It wasn’t long before the other mystics followed suit, baring their faces and sharing provisions between themselves as they talked in low voices. Without their faces covered, they were not as alien or as fierce as they had appeared to be in the city. Mehr watched them from the far edge of the fireside, the night cold against her back. They were men. Just men, some with fair skin and some with dark, their faces unmarked, their smiles easy. They were nothing like Amun, who stood at the far edge of the camp, his face still covered and his eyes fixed on some far point in the distance.

“You should come closer to the fire,” a voice said.

One of the mystics was looking back at her. He was young, his skin the color of parched earth, and his eyes were kind. He gestured at the ground beside him. “You must be cold.”

Mehr moved closer, taking the spot he had offered. The conversation went quiet as she joined the circle but picked up again when Mehr simply raised her hands to warm them against the heat of the flames. The mystic at her side snapped his flatbread in two and offered her a piece. Too hungry to refuse, Mehr took it from him. “Thank you,” she said.

“You can take that off, if you like.” He gestured at the cloth around her face. “It might be more comfortable.”

“I don’t think it would be right,” said Mehr. The mystic looked at her askance. “Ambhan noblewomen don’t show their faces to people who aren’t family.” It was strange enough to be talking to this man, who was no blood to her, no husband, no guard—nothing. “I mean no offense by it.”

“Just family?” he asked. Mehr nodded. The mystic appeared to consider this, chewing meditatively. “Well. Then there’s no problem at all. We’re all family here. Brothers and sisters in service to the Empire.”

I have a sister, Mehr thought. A true sister. But she said nothing.

“We were all orphans, or as good as that, before we came to service,” he went on earnestly. “My mother wasn’t married when I was born, and her family rejected her—and me. I was blessed to be given a home and a purpose by the Maha. He made me more than a bastard.”

Bastard. It was an ugly word, and one that Mehr had heard far too often in the past. It curdled in Mehr’s stomach. But she said nothing, only nodded in encouragement so that he would continue.

“Now we are one,” he said. “A whole.” He shaped a circle in the sand with one finger. The sand rustled at his touch, then settled with a shiver like an indrawn breath. “I’m sure you’ll grow to be happy with us,” he added gently.