Did he think she would be happy with them because she was like him—illegitimate, a bastard? Or was he simply trying to comfort her? From the soft look in his eyes, she thought his motivation had probably been pity.

Mehr stiffened, suddenly angry with herself. She’d clearly done a poor job of playing the obedient new bride. She must have been exuding misery, trudging through the sand with her shoulders hunched and her hands in fists, not talking to a soul. She would have to make a conscious effort to hide her emotions in the future. There were so many ways, after all, that they could be used against her.

“If we’re family, I should know your name, shouldn’t I?” Mehr said.

“Edhir,” he replied.

“Edhir,” she repeated. “My name is Mehr.”

“I know,” he said, and instantly looked embarrassed.

One of the other mystics laughed. Kalini was talking to one of them now on the other side of the fire, a smile playing on her mouth. Her eyes met Mehr’s through the flames. Mehr looked down.

She didn’t know how to keep herself safe among these people. At least within the walls of the women’s quarters she had possessed a measure of power. She’d known the dangers she faced. Now only unknown dangers lay around her, ahead of her, and she had no idea how to protect herself. She tried to distract herself from dark thoughts by sifting the sand between her fingers. As it touched her skin, it almost seemed to brighten.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Edhir said. His voice was quieter now. The color on his face had deepened. He wanted earnestly to be kind to her, it seemed. But Mehr was not sure she could trust appearances.

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” she said.

On his other side, another mystic leaned forward to look at Mehr. He was older than the rest, with features weathered into permanent grimness that he tried to soften with a grin. He didn’t succeed.

“Our little family is named for the desert,” he said. “Has the boy told you that yet?”

Edhir made a sound of protest.

“The boy fancies himself a scholar,” said the older mystic. “Always reading. He’s barely talked to a woman.”

“I have barely ever talked to a man,” Mehr said, drawn into defending him against her will. “I can hardly judge him.”

The mystic barked out a laugh. “As you say,” he said. “My name is Bahren. Emperor’s grace on you, sister.”

Mehr nodded stiffly. She could hardly offer her name again, when they knew everything there was possible to know about her already.

“Tell me about your family’s name, Edhir,” Mehr said.

“Our family’s name,” Kalini called out. Mehr didn’t react.

“Please,” she said instead, looking at Edhir.