Mehr nodded silently. She tried not to think of her sister journeying away from Irinah never to return. She tried not to think of Maryam’s soft, spiteful words. I promise, Mehr: I will make sure she doesn’t miss you at all.

As if sensing the direction of Mehr’s thoughts, her father spoke again.

“Arwa won’t return here,” he said. “No matter what happens I will keep her out of harm’s way. On my honor, I promise you that.”

His eyes were flinty. Some of his old strength showed itself in the shape of his shoulders, his raised head. She found herself believing him.

Would he send Arwa away forever, to be raised far from him and from Irinah in safety? Would he allow Maryam to stay with her, or give Arwa away entirely, leaving her to be raised by strangers? Would he truly choose to lose both of his daughters in one terrible blow? Mehr didn’t want to ask. There was no answer he could offer that would not in some way break her heart.

“Thank you,” Mehr said softly, instead.

She looked down at her meal. No. She couldn’t eat any more. She couldn’t sit here any longer either. Her father’s guilt was an oppressive weight. She could feel him looking at her still, things unspoken hovering in the air around him.

Your mother—

“Mehr,” he said. She raised her head reluctantly. “If you would like to write a message to Arwa, I will ensure that it’s delivered.”

It was a small kindness, but it brought a lump to Mehr’s throat.

“I don’t know what to tell her,” Mehr confessed.

“Think on it,” he said. “The messenger won’t leave until morning. You have time.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dear Arwa—

No.

Dear sister—

Mehr stopped, took a breath, and began again.

Starting the letter was hard. How formal should she be? How honest? Finishing it seemed like an impossible task. Mehr had never had much cause to write lengthy letters, and her feelings for Arwa were far too huge and complex to reduce down into words. But Mehr struggled on. She stained her fingers black and wasted copious amounts of ink, but the letter was finished in time for the messenger to carry it alongside her father’s missive for Maryam.

It was an inadequate letter, full of useless platitudes and soft, meaningless chatter. It wasn’t the message Mehr had wanted to write, but being honest about all the love and fear curdled up inside her wouldn’t have helped Arwa. So she lied, and wrote that her husband-to-be was handsome and kind, that her wedding was going to be beautiful. She wrote that she was happy.

She hoped Arwa would read her letter and believe every word.