Mehr stepped forward. She wanted to shout at him to let it go, let it go now. But Amun was lowering himself into a crouch, hands shaping the sigil for Go. It seemed the daiva had no choice. All its fragments scattered into the air. The darkness hung around them like falling rain for a long moment, a heartbeat—and then it was gone.

Amun rose from his crouch, falling into the last stance. Bahren let out a long, colorful string of curses and went to grab the fallen packs of provisions, which had somehow been discarded in the chaos.

Mehr walked over to her husband. She heard nothing, saw nothing. All she could see was Amun’s face in the achingly clear morning light.

“What did you do?” Mehr said. She was helpless to hold back the words. Helpless to hold back her horror. “What did you do?”

Amun had thrown back the cloth around his face. In the light, the blue marks on his cheeks glowed livid. Cold fire. His mouth wore a bitter smile.

“What I was told to do,” he said.

Mehr didn’t get the chance to speak to Amun alone until nighttime. The mystics kept Mehr close for the rest of the day, surrounding her on all sides in a human barrier. They were tense and silent. They held no weapons, but weapons were no good against daiva, and they were not afraid of being attacked by mortal men. They were the blessed servants of the Maha, after all, and above such danger. Even the most desperate thieves knew that attacking the Maha’s people was worse than a death sentence. The fear the mystics provoked kept human dangers at bay.

Amun walked ahead of them all. If any daiva came, they would face him first. After what Mehr had seen him do, she knew he was weapon enough.

It was miserably cold and dark when they made camp and settled down to sleep. The tent was barely warmer than the desert outside, but Mehr was grateful for its protection.

Amun was on guard for the first few hours of the night, so Mehr waited for him, curled up under the blanket for warmth. When he came in she sat up. Amun had brought an oil lamp in with him. He set it down on the ground, light flickering over his face. He leaned down to blow out the flame, and Mehr gestured at him to stop.

“Is anyone else awake?” she asked.

“Abhiman,” he said, letting the flap of the tent fall down behind him. “He’s walking the perimeter. Speak if you like. He won’t hear you.”

“What did you do to the daiva?” she asked.

“You saw what I did.”