A daughter belonged to her father’s household until the day she reached adulthood and her seal was placed in her hands. Ambhan noblewomen did not make contracts; they did not own property or offer their loyalty or their service. They were treasured and sheltered, protected by their men. But their right to choose their own husband was sacred, and the choice could not be taken from them.

When her fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth years had passed with no mention of marriage or her seal, Mehr had been grateful for her father’s kindness. Amrithi did not make contracts, but as a noblewoman, Mehr had always known she would eventually be required to wed, but she had hoped to find a husband in Irinah. She’d hoped to stay close to Arwa and to the desert she loved. At the very least, she’d hoped for time. Time to watch Arwa grow. Time to come to terms with the business of tying her soul to another man’s soul, and leaving the life she had so carefully carved for herself in her father’s household.

All that had changed now.

In finally giving Mehr her seal, her father had placed a bitter message squarely in her hands: Marry whom you choose. You’re not mine to keep any longer.

It’s time for you to be gone. He had ensured that she would never have the husband and home in Irinah she’d hoped for.

She knew what was coming: carefully chaperoned meetings with lowly courtiers and wealthy merchants, first in Hara and then Numriha. Mehr wouldn’t choose any of them. Not at first. And then, inevitably, Mehr would relent. Give in. No Ambhan woman could be forced to marry, but there were many ways in the world to make a person bend. Time would wear her down. She would choose one of the men and give him her seal. Once he placed his own seal around her neck, once their lineages and their bodies were joined, she would be bound for life to an alien land. Exiled for good.

The thought of leaving Irinah left her hollow and full of unanswerable fears. She would not be able to keep her Amrithi traditions, she knew that now. She would be forced to discard her mother’s culture to keep herself—and her family—safe from the Emperor’s displeasure. But what kind of marriage would she have, built as it would be on deceits large and small? What kind of man would she find herself wedded to?

What if she never returned to Irinah—never saw its desert and its storms? What if she never saw Arwa again?

It was a painful thought, sharpened to a knife edge by the knowledge that she had been losing Arwa slowly for years. Maryam had made sure of that.