both walk free. She wasn’t fully bound. She could set them free.

Amun could teach her how to alter the sigils of the rite for their own purposes. Together they could reshape the rite. Together, they stood a chance of gaining their freedom.

If any force could give her and Amun freedom from their vows, it would be the dreams of the Gods.

She prayed. She ate a meager breakfast, spice-flecked bread so dry it parched her tongue. With nothing to do, she returned to the bedroom and waited for Amun.

When he returned hours later, he walked in, slow and careful, the weight of the world on his shoulders. She quickly stood.

“I’m not hurt,” he said immediately. But she couldn’t stop herself from walking over to him.

She took his face in her hands. It felt natural to do so, and any awkwardness she would normally have felt dissipated when she felt him relax into her touch. She’d slept in his arms last night, his heartbeat an ocean in her ear. He was her husband. She had a right to this, at least: his skin, his exhaled breath, his comfort.

“See,” he said finally. “I’m well enough.”

She could see the blue glow of his sigil-marked flesh through her fingers. She nodded. “I’m glad,” she said.

“He wanted to check my health. No more than that. He needs me strong.” There was a ghost of a smile on his lips. She felt the tug of muscles in his jaw. “He’s afraid to harm me. I’m too weak.”

Of course. Amun was the Maha’s most valuable asset. Mehr was no good on her own. Mehr was flawed. He wouldn’t risk Amun, when Mehr alone was not enough to ensure the rite’s success.

There was comfort in that.

“What did he say to you?” she asked.