“Your mother was faithless in the way of her people,” Kalini agreed. “You must be thankful, Lady Mehr, that your father chose to protect his children, despite their ill blood.”

Mehr inclined her head. Whatever her father had done—whatever bitterness she felt toward him, for his part in the loss of her mother—he had protected Mehr and Arwa as best he could. For nine years, he had even given Mehr the freedom to be her mother’s daughter. She was grateful for that.

Speaking about her mother’s departure and exile dredged up memories Mehr would rather have left undisturbed. She remembered so much, too much. She remembered how her mother had faded after Arwa’s birth. She remembered how her mother had stared out at the desert all those long months the way a maimed bird stares at the sky. When her mother had been exiled, Mehr had cried and begged her father to let her go too: Please, Father, let me go.

But her father hadn’t let her go, and Mehr had watched the desert day after day, waiting against all reason for her mother to come home. Only Lalita’s patient coaxing had—slowly, eventually—pulled her out of her stupor.

Mehr did not often dwell on the details of her mother’s departure. It pained her to do so now for an audience. Her dredged history sickened her like poison. And there was no kindness in Kalini’s eyes.

“I have one last question for you, Lady Mehr. Would you make a vow to the Empire, to our Emperor and the Maha to prove your loyalty? Would you vow to serve them with your body, your heart, your soul?” Kalini’s gaze was intent. “It would put my fears quite to rest.”

She spoke politely enough, but there was an avid hunger in her eyes that made Mehr’s stomach churn. She looked again at Amun, who was still as a statue carved in jet. He did not look at her, but she felt the weight of his regard. He was listening. He was waiting, so tense that he barely even seemed to breathe.

“How dare you,” Suren growled. His hands were in fists. He looked ready to rise to his feet. “Such an impertinent question is not to be borne!”

“It’s a simple question,” Kalini said mildly. “It was not intended to cause offense.”

“My daughter is an Ambhan noblewoman,” her father said, in a voice filled with barely leashed fury. “Noblewomen are a treasure of the Empire; their souls are in our keeping. They do not make contracts.” He nearly spat the word. “To ask her to make a vow beyond marriage is a barefaced insult.” His voice grew darker. “If the nobility learn your master seeks to pervert the honor of their women, there will be a revolt. I can assure you of that.”