“When he finds more like you, he won’t be so kind to you or the boy in the future,” Bahren went on.

Mehr did not want to listen to him. After what she had suffered—after what she and Amun had both suffered—she did not want to consider the idea that the Maha had treated them … kindly.

They had their own room, food and water. They had clothes and small creature comforts—Amun’s needle and thread, sweet soap Mehr had wheedled from a kindly elderly mystic. They had their limbs and their lives. Things could be so much worse.

Mehr had seen the darkness in the Maha’s eyes. Felt it. She knew the Maha was capable of a great many things, and if she was lucky, she would not survive them.

“You should learn to be obedient,” Bahren said.

“I will try,” Mehr said thinly.

They walked a little longer. Then Bahren spoke again.

“Make no mistake, little sister—I chose to be here. Our people could be weak instead of strong.” His voice softened as he spoke of the Maha’s purpose. Like Hema, he believed in the Maha’s work. In the Maha, who was beloved and terrible and had built the glory of the Empire out of nothing but sand and dreams.

Sand and dreams—and the blood of Mehr’s people.

“The Maha has ensured that our Emperors are always strong and brave and wise. He has ensured that we will always be prosperous.”

Mehr had significant experience in keeping her head lowered and her mouth silent. In that moment, she chose to put the skill to good use.

The Maha was waiting.

Mehr bowed low to the floor. Waited until he told her she could stand. She raised her head to meet the Maha’s eyes—looked into them for a sharp, painful second—then fixed her eyes on his chin. His eyes hurt her. She felt his presence, sharp as a blade, right through her chest. For a moment it choked her; she parted her lips, catching the air until the pain settled.

“Well, Mehr,” he said. He sounded pleased already. “Bahren has told me you obeyed. But I want to hear it from your lips now. Have you obeyed, or must I be more specific?”

She swallowed. “We had intercourse. Amun and I.”

“Finely put, my dear,” he said mildly. “That will suffice. Now show me the mark.”

He hadn’t asked to see it before, but Mehr should have expected it. She felt nothing at all as she loosened the sash, as she showed him the scarred skin where his mark sat.

He crossed the distance between them and placed a hand firmly on the sigil. He didn’t ask her permission. She supposed he didn’t feel that he needed to. She was his possession. Not a true person, or citizen of the Empire.