“How could I have run from the mystics? Emperor’s grace, Nahira, we pray to their master. Running from them would have done me no good. Where could I run where they wouldn’t find me?”

“You shouldn’t walk into this pit of vipers.”

“They’re the Empire’s vipers,” Mehr snapped back. “Better I walk into a pit than have us all thrown into one.”

She turned to face Nahira. She reined in her temper.

“Don’t make me doubt myself now,” Mehr said. “I’ve made my choice. There’s nothing I can do to change it.”

She thought Nahira would argue with her, and part of her—a large part of her—welcomed the idea. She wanted the opportunity to vent some of her rage, which felt too big to carry. It was a terrible weight upon her shoulders.

Instead Nahira walked over to her and took hold of the seal hung on its length of ribbon around her throat. She adjusted it slightly, so the seal lay centered just against Mehr’s breastbone. Her fingers were trembling.

“There,” Nahira said. “You look perfect.”

Mehr swallowed around the lump in her throat. Her anger left her abruptly, and left her small.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything.”

There was nothing more either of them could say. The door opened. A guardswoman stepped in.

Mehr had run out of time.

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Mehr’s father was already present and seated at the corner of the meeting room. He gestured at Mehr to sit. She kneeled down on the floor cushions facing the entrance and took her time arranging the folds of her robe and her veil. She tried to rid herself of nerves.

The room was a good choice of venue. It was small, but its windows were wide enough for the morning sunlight to pour in. Even with her veil over her eyes, she would be able to see the mystics clearly when they arrived. She wondered if her father had chosen the room for exactly that reason, as a kindness, or if he was simply obeying convention. Perhaps this was the room every Governor’s daughter had met her suitors in. Mehr had no idea. Neither her mother nor Maryam had ever told her what to expect from courtship, and Nahira knew little about the intricacies of courtship among Ambhan nobility.

“Daughter,” said her father. She looked at him. His face was tired, his mouth thin. “Will you meet your suitor?”

“I will,” she said.

He signaled the guardswoman. Moments later she returned, ushering in the female mystic and a tall man dressed in dark robes. Mehr chose to focus on him rather than the woman. He was her suitor, after all. The man who—if a miracle didn’t take place—was going to be her husband.