Nahri shook her head, dispelling the memory. She needed to remain focused. Dara’s skin was finally growing hot again, the muscles solidifying under her hands.
A dazzling court, the palace walls covered in precious metals and jewels. I breathe in the scent of sandalwood and bow. “Does this please you, my master?” I ask, my smile ingratiating as always. I snap my fingers, and a silver chalice appears in my hand. “The finest drink of the ancients as requested.” I hand the beaming human fool the chalice and wait for him to die, the drink little more than concentrated hemlock. Perhaps my next master will be more careful in the wording of his wishes.
Nahri shook free of the horrifying image. She bent down to concentrate. She just needed a little more time . . .
But it was too late. The darkness behind her closed eyes swept away again, replaced by a ruined city surrounded by rocky hills. A sliver of moon splashed dim light on broken masonry.
I thrash against the ifrit, dragging my feet on the ground as they pull me toward the sinkhole, the remains of an ancient well. Its dark water glimmers, hinting at hidden depths.
“No!” I scream, for once not caring about my honor. “Please! Don’t do this!”
The two ifrit laugh. “Come now, General Afshin!” The female offers a mock salute. “Don’t you want to live forever?”
I try to struggle, but the curse has already weakened me. They bind my wrists with rope, not bothering with iron, and then wrap the rope around one of the heavy stones lining the well.
“No!” I beg, as they haul me over the edge. “Not now! You don’t under—” The brick hits me in the stomach. Their black smiles are the last thing I see before the dark water closes over my face.
The brick plummets to the bottom of the well, dragging me along headfirst. I frantically twist my wrists, clawing and ripping at my skin. No, I can’t die like this. Not with the curse still on me!
The stone thuds against the bottom, my body bouncing against the rope. My lungs burn, the press of dark water against my skin terrifying. I follow the rope, trying desperately to find the knot tying it to the stone. My own magic is lost to me, the ifrit’s curse coursing through my blood, preparing to seize me as soon as I breathe my last.
I’m going to be a slave. The thought rings through my mind as I fumble for the knot. When I next open my eyes, it will be to look upon the human master to whose whims I’ll be entirely beholden. Horror surges through me. No, Creator, no. Please.
The knot won’t budge. My chest is collapsing, my head spinning. One breath, what I would do for just one breath . . .
There was a scream from another world, a faraway world on a snowy plain, shouting a strange name that meant nothing.
The water finally pries past my clenched jaws, pouring down my throat. A bright light blossoms before me, as lush and green as the valleys of my homeland. It beckons, warm and welcoming.
And then Nahri was gone.
“Nahri, wake up! Nahri!”
Dara’s terrified cries tugged at her mind, but Nahri ignored them, warm and comfortable in the thick blackness that surrounded her. She pushed away the hand shaking her shoulder, settling deeper into the hot coals and savoring the tickle of fire licking up her arms.
Fire?
Nahri had no sooner opened her eyes and seen a set of dancing flames than she shrieked and jumped up. She batted her arms and the fiery tendrils shimmied away, dropping to the ground like snakes and melting into the snow.
“It’s okay! It’s okay!”
Dara’s voice barely registered as she frantically swept her body. But instead of scorched flesh and burned clothes, she found only normal skin. Her tunic barely felt warm to the touch. What in the name of all . . . She glanced up, giving the daeva a wild look. “Did you light me on fire?”
“You wouldn’t wake!” he protested. “I thought it might help.” His face was paler than usual, the crossed wing and arrow tattoo on his face standing out like charcoal. And his eyes were brighter, closer to how they’d looked in Cairo. But he was standing up, healthy and whole, and mercifully not translucent.
The rukh . . . she remembered, her head feeling like she’d had too much wine. She rubbed her temples, unsteady on her feet. I healed him and then . . .
She gagged, the memory of water pouring down her throat strong enough to make her sick. But it hadn’t been her throat, hadn’t been her memory. She swallowed, taking in the sight of the anxious daeva again.
“God be merciful,” she whispered. “You’re dead. I saw you die . . . I felt you drown.”
The devastated shadow that overtook his face was confirmation enough. Nahri gasped and instinctively stepped back, bumping into the still warm body of the rukh.
No breath, no heartbeat. Nahri closed her eyes, everything coming together too fast. “I-I don’t understand,” she stammered. “Are you . . . are you some sort of ghost?” The word sounded ridiculous to her ears even as its implication broke her heart. Her eyes were suddenly wet. “Are you even alive?”
“Yes!” The words tumbled out in a rush. “I mean, I-I think so. It’s . . . it’s complicated.”
Nahri threw up her hands. “Whether or not you’re alive shouldn’t be complicated!” She turned away, linking her fingers behind her head and feeling wearier than she had at any point during their exhausting journey. She paced down the length of the rukh’s belly. “I don’t understand why every . . .” And then she stopped, distracted by the sight of something lashed to one of the rukh’s massive talons.
She was at the rukh’s foot in an instant, tearing the bundle from its ties. The black scrap of fabric was filthy and torn but the cheap coins were recognizable. As was the heavy gold ring tied to one end. The basha’s ring. She untied both, holding the ring up in the sunlight.
Dara hurried toward her. “Don’t touch that. Suleiman’s eye, Nahri, not even you could want those. They’re probably from its last victim.”
“They’re mine,” she said softly, quiet horror taking grip of her heart. She rubbed the ring, remembering how it had cut her palm so many weeks ago. “They’re from my home back in Cairo.”
“What?” Dara stepped closer and snatched the headdress from her hands. “You must be mistaken.” He turned the filthy fabric over and pressed it to his face, taking a deep breath.
“I’m not mistaken!” She dropped the ring, suddenly wanting nothing to do with it. “How is that possible?”
Dara lowered the headdress; there was panic in his bright eyes. “It was hunting us.”
“You mean it belonged to the ifrit? They broke into my home?” Nahri asked, her voice rising. Her skin crawled at the thought of those creatures in her tiny stall, rifling through the few precious things she owned. And what if that hadn’t been enough? What if they’d gone after her neighbors? After Yaqub? Her chest tightened.
“It wasn’t an ifrit. The ifrit can’t control rukhs.”
“Then what can?” Nahri didn’t like the cold stillness that had overtaken him.
“Peris.” He threw the headdress to the ground, the movement sudden and violent. “The only creatures who can control ruhks are peris.”
“Khayzur.” She took a shaky breath. “But why?” she stammered. “I thought he liked me.”