Mehr was allowed to bathe and redress in a clean tunic and pajami. She didn’t argue when one of the maids gathered up her Amrithi clothes and took them away. She had no energy to fight. It was hard enough to simply obey as she was poked and prodded, as her hair was combed roughly and bound back into a hasty braid, as she was ushered along the familiar halls of the women’s quarters toward a corridor that led to her father’s chambers.

At the end of the corridor lay the room Mehr had most dreaded visiting in her childhood, the room where she’d been brought to be scolded and punished for misbehavior. The Governor’s Study. She could still remember the terror it had once inspired in her. An echo of that old dread rippled through her now, as a guardswoman opened the door and ushered Mehr inside.

The difference between the women’s quarters and the Governor’s Study was impossible to ignore. The women’s quarters were Maryam’s domain, elegantly decorated with silks and jewels and cool marble, but the study belonged entirely to Mehr’s father. Every inch was stamped with his mark. The furnishings were dark, the walls unmarked and austere. There were great thick books and sheaves of paper piled on a table set at the center of the room. No fine gems and delicate touches here. This was a purely masculine space. Here, Maryam’s power ended and the Governor’s power—the power of swords and steel, currency and politics and men—began.

Her father and Maryam were seated, waiting for her.

“Sit,” her father said. His voice was rumbling, soft.

Mehr kneeled down woodenly. When she met her father’s eyes she saw him flinch before recovering himself.

Governor Suren ruled one of the most barbaric yet holy reaches of the Empire on the Emperor’s behalf. He had hundreds of men at his command. He was built broad and imposing, and his eyes were sharp as steel. In the rich jet and ivory of his clothing, his hair swept back in a turban, he looked every inch the statesman and soldier. He was not a man who showed weakness easily.

But Mehr looked so very, very much like her mother.

“You’ve disgraced yourself,” said her father. He said it without inflection, without feeling. It would have been better if he had shouted.

“A woman is dead,” Mehr said quietly. “And my friend is missing. I left to try to help them.”

And what a waste it had been. She’d failed. In her father’s face she saw that knowledge reflected back at her.

“I know where you went. I know how my guards found you,” he said. “Your face bare, your skin—tainted.” A heavy breath. “I have given you so much freedom, Mehr. I have been generous. And you—you have used my kindness to ruin yourself.”