“I know,” said Mehr. She had made a bad choice and dragged Sara along with her. The fault—and the guilt—were all on her shoulders. “Has she been found out? Is she—well?”

“Oh, she’s well,” said Nahira. “But only by pure luck. People are not tools to be used, Lady Mehr. Don’t start following the example of your elders now. You certainly never have before,” she added in a mutter.

There was a crash from Mehr’s room, then a guilty silence. When Mehr began to move, Nahira shook her head and motioned at Mehr to sit back down.

“She hasn’t hurt herself,” she said. “The girl’s hardier than that.” Sure enough, Mehr heard more guilty scuffles emanate from the bedroom.

“I’m never going to see Arwa again,” Mehr blurted out. Nahira said nothing, and Mehr clenched her hands into helpless fists. “I don’t want marriage. Not yet.”

“Well, you can’t wait forever,” Nahira said, ever practical. “You’re older than most girls are when they wed. Think of that.”

“Amrithi don’t wed at all,” Mehr said, somewhat churlishly. “Perhaps I should follow my mother’s example.”

“You’re Ambhan enough that marriage may suit you.”

“It doesn’t matter if it will suit me or not,” Mehr said bitterly. “I have my father’s orders.”

Nahira made a tutting noise. “You think you have no choice? My lady, marriage is the only choice your father’s people hold sacred for their women. Use that to your favor. Make a wise decision, and you’ll see so much of the child you’ll be sick of her.”

“What is a wise decision in marriage?” Mehr asked, even though she knew Nahira would laugh at her. And she did. Nahira’s laugh was a harsh bark, nearly a cough. She shook her head.

“No one knows, child, though they may claim they do. We Irin marry who we will, and end our marriages when needs be. We don’t make a fuss of such things. But an Ambhan marriage is a special beast.” Nahira leaned forward conspiratorially. Her Irin eyes were narrowed. “You belong to your father,” Nahira said. “And you will belong to any husband you choose. His duties will be your duties, his burdens your burdens. Your immortal soul will be bound to his.”

Mehr knew, of course, what an Ambhan marriage was meant to be, but it was strange to hear it spoken aloud. Stranger still to think of marriage when she wore her own seal around her throat. She thought of its weight, its ribbon, the feel of it like a rope around her neck. A chill ran through her.

“Do you truly believe that?” Mehr asked.