Mehr sat in the library. Its shelves were half-ransacked, all the clever silver-dialed instruments long gone. She was sure Edhir had been the one to raid the library. The other mystics had taken useful things, food and fuel and clothing. But Edhir had loved his maps more than all of those things. He would never have left them behind.

She tried not to think too often of what had become of all those mystics: the young and the old, the ones who’d truly believed the Maha was their God and had loved him better than anything in the world. Their world had been shattered, their safe universe of prayer and service and glory utterly destroyed. Mehr did not want to have any sympathy for them, but despite herself, she did.

Hema had been one of them, once.

She sat by the window on a table, legs crossed, writing so hurriedly that the ink kept smearing. There was a daiva on the edge of the window, fluttering lazily, occasionally chirruping. She ignored it.

She told Arwa about her life. Only the good things, for now. Arwa was so young. Perhaps later Mehr would tell her the whole truth. For now she only wrote about the sand, and how it shimmered and spun itself into shapes, for the sheer joy of it. She described the daiva, and the way they were growing stronger, their shadowy forms growing more solid day by day, their numbers growing. She told Arwa that she hoped she would see her very soon. She was still writing when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

Lalita peered in. “He’s ready to leave,” she said. “Come quickly now.”

Mehr picked up the letter carefully, trying not to smudge the ink any more than she already had. She followed Lalita down the stairs toward an exit that led to the desert. Kamal was waiting for them, a pack slung over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Mehr flapping the letter as she walked.

“Is it dry?” he asked.

“It will have to do,” said Mehr, handing it to him. He rolled it up neatly, placing it in his pack beside the letter she’d written for her father.

“If your sister is in Irinah, I’ll deliver it to her. If she isn’t …” Kamal shrugged. “Well, I’ll do my best.” He looked at her narrowly. “You could come as far as Jah Irinah with me, if you like. See if you can find her.”

“I can’t risk leaving,” she said. “Besides, I doubt it would do any good. No doubt they’re far away from Irinah now.”

“No doubt,” he agreed.