“Shall I summon Nahira now and ask her?” Sara’s silence was answer enough. Mehr went on. All the fury Mehr had been holding back rose up as a hard frost in her veins, her voice. “Nahira sleeps in Arwa’s bedchamber. She doesn’t need my blood to protect her, and she would know better than to ask for it.” Right now, when Mehr was in disfavor, asking for her help was a dangerous act. Nahira was too much of a survivor to make such a basic error of judgment. “You know what the other servants say about me. You know what I’m capable of. So why, Sara, have you decided to make me your enemy?”

Sara tried to turn and bolt from the room, but Mehr was close enough to catch her hand and hold her still.

“No,” Mehr said. “Speak to me first. Then you can run.”

“I’m sorry,” Sara said, teary. “But some of us are so afraid, my lady. Not the Harans or the Numrihans—they don’t understand, they laugh at me and call me a superstitious barbarian—but we Irin, we know what’s coming. I grew up outside the city, my lady. Near the Northern Oasis. I know what a storm is like. I know how the fire falls and the daiva follow it. So many daiva, my lady, and our blood doesn’t protect us from them. What will we do if an evil daiva creeps into our quarters with the storm? Gods forbid, an ancient? What will we do?” Her voice turned entreating. “A little blood, my lady, that’s all I need to protect the servant quarters. Please.”

Mehr let go of her. But Sara didn’t run. She stood her ground, terrified but determined. In the face of her fear—and her stubbornness—Mehr’s own anger faded. She didn’t have the strength to be cruel.

“You shouldn’t have come to me,” Mehr said heavily. “It was a foolish thing to do. Be sensible, Sara. Find an Amrithi clan and barter for some blood. You work for the Governor, you surely have the coin.”

Sara looked down at the floor, as if she couldn’t bear to meet Mehr’s eyes. Her voice came out in an incomprehensible whisper.

“Speak up,” Mehr ordered. Her patience had worn thin.

Sara swallowed.

“I haven’t seen a clan in years, my lady. That’s all.”

“Near Jah Irinah?”

“Anywhere, my lady,” Sara said. She still wouldn’t meet Mehr’s eyes. “It’s as if they’ve—vanished.”

Mehr turned away from her. Without consciously deciding to do so, she walked over to the perforated wall and stared out at the desert beyond. The sand was glowing with the warmth of encroaching dreamfire.

She thought of the feel of Maryam’s fingers on her face, of Lalita’s trembling hands, her tired smile.