He kneeled down before her, heedless of the blood staining his robe. But what did it matter to him? The thought was vague, hysterical, tripping through the frozen horror of Mehr’s mind. He probably had many robes to spare, just as he had many people to kill, if the mood so took him. What did a little bit of blood on one robe matter, when he had such a glut of property at his disposal? What did it matter to a man like the Maha, that Hema had been kind and good and faithful, that she had been a leader of women, a sly and clever and kind friend?

“You and Amun have failed me repeatedly,” he said, low and soft. “Hema earned an easy death, but you, Mehr—you have earned my disappointment. All the power of the storm wasted. Because of you.” A shake of his head. “I would not enjoy killing you both, but I would do it.”

Oh, how he lied. She looked into his eyes. There was a nightmare inside them. He would enjoy it.

“But you are the Empire’s tool,” he said slowly. “Harming you would only harm our good Emperor. So you will live, and be thankful. But if you betray me again, Mehr, if you tell me a single lie, have no doubt that I will make you dance until your feet bleed, and I will make sure my mystics pray for dreams that curse your sister and your father and every gentle soul in the Governor’s household. I will focus all my strength on making them die the death you rightly deserve, and it will be your dance that kills them. You will be the blade at their throats, as surely as you were the blade at Hema’s.”

He traced her throat as he spoke, one fine fingertip following the hummingbird beat of her pulse. She almost wanted him to close his fingers around her neck. At least then she could stop being afraid of the unknown.

“Are we clear, Mehr?” he asked.

She could feel the blood staining through to her knees.

“Yes, Maha,” she whispered.

His hand moved lower. He gripped the edge of the braid of cloth around her neck, the braid that held her marriage seal. He raised it, looking at the wooden carving Amun had made for her, so many months ago.

“Let me begin with a simple question. How did Amun leave you untouched? How did he lie to me?”

Her knees hurt. She could hear Kalini now, keening, a low, terrible sound of mourning.

“He followed the word, not the spirit of your orders.” Her voice was dull, her mouth full of ash.

“Did he now?”

“Truth can be twisted,” said Mehr.