The sash and hair ornaments had belonged to her mother. Mehr had found them in her mother’s chambers, in the early days after her mother left, carefully folded and wrapped in linen. She had no proof, but she liked to believe her mother had left them for her, as an apology and a farewell.

She fanned the cloth, the bodice, and the skirt out on her divan. She kept the stones in her palm, tracing the edges of the flowers with her thumb. She felt restless, full of joy and sadness at the same time. It wouldn’t be long until the storm reached Jah Irinah. On that day, she would finally be able to dance the Rite of Dreaming as a grown woman, Amrithi and Ambhan, light in her hands and her heart.

Then Lalita would leave, and Mehr would be alone.

A sound from beyond the bedroom made Mehr snap sharply out of her reverie. She placed the flowers on the divan and stepped out of her room. She found Sara waiting for her, a characteristic look of nervousness on her face.

“Lady Mehr.” The maidservant offered a shaky bow.

“What are you doing here?” Mehr asked.

“Nahira sent me, my lady.”

“Does Arwa need me?”

Sara shook her head quickly.

“Oh no, my lady. Lady Arwa is well. Nahira sent me to … to request a favor.”

Mehr frowned.

“What could Nahira possibly need from me?” she asked.

Sara swallowed, biting her lip. Her reluctance to speak almost radiated off her.

“Go on,” Mehr urged.

“Your blood, my lady.” Sara’s voice was small. “She wants your blood.”

Mehr was stunned into silence. She was saved from responding by Sara, who seemed determined to finish speaking before her courage failed her. She went on hurriedly, tripping over her words. “The dreamfire frightens her, my lady. She knows a storm is coming. But the daiva—there are so many of them out there now, my lady—they frighten her so much more than the dreamfire.” Sara took a deep, steadying breath. “Your blood has kept Lady Arwa safe. Everyone knows nothing creeps into her rooms at night. She sleeps soundly. And Nahira—she is old, my lady, and superstitious, you must understand—Nahira has asked if you will protect her too.”

Sara had her hands on the edges of the shawl draped around her shoulders. Mehr watched her fingers as she spoke. She was twisting the cloth into knots. Her words were a buzz of noise in Mehr’s ears.

“You are lying to me,” Mehr said coolly.

“No, my lady!” Sara’s voice was high and frantic.