“I’m meeting a suitor,” Mehr said. “I’ll be having my own adventure.”

“I can’t come?”

Mehr pinched her cheek, making Arwa scowl. “You’re not old enough, little sister.”

“I don’t want to go without you.”

“Oh, Arwa,” Mehr said sadly. She saw Arwa’s scowl begin to melt, her lower lip trembling. She stood up. “Don’t. You’re—”

“I’m not too old to cry,” Arwa said fiercely. “I’m not. Don’t say it.”

“I have something to give you,” Mehr said. “For your journey.”

She found what she needed lying in the living room, and brought it back to the bedroom. She placed it on Arwa’s lap. “Be very careful,” she said. “It’s very sharp.”

Arwa touched the hilt of the dagger. She brushed her fingers carefully over the large opal, the gilt work. She let out a small, awed sigh.

“It’s an Amrithi blade,” said Mehr.

“Was it our mother’s?”

“It’s mine,” said Mehr. “I want you to take it with you. If you cross any daiva on your way to Hara …” Mehr shrugged lightly. “Try not to show it to Maryam, hm?”

Arwa was still looking at the blade in her lap, her eyes wide and reverent.

“Don’t you want it anymore?” Arwa asked. “It’s—special. Isn’t it?”

“I want you to feel safe,” Mehr said tenderly. She wrapped her fingers over Arwa’s, showing her how to hold the dagger safely. Then she helped her wrap it in silk and tuck it safely away. “When your adventure is over, bring it back to me. How about that?”

“Okay,” Arwa whispered.

“It’s not good-bye forever,” Mehr said. She kissed Arwa’s forehead. “You’ll come home to me, little sister. I promise you that.”

Maryam and Arwa left just as light broke over the horizon. Mehr watched them from the rooftop, wrapped in a heavy shawl to keep out the cold. She watched until they were a speck in the distance and then longer still, until there was no sight of them at all.

She slept a little. Not much. When she woke, the women’s quarters were quiet. Instead of breaking the silence by calling for one of the maids to help her dress, Mehr put on her simplest tunic and trousers. She left her hair unbraided. In an hour or so the maids would come to her anyway in order to prepare her for the meeting with the mystic. They would dress her up lavishly all over again and mold her into exactly the Ambhan woman she needed to be.

Right now Mehr wanted to be herself. Nothing more. She wanted to walk around in her own clothes, in her own unvarnished skin. She had precious little time left to do so.