They retired to a room Mehr had never seen before, one of the many bedrooms in the Governor’s residence left long empty. The room had been cleaned in preparation for its use as a bridal suite, and the lanterns on the walls flamed brightly. The scent of incense hung in the air. The bed was scattered with soft pillows and rose petals, as if someone had foolishly assumed they would want or need romance.

Once the doors were firmly shut, Amun immediately began removing his robes. Underneath them he wore a plain sleeveless tunic and trousers. Mehr threw back her veil. Vision improved, she could see now that his bare arms were covered with the same deep blue marks as his face. They were long whorls and loops that looked like language, just like the symbols Mehr had seen on Amun’s seal.

As he began to remove the sash of his tunic, Mehr froze.

Amun looked over at her. “You asked me for an explanation,” he said. “It’s easier to show you first.”

He finished untying his sash and drew his tunic open at the chest. There were more marks across the skin of his torso, but the one that caught Mehr’s eye instantly was the one on his breastbone: a pale scarred circle, filled with the names of Mehr’s ancestors.

He was marked with her seal.

“What?” Mehr’s voice was shaky. She took a step forward. “How—?”

“Your mother,” said Amun. “When you were a child, did she tell you why Amrithi don’t marry?” Mehr shook her head. “Amrithi are descended from daiva, Lady Mehr.”

“I know that. But I—”

“Daiva have great strength. Great power. But their vows are binding. Their vows are unbreakable.”

“I don’t understand,” Mehr said, even as dawning knowledge ran cold through her bones.

He looked at Mehr with something like pity. “We don’t marry because we don’t make vows. To do so is to risk binding ourselves permanently.” He gestured at the mark on his chest. “When I bound myself in marriage to you, the vow marked itself on my skin. It will be there for the rest of our lives.”

She clutched the new seal. Clutched it so hard that the edges bit into her palm.

“I didn’t know that,” Mehr said faintly. Her voice came from far away. Shock had made her numb. “Why didn’t I know?”

“Few Amrithi are afflicted with enough of our ancestral blood to have the gift of amata, the gift in our blood that allows us to be bound,” he said impassively. “Perhaps your mother neglected to tell you because she thought your Ambhan blood would protect you from inheriting the strongest of our gifts.”