Nahri stepped forward, transfixed by the beautiful boat. “Has this been here all this time?”
Dara nodded. “Since before the city fell. The Qahtani siege was so brutal that no one had a chance to escape.” He shoved Ali into the shallows. “Climb aboard, sand fly.”
Nahri went to follow, but Dara caught her wrist. “I’ll let him go,” he said quietly in Divasti. “I promise. There are supplies waiting for us on the other side of the lake, a carpet, provisions, weapons. I’ll leave him on the beach unharmed, and we’ll fly away.”
His words only worsened her feeling of betrayal. “I’m glad to know we’ll be well-provisioned when the ifrit murder us.”
She tried to pull away, but Dara held her tight. “The ifrit aren’t going to murder us, Nahri,” he assured her. “Things are different now. You’ll be safe.”
Nahri frowned. “What do you mean?”
In the distance, there came the sound of a shout, followed by an inaudible command. The voices were far, belonging to men still unseen, but Nahri knew how quickly the djinn could move.
Dara released her wrist. “I’ll tell you when we’re out of the city. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I should have before.” He touched her cheek. “We’ll get past this.”
I don’t know about that. But she let him help her onto the boat. Dara retrieved a copper pole that ran down the center of the deck. He jabbed it into the sandy bank, and they were off.
The boat slipped past the cavern’s edge with a sizzle. When she glanced back, the rocky face appeared smooth and unblemished. She spotted the docks in the distance, swarmed by tiny figures with flickering torches and gleaming blades.
Ali gazed at the soldiers as the boat raced through the still water toward the dark mountains.
Nahri edged closer to him. “What you told me about your agreement with your father—do you think he’ll punish you if I leave?”
Ali dropped his gaze. “It doesn’t matter.” She watched him tick off his knuckles—praying, counting, maybe just a nervous gesture. He looked miserable.
The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them. “Come with us.”
Ali stilled.
Stupidly, Nahri pressed on, keeping her voice low. “You might as well escape what comes next. Cross the Gozan with us and then go see that human world you’re so fascinated with. Go pray in Mecca, study with the scholars of Timbuktu . . .” She swallowed, emotion stealing into her voice. “I have an old friend in Cairo. He could probably use a new business partner.”
Ali kept his gaze on his hands. “You really mean that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice oddly hollow.
“I do.”
He briefly squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, Nahri . . . I’m so sorry.” He turned to look at her, guilt radiating from every line in his face.
Nahri backed away. “No,” she whispered. “What have you—” The air flashed around her, and the words caught in her throat. She clutched the ship’s railing and held her breath through the smothering embrace of the lake’s veil. As with her first crossing, it lasted only a moment, and then the world readjusted. The dark mountains, the star-dappled sky . . .
The dozen or so warships loaded with soldiers.
They nearly crashed right into the closest one, a hulking wooden trireme that sat heavy in the water. The small copper boat slid by and smashed a few oars, but the men onboard were ready. The deck was loaded with archers, their bows drawn, while other soldiers threw down chains of spiked anchors to snag their vessel. One of the archers let loose a single flaming arrow high in the sky. A signal.
Ali climbed awkwardly to his feet. “My ancestors found the copper boat shortly after the revolution,” he explained. “No one could raise it, so it stayed. And we learned how to conceal things on the other side of the veil centuries ago.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Nahri, I really am.”
She heard Dara snarl. He was on the other end of the boat but drew his bow in the blink of an eye, aiming an arrow at Ali’s throat. Nahri couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. They were completely outnumbered.
“Afshin!” Jamshid appeared at the warship’s edge. “Don’t be a fool. Lower your weapon.”
Dara didn’t move, and the soldiers fanned out as if preparing to board. Nahri raised her hands.
“Zaydi!” There was a shout from the ship as Muntadhir pushed through the line of soldiers. He took in the sight of his bloodied brother in irons, an arrow aimed at his throat. Hatred twisted his handsome face, and he lunged forward. “You bastard!”
Jamshid grabbed him. “Muntadhir, don’t!”
Dara gave Muntadhir an incredulous look. “What are you doing aboard a warship? Are the ballasts filled with wine?”
Muntadhir let out an angry hiss. “Wait until my father arrives. We’ll see how bravely you talk then.”
Dara laughed. “Wait for my baba. The anthem of every Geziri hero.”
Muntadhir’s eyes flashed. He glanced back, seeming to judge how far the other ships were and then gestured angrily at the archers. “Why are your arrows pointed at him? Target the girl and see how fast the great Scourge surrenders.”
The smile vanished from Dara’s face. “Do that, and I will kill every last one of you.”
Ali immediately stepped in front of her. “She’s as innocent as I am, Dhiru.” She saw him glance at the other ships as well, seeming to make the same calculation as his brother.
And then it hit her. Of course they wanted to wait for Ghassan; Dara was completely defenseless in the face of Suleiman’s seal. If they delayed until the king arrived, he was doomed.
He did this to himself. Nahri knew that. But her mind flashed back to their journey, to the sorrow that constantly haunted him, his anguish when he talked about his family’s fate, the bloody memories of his time as a slave. He’d spent his life fighting for the Daevas against the Qahtanis. It was no small wonder he was desperate to save her from what must seem the worst possible fate.
And God, the thought of him in irons, dragged before the king, executed in front of a jeering crowd of djinn . . .
No. Never. She turned, a sudden heat in her chest. “Let him go,” she begged. “Please. Let him leave, and I’ll stay here. I’ll marry your brother. I’ll do whatever your family wants.”
Ali hesitated. “Nahri . . .”
“Please.” She grabbed his hand, willing the reluctance in his eyes to vanish. She couldn’t let Dara die. The thought alone broke her heart. “I beg you. That’s all I want,” she added, and at the moment, it was true, her only desire in the world. “I only wish for him to live.”
There was a moment of strange stillness on the ship. The air grew uncomfortably hot, the way it might at an approaching monsoon.
Dara let out a choked gasp. Nahri whirled around in time to see him stumble. His bow dipped in his hands as he frantically tried to catch his breath.
Horrified, she lurched toward him. Ali grabbed her arm as Dara’s ring suddenly blazed.
When he looked up, Nahri stifled a cry. Though Dara’s gaze was focused on her, there was no recognition in his bright eyes. There was nothing familiar in his face: his expression was wilder than it had been at Hierapolis, the look of something hunted and hurt.