The Maha made a noise of disgust.

Mehr jerked her head up. Bahren, Abhiman, Kalini—they were all watching. For all her keening, Kalini’s face was dry. She looked down at Mehr and Amun with an expression Mehr couldn’t read.

“Fool boy,” the Maha sighed. “Make sure it’s done, Bahren. And Abhiman, get a girl to come in here and clean up this mess.” He strode out.

“He will expect me to watch,” Bahren said.

Amun’s bedroom was incongruously peaceful after the horror of Hema’s death. The sweetness of the oasis wafted in on the breeze. The oil scent given off by the guttering lanterns had left a palpable warmth in the air. Mehr relit the lanterns as Bahren, with surprising strength, arranged Amun on the bed. It gave her something to do.

She looked outside at the sky, dark and clean and cloudless.

“You don’t need to do that. It will be done.”

“He will ask me if I did.”

Ah, but you can lie, Mehr thought. There was little point saying so. No doubt Bahren had no desire to have his throat cut.

“Then you’ll have a long night,” she said instead. “If fighting his vows makes Amun anywhere as sick as he was after the storm, he’ll take time to awaken and to be—prepared.” Mehr’s stomach lurched.

She imagined how Amun would surely look at her when he awakened. She imagined his horror. She knew he cared for her, just as she cared for him. But their caring had grown on the knife edge of the vows that bound him, and half bound her. They had run out of doors, run out of options. How would he react to knowing he was going to be forced to take her?

She thought of how much worse it would be with Bahren standing over them. Shuddered again.

“Nonetheless …”

“Please,” Mehr said sharply. She placed a hand over her eyes. Oh, what she would give for the comfort of a veil, a screen. Anything. “Please, Bahren, let me keep a little of my honor. I am Amrithi, but I am an Ambhan noblewoman too. I had an Ambhan woman’s dignity once. I had the right to cover my face. I had the right to give my soul as I wished. And now …” She let out a sob. She showed Bahren her anguish, in all its real, ugly glory, hoping it would sway him. She looked at his face between her fingers. He looked stricken.

Good. She’d struck a blow.

“Now,” she gasped out. “I’m nothing. Just this man’s—wife. A belonging. Please, Bahren. Give me this. Show me a little mercy.”