The meal was as sumptuous as ever. It was ashes in Mehr’s mouth. She kept her head lowered and picked at her food as the Maha stared down at her silently, a smile playing on his mouth. She could feel the Maha’s eyes on her, burning and constant. When Amun tried to speak and draw his attention away, the Maha made a dismissive noise and waved a hand in Amun’s direction.

“There’s no need for you to speak,” he said, his voice all mild benevolence. “Sit quietly, Amun. Eat your food. There’s a good boy.”

Amun didn’t say a word after that, and Mehr did not raise her head. She thought of the sticky, sweet nuts and dates Hema had brought her to eat. She hoped the Maha would not force her to eat more than she had. She couldn’t stomach it.

The Maha stood. Mehr didn’t have time to tense before she felt his hand winding the long weight of her braid into a leash and tugging her head back. She winced, clenched her teeth hard to hold all noise in.

“You know I don’t like it when you avoid my eyes,” he said disapprovingly.

She looked up at him. Was it her imagination, or had the fractures in his eyes deepened? “I am sorry, Maha,” she said.

“You must learn to do better, my dear,” he said. “You will do better, won’t you? You won’t fail me this storm?”

“No, Maha.”

His grip tightened, one torturous increment. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“I am bound.” She raised a hand slowly. Touched her fingertips to her chest, where her marriage seal sat over the sigil that bound her. “You trained me yourself, Maha. And I have learned my place.”

“And what is your place?”

“I am a conduit to your will. A tool.” A beat. “I share my husband’s service, wholly and completely. Please believe me, Maha.”

It was the pleading he had wanted, really. Satisfied, he finally released her.

“Keep eating,” he ordered, offhandedly. “You’ll need your strength to perform for me later. I want to see how far you’ve both come.”

Mehr returned to the task of picking at bread with one hand, her scalp stinging and sore.

That night she dreamed of the desert. Not of a tent under the stars, not of Amun lying by her side with the warm glow of lantern light on them both, but of cold sand, sharp as glass, beneath her feet, and the moon fat and glaring in the black sky.

There was a woman standing before her, with a long ragged veil concealing her face, its gnawed edges brushing the sand. There was a ring of spreading darkness around her. Mehr knew what that darkness was. She’d seen blood before.