Backlit by morning light, Mahamari, a woman in Persian archer's gear who has a bow and quiver of arrows stands beside an ancient building.

Pronunciation: MAH-hah-MAHR-ee

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Brown

Motto: I am a survivor

Desires: To live her life on her terms

Weapon of Choice: Bow


Description: She wore silk the ruby violet of unripe mulberries with tiny beads scattered like stars winking in the lamplight. Her eyes shined brighter than the lamps or the beads. Dark eyes, deep as oceans and rimmed with broad strokes of kohl. Her skin was tide-kissed sand, warm rich brown. She swayed with liquid grace as if the world gave in so she might move without resistance; air and earth flowing around her softly curved arms and beneath her slender, strong legs. Not a trick of the lamplight or my perception dampened in drink, her magic was real. The others were shadows and dust, dulled to nothingness beside her.

Discussion Questions For Mahamari?


  • What does Leures see in her?
  • Do you have a favorite scene?
  • What’s your favorite quote?
  • Does she fear the Skel?
  • What does she want from Leures?
  • Do you have sympathy for her?
The sculpture atop the sarcophagus in my grandfather’s tomb showed him and his wife side by side and smiling. Lying with Mahamari, I thought of their carved smiles–pictured us as the artist’s image of enduring love, greater than our bodies and more whole than ourselves.


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