She practiced the first few steps. She moved in the flickering shadows that fell through the screen wall. The sky was shifting, bright and changeable. The glow sharpened into white lightning against color. Eventually Mehr gave up on practice and simply stared at the whorls of dreamfire waiting to fall and the great winged shadows that flitted through them.

Time passed. It was night, deep night, and Lalita still hadn’t come.

Mehr could think of a dozen reasons why Lalita hadn’t yet arrived. Perhaps she had fallen ill. Perhaps she had been forced to leave unexpectedly. Perhaps, perhaps. But all those excuses felt flimsy, when Mehr remembered the wistful yearning in Lalita’s voice, when she spoke of dancing the Rite of Dreaming at Mehr’s side. She remembered Lalita’s exhaustion. Her careful words.

I have drawn some unwanted attention.

The air shimmered. With frightening suddenness, the dreamfire poured from sky to earth like water, coils of light exploding into facets of brightness. It drenched the city in its glow. The air crackled.

The dreamfire was falling.

Mehr’s heart was in her throat.

The dreamfire was falling, and Lalita was not here.

Mehr touched the hilt of her dagger, taking comfort in its presence. Words and warnings swarmed in her head. Something had happened to Lalita. She knew it.

We can be clan to each other, Lalita had said. Well, Mehr wouldn’t abandon what little clan she had. She walked to the entrance of her chambers and looked out into the corridor. Empty. No one would be leaving the household today, not while the storm hung over the city. They were all hiding from it, most likely.

Good. That would work in her favor.

She swathed herself in a heavy robe and slipped boots onto her red-stained feet. If Lalita was in danger, if she couldn’t come to Mehr, then Mehr would go to her. She would go out into the city and find Lalita. She wouldn’t let her be hurt.

That, of course, was easier said than done. She couldn’t simply leave the women’s quarters. As one of the noblewomen of the Governor’s household, she was protected by high walls and maids and guards. When she went into public, she went with an armed entourage and traveled securely in a palanquin veiled with gauze. Outside the palanquin she wore a heavy robe to conceal her features. The robe she wore now, in fact. From a distance it was like the robes all women wore, regardless of status: plain and neat and suitable for concealment and for protection from the elements. Only closer inspection revealed the fine quality of the fabric and the swatches of rich color that lined the interior of the sleeves and the hem. It would still provide the anonymity Mehr required. She would have to do without the rest. There would be no palanquin or armed entourage today.