“You’re awake.” Dara smiled, looking relieved. “Finally. Feeling any better?”
“Not really,” Nahri grumbled. She took a sip of the tea and then made a face, setting it down on a low mirrored table beside her. She swiped at a few of the wild strands of hair sticking to her face as Dara approached. She could only imagine what she looked like. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Since yesterday.” He sat down beside her. Dara certainly looked well rested. He’d bathed and shaved and was dressed in a long pine green coat that set off his bright eyes. He wore new boots, and as he moved she caught sight of the saddlebag he placed on the ground.
The coat and shoes took on a new meaning. Nahri narrowed her eyes. “Are you going somewhere?”
His smile faded. “Lady Nisreen,” he asked, turning to the older woman. “Forgive me . . . but would you mind perhaps giving us a moment alone?”
Nisreen arched one black eyebrow. “Were things so different in your time, Afshin, that you’d be left alone with an unmarried Daeva girl?”
He pressed a hand against his heart. “I promise I mean nothing scandalous.” He smiled again, a slightly rakish grin that made Nahri’s heart skip a beat. “Please.”
Nisreen apparently wasn’t immune to the handsome warrior’s charms either. Something in her face collapsed even as her cheeks grew a bit pink. She sighed. “One moment, Afshin.” She rose to her feet. “I should probably go check on the workers restoring the infirmary. We’ll want to begin training as soon as possible.”
Training? Nahri’s head pounded harder. She’d hoped to have at least a brief respite in Daevabad after their exhausting journey. Overwhelmed, she merely nodded.
“But, Banu Nahida . . .” Nisreen paused at the door and glanced back, concern in her black eyes. “Please take better care around the Qahtanis,” she warned gently. “Around anyone not of our tribe.” She left, closing the door behind her.
Dara turned back to Nahri. “I like her.”
“You would,” Nahri replied. She gestured again to his boots and bag. “Tell me why you’re dressed like you’re going somewhere.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m going after the ifrit.”
Nahri blinked at him. “You’ve lost your mind. Being back in this city has actually driven you insane.”
Dara shook his head. “The Qahtanis’ story about your origins and the ifrit doesn’t make sense, Nahri. The timeline, this supposed curse affecting your appearance . . . the pieces don’t fit.”
“Who cares? Dara, we’re alive. That’s all that matters!”
“It’s not all that matters,” he argued. “Nahri, what if . . . what if there was some truth in what Aeshma said about your mother?”
Nahri gaped. “Did you not hear what the king said happened to her?”
“What if he was lying?”
She threw up her hands. “Dara, for the love of God. You’re looking for any reason to distrust these people, and for what? To go on some half-baked quest?”
“It’s not half-baked,” Dara said quietly. “I didn’t tell the Qahtanis the truth about Khayzur.”
Nahri went cold. “What do you mean?”
“Khayzur didn’t free me. He found me.” Dara’s bright eyes met her shocked ones. “He found me twenty years ago, covered in blood, barely aware, and wandering the same part of Daevastana in which your relatives supposedly met their end . . . an end you must have just escaped.” He reached his hand out, grasping hers. “And then twenty years later—using a magic I still don’t understand—you called me to your side.”
He squeezed her hand, and she was acutely aware of his touch, his palm hard and calloused against her own. “Maybe the Qahtanis aren’t lying, maybe that’s the truth as far as they are aware. But the ifrit knew something—and right now that’s all we have.” There was a hint of pleading in his voice. “Someone brought me back, Nahri. Someone saved you. I have to know.”
“Dara, do you not remember how easily they defeated us at the Gozan?” Her voice broke in fear.
“I’m not going to get myself killed,” he assured her. “Ghassan’s giving me two dozen of his best men. And as much as it pains me to say this, the Geziris are good soldiers. Fighting seems to be the only thing they do well. Trust me when I say I wish I did not have the experience to know this.”
She threw him a dark look. “Yes, you might have mentioned your past in a bit greater detail before we got here, Dara. A rebellion?”
He flushed. “It’s a long story.”
“It always seems to be, with you.” Her voice grew bitter. “So that’s it, then? You’re just going to leave me here with these people?”
“It won’t be long, Nahri, I swear. And you’ll be perfectly safe. I’m taking their emir.” His face twisted. “I made it quite clear to the king that if something happened to you, his son would suffer the same.”
She could only imagine how well that conversation had gone over. And she knew part of what Dara was saying made logical sense, but God, did the thought of being alone in this foreign city, surrounded by scheming djinn with unknown grievances, terrify her. She couldn’t conceive of doing this alone, of waking without Dara beside her, of passing her days without his gruff advice and obnoxious comments.
And surely he was underestimating the danger. This was the man who’d jumped down the gullet of a rukh with the vague notion of killing it from the inside. She shook her head. “What of the marid, Dara, and the peris? Khayzur said they were after you.”
“I’m hoping they’re already gone.” Nahri raised her brow, incredulous, but he continued. “They’re not going to come after a large party of djinn. They can’t. There are laws between our races.”
“That didn’t stop them before.” Her eyes stung. This was all too much, too fast.
His face fell. “Nahri, I have to do this . . . oh, please don’t cry,” he begged as she lost the fight against the tears she was trying to hold in check. He brushed them from her cheek, his fingers hot against her skin. “You won’t even know I’m gone. There’s so much to steal here that your attention will be thoroughly occupied.”
The joke did little to improve her mood. She averted her gaze, suddenly embarrassed. “Fine,” she remarked flatly. “After all, you brought me to the king. That’s all you promised—”
“Stop.” Nahri startled as his hands suddenly cupped her face. He leveled his gaze on hers, and her heart skipped a beat.
But Dara went no further—though there was no denying the flash of regret in his eyes as his thumb lightly brushed her lower lip. “I’m coming back, Nahri,” he promised. “You’re my Banu Nahida. This is my city.” His expression was defiant. “Nothing will keep me from either of you.”
17
Ali
The boat before Ali was made of pure bronze and large enough to hold a dozen men. Beams of sunlight undulated across its gleaming surface, reflected off the distant lake below. The hinges holding the boat to the wall creaked hoarsely as it swayed in the breeze. They were ancient; the bronze boat had been hanging here for nearly two thousand years.