“When I was your age, my own mother taught me an old adage. Give your sword to the Emperor and your soul to the Maha, she told me, and you shall walk in the reflected light of their glory. The Maha founded the Empire, Mehr, and therefore, all Emperors since have walked in his footsteps. One cannot exist without the other. The rule of law and rule of faith are tied together. We nobles serve the law and administer the state. The mystics serve the faith and ensure that our Empire remains blessed.” His grip had tightened, just a little, just enough to make Mehr meet his eyes. “Everything we have,” he’d said, “my governorship, this palace, your clothes and your toys, the food we eat—all of it relies upon the benevolence of our Emperor and our Maha, because we are Ambhan, and that is the way of our Empire. When you refuse to pray, you reject the reflection of their glory that blesses us. Do you reject who we are, daughter, and all we’ve been blessed with? Do you want to live in disgrace and darkness?”

No one would care, she had thought then, if one little girl did not pray. But her father clearly cared, so she had said nothing, and only sniffled a little, as frightened children are prone to, and shaken her head.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he’d said softly, then, “Be an obedient daughter. Pray and serve, and all will be well.”

Now, Mehr looked at her father, Governor of Irinah, leader of men, and thought of how he’d looked when the guard had handed him the scroll marked with the two entwined seals; how helpless he had appeared in that moment, despite his raised throne, his armed guards, his glittering palace. Everything he had was a reflection of imperial benevolence. Everything he loved could be snatched away from him in a moment—with nothing but a few words and a simple piece of paper.

“They insisted on a chaperoned meeting as soon as possible,” said her father. “I could say nothing to dissuade them.”

“When?” Mehr asked.

“Tomorrow morning.”

Mehr leaned back against the wall. She felt dizzy. Her father stayed where he was, standing erect with his hands clasped behind him and his gaze fixed on the middle distance.

“They made a mistake, making such a grand gesture before so many courtiers,” he said, almost to himself. “The nobility will be displeased. No matter what pretty words they may use, the mystics are perilously close to defying our laws of faith. To risk the freedom of a noblewoman to choose her marriage, to risk her sacred choice …” He shook his head, unseeing. “The Emperor will not be happy when his nobles threaten to revolt.”