She opened her mouth to mock his reluctant affection for the “dirt-blood thief” and then stopped, struck by the soft edge to his voice and the way he was anxiously twisting his ring. Dara looked as nervous as a prospective bridegroom. He was telling the truth.
Nahri stared at him, catching sight of the sword at his waist. His silver bow gleamed in the morning light. No matter the disturbing things that occasionally came out of his mouth, he was a good ally to have.
She’d be lying if she said her gaze didn’t linger a moment longer than necessary. Her heart skipped a beat. Ally, she reminded herself. Nothing more.
“And how do you expect to be greeted in Daevabad?” she asked. Dara looked up, a wry smile on his face. “You mentioned being locked up in a dungeon,” she reminded him.
“Then how fortunate I travel with Cairo’s premier picker of locks.” He gave her a wicked grin before spurring his horse. “Try to keep up. It seems I cannot afford to lose you now.”
They traveled throughout the morning, racing along the frost-encrusted plains, their horses’ hooves loud against the frozen ground. The snow cleared, but the wind kicked up, sweeping rolling gray clouds over the southern horizon and whipping through Nahri’s garments. With the snow gone, she could see the blue mountains surrounding them, capped by ice and belted by dark forests, the trees growing sparser as the rocky cliffs rose. At one point, they startled a group of wild goats grown fat on grass, with thick, matted coats and sharply curved horns.
She eyed them hungrily. “Do you think you could get one?” she asked Dara. “All you do with that bow of yours is polish it.”
He glanced at the goats with a frown. “Get one? Why?” His confusion turned to revulsion. “You mean to eat?” He made a disgusted sound. “Absolutely not. We don’t eat meat.”
“What? Why not?” Meat had been a rare luxury on her limited income in Cairo. “It’s delicious!”
“It’s unclean.” Dara shuddered. “Blood pollutes. No Daeva would consume such a thing. And especially not a Banu Nahida.”
“A Banu Nahida?”
“The title we give to female Nahid leaders. A position of honor,” he added, a little chiding in his voice. “Of responsibility.”
“So you’re telling me I should hide my kebabs?”
Dara sighed.
They kept riding, but Nahri’s legs were aching by the afternoon. She twisted in her saddle to stretch her cramping muscles and pulled the blanket tighter, wishing for a cup of Khayzur’s hot spiced tea. They’d been traveling for hours; certainly it was time for a break. She kicked her heels against the horse’s side, trying to close the distance between her and Dara so she could suggest they stop.
Annoyed by his inexperienced rider, her horse snorted and skidded to the left before galloping forward and passing Dara.
He laughed. “Having some problems?”
Nahri cursed and yanked back on the reins, pulling her horse into a walk. “I think it hates—” She stopped speaking, her eyes drawn toward a dark crimson smudge in the sky. “Ya, Dara . . . have I gone mad or is there a bird the size of a camel flying toward us?”
The daeva whirled around, then pulled to a stop with a curse, snatching the reins from her hands. “Suleiman’s eye. I don’t think it’s seen us yet, but . . .” He looked worried. “There’s no place to hide.”
“Hide?” she asked, lowering her voice when Dara hushed her. “Why? It’s just a bird.”
“No, it’s a rukh. Bloodthirsty creatures; they’ll eat anything they find.”
“Anything? You mean like us?” She groaned when he nodded. “Why does everything in your world want to eat us?”
Dara carefully pulled his bow free as he watched the rukh circle the forest. “I think it’s found our camp.”
“Is that bad?”
“They have an excellent sense of smell. It will be able to track us.” Dara inclined his head to the north, toward the thickly forested mountains. “We need to reach those trees. Rukh are too large to hunt in the forest.”
Nahri glanced back at the bird, which had drifted closer to the ground, and then at the edge of the forest. It was impossibly far. “We’ll never make it.”
Dara pulled off his turban, cap, and robe and tossed them to her. Puzzled, Nahri watched as he secured his sword to his waist. “Don’t be such a pessimist. I have an idea. Something I heard about in a story.” He nocked one of his gleaming silver arrows. “Just stay low and hold on to your horse. Don’t look back, and don’t stop. No matter what you see.” He pulled on her reins, jerked her horse in the right direction, and urged both animals into a trot.
She swallowed, her heart in her throat. “What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Before she could protest, Dara smacked her horse’s rump hard. She could feel the heat of his hand from her saddle; the animal whinnied in protest and bolted toward the forest.
Nahri threw herself forward, one hand clutching the saddle and the other wrapped in the horse’s damp mane. It took every bit of self-control not to scream. Her body bounced wildly, and she tightened her legs, desperately hoping that she wouldn’t be thrown off. She caught a brief glimpse of the racing ground before squeezing her eyes shut.
A long cry pierced the air, so high-pitched it seemed to tear right through her. Unable to cover her ears, Nahri could only pray. Oh, Merciful One, she begged, please don’t let this thing eat me. She’d survived a body-possessing ifrit, ravenous ghouls, and a deranged daeva. This couldn’t end with her being gobbled up by an overgrown pigeon.
Nahri peeked up from the horse’s mane, but the forest didn’t look much closer. Her horse’s hooves beat against the ground, and she could hear it panting. And where was Dara?
The rukh screeched again, sounding furious. Worried about the daeva, she ignored his warning and glanced back.
“God preserve me.” The whispered prayer came unbidden to her lips at the sight of the rukh. She suddenly knew why she’d never heard of them.
No one survived to tell the tale.
Camel size was a terrible understatement; larger than Yaqub’s shop and with a wingspan that would have covered the length of her street in Cairo, the monstrous bird probably snacked on camels. It had ebony eyes the size of platters and glittering feathers the color of wet blood. Its long black beak ended in a sharply curved tip. It looked big enough to swallow her whole, and it was closing in. There was no way she’d make it to the forest.
Dara suddenly veered into view behind her. His boots jammed against the stirrups, he was damn near standing on the horse, turned around to face the rukh. He drew back his bow, unleashing an arrow that hit the beast just below its eye. The rukh jerked its head back and shrieked again. At least a dozen silver arrows pierced its body, but they didn’t slow it in the slightest. Dara shot it twice more in the face, and the rukh dove for him, its massive talons outstretched.
“Dara!” she screamed as the daeva made a sharp eastward turn. The rukh followed, apparently preferring a reckless daeva to a fleeing human.
There was little chance he could hear her over the rukh’s enraged shrieks, but she couldn’t help but shout, “You’re going the wrong way!” There was nothing east but flat plains—was he trying to get himself killed?