Mehr saw some of the tension ease in Amun’s shoulders. His eyes softened. He thought she’d been saved from the Maha’s presence. He thought she’d returned to him safe and sound.

The way he feared for her made her heart hurt. She smiled at him, pushing away the memory of Kalini’s blade. She hadn’t been afraid then. She wouldn’t let the fear touch her now either. She would stay clean and empty and pure, and save them both from hurt.

“Come, Mehr,” he said, holding his hands out to her. She took them. “We can practice a little longer, then.”

She didn’t tell Amun. Perhaps she should have. But when they returned to their room, he lit the oil lanterns except one, then turned to the divan and began determinedly tugging off the bedding. She watched him, silently bemused.

“Amun,” she said slowly. “What are you doing?”

“Could I have your shawl?”

She handed it to him and watched as he used it to knot the blanket to the divan, hooking the other end to the edge of the unused lantern hook. “I don’t understand what you’re doing,” she said.

He looked at her, his dark eyes still so very soft.

“We’re building a tent,” he said.

“No, you’re building a tent. I’m just watching.” A beat. “Why are you building a tent?”

“For fun, Mehr.” Very seriously, he beckoned her closer. “Come in here. Bring the pillows in with you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Mehr said. But she did as he asked.

Inside the makeshift tent the light of the lanterns was softened to a glow. Mehr could see nothing but Amun’s silhouette. She curled up on the pillows next to him. “I did something like this with my sister once,” she said. “We pretended we were in our own little house. She played mother.”

“And you?”

“I was the baby, of course.” Mehr had done so many ridiculous things when Arwa was small, just to make her little sister laugh. “Children like to play pretend. I humored her.”

“Just like you’re humoring me?”

“Exactly like that.” She placed her fingers on Amun’s sleeve. “What are we doing, exactly?”

“Playing pretend. Pretending we’re somewhere else.” He took her hand, threaded his fingers with her own. “Somewhere out in the desert, perhaps.”

It was a nice idea. Mehr wanted to allow herself to believe the illusion, to think they were out under the cool star-flecked night sky, in a tent all their own. But she couldn’t.

“We’re too old to be so foolish,” Mehr said sharply. “We are where we are. We can’t change that.”

“We can’t,” he agreed. “But we can put aside the burden for a little while.”

“I didn’t think you were the sort to lie to yourself.” The words were harsh, and Mehr regretted them as soon as she’d spoken.