Mehr swept out of her room with her head held high. She drew her veil over her face. The veil was thin enough around the eyes for Mehr to see, but her surroundings were colored in shades of white and silver. The guardswoman started toward her.

“Ready, my lady?”

Mehr nodded.

“Take me to my father,” she said.

The guardswoman led Mehr out of the women’s quarters. The corridors were wider, grander. There were male guards lining the walls. They were careful not to look at her directly, but Mehr could still remember the weight of the commander’s eyes on her, the embarrassment thinning his mouth. She was glad for the anonymizing weight of her veil, the grandeur of her clothing. In her armor she was Suren’s daughter, and no eyes could touch her.

The guard led her to a side entrance to the Hall. She opened the door. Hesitated.

“This will lead you behind the Governor’s throne,” murmured the guardswoman. She hesitated again. “Emperor’s grace upon you, my lady.”

She stepped back, allowing Mehr to pass.

Mehr took a deep breath and went through the door. On her left were women—a dozen at least, wives of courtiers dressed in their finery with their faces carefully veiled. On her right was a long partition screen, thin enough for the color and noise of the Hall to pour through it. She took a step forward. Another. Through the screen she could see her father’s shadow. He was seated on the other side, on a raised dais facing the Hall. Above him, hung from the ceiling and visible through the screen, was an effigy of the Emperor, ornately gilded in facets of mirror glass in hues of bronze and silver. Its position above him was symbolic. Although the Governor ruled Irinah, he was merely the Emperor’s representative, appointed by the Emperor to act in the Emperor’s—and the Empire’s—best interests.

“Sit by me,” a voice said quietly. Mehr looked down. Maryam was kneeling on floor cushions at the Governor’s right-hand side, separated from her husband’s by the screen. Her face was veiled, but there was no missing the ferocity in her voice. “Sit.”

Mehr kneeled down deliberately to her father’s left instead. A ripple of unease ran through the women behind her. But Mehr could not, would not, flinch. She sat tall, her hands clasped before her.

“Daughter,” her father said. His voice carried across the Hall. His words weren’t meant just for her. “My firstborn. Our visitors requested your presence.”

Mehr could see clearly through the thin mesh of the screen to the Hall beyond.