“I am afraid,” she said slowly, “because when I danced the Rite of Dreaming with the clan the last two storms, I felt a fury grow. I can feel the Gods’ anger, Mehr, as you must.” She touched her fingertips to the nape of her neck, at the place where Mehr could still feel the cold touch of the nightmares in her own skull. “I know that their anger wears its own flesh and squats in the shadows, waiting for the dreamfire to breathe life back into it. I fear what immortals are capable of.” Her voice lowered. “The clan are afraid too. And the fear makes them act—differently. Rashly. But when the next storm comes, and they see he has control again, they won’t fear any longer.”

The clan were afraid, and here was Mehr, a convenient tool to be returned to the Maha’s keeping. Mehr understood then that it was more than distrust of Mehr’s vows that had led her mother to keep her out here alone, far from wherever the clan resided. She was trying to keep Mehr safe.

Perhaps the Amrithi feared the Maha more than they cared to keep a fellow tribeswoman—a daughter of their own clan—safe. Perhaps they didn’t think of her as Amrithi at all. The thought made anxiety knot in Mehr’s chest, so she pushed it away.

“There will need to be a balance,” Ruhi said. “But not today. And hopefully not in any of our lifetimes.” She closed her eyes and opened them, a bleak look on her face. “He has created a trap none can escape from.”

“You should send me back,” Mehr said bleakly. “If he has no Amrithi to use when the dreamfire next falls …”

“You’ve paid more than enough,” Ruhi said fiercely; her sudden fierceness, the depth of emotion in her voice, jarred Mehr. “More than enough! It’s a miracle you’re free, a miracle, Mehr. And he will take someone else—he always finds someone.”

Mehr bit her tongue. So I wait, then, for Amun to awaken, or another Amrithi to take my place? I let another suffer for me?

She felt sickened.

“I’m going to rest,” she said abruptly. She stood. Her mother turned her head away, nodding sharply.

“I’ll keep watch a little longer,” Ruhi said. “Just until sunrise.”

Hours later, Mehr finally heard her mother go. Steeling herself, she breathed deep and slow and lifted her marriage seal from her skin. Then she touched her fingers to her scar.