His fingers had just closed around it when the lizard-hide scroll gave a great bellow. Ali scrambled back, though not in time to avoid the sudden gust of wind that shot him out of the shelf like a cannonball, with enough force to throw him across the room. He landed hard on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs.
Nahri’s worried face hovered over his. “Are you all right?”
Ali touched the back of his head and winced. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I meant to do that.”
“Sure you did.” She glanced nervously at the shelf. “Should we . . .”
From the direction of the shelf, there came the sound of a distinctly papery snore. “We’re fine.” He raised the papyrus scroll. “I don’t think this one’s companion wanted to be disturbed.”
Nahri shook her head. Her hand flew to her mouth, and Ali realized she was trying to stifle a laugh.
“What?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry.” Her black eyes were bright with amusement. “It’s just . . .” She made a sweeping motion over Ali’s body.
He glanced down and then flushed. A thick layer of ancient dust covered his dishdasha and coated his hands and face. He coughed, sending up a bloom of fine powder.
Nahri held her hand out for the scroll. “Why don’t I take that?”
Embarrassed, Ali handed it over and climbed to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes.
Too late, he saw the snake stamped in the ancient wax seal.
“Wait, Nahri, don’t!”
But she’d already slipped a finger under the seal. She cried out, dropping the torch as the scroll flew from her other hand. It unfurled in the air, a glittering snake dashing from its depths. The torch hit the sandy ground and sputtered out, leaving them in darkness.
Ali acted on instinct, pulling Nahri behind him and drawing his zulfiqar. Flames danced up the copper blade, illuminating the archive with green-tinged light. In the opposite corner, the snake hissed. It was growing larger as they watched, gold and green bands striping a body the color of midnight. Already twice his height and thicker than a muskmelon, it loomed overhead, baring curved fangs that dripped with crimson blood.
Nahri’s blood. Ali charged as it reared back to strike again. The snake was fast, but it had been created to deal with human thieves, and Ali was certainly not that. He lopped off the snake’s head with a single strike of his zulfiqar, and then stepped back, breathing hard as it hit the dust.
“What . . .” Nahri exhaled. “. . . in the name of God was that thing?”
“An apep.” Ali extinguished his zulfiqar, wiping the blade on his dishdasha before shoving it back in its sheath. The sword was far too dangerous to keep out in such close quarters. “I’d forgotten the ancient Egyptians were rumored to be rather . . . creative in protecting their texts.”
“Perhaps we let someone who has a little more familiarity with the library retrieve the next scroll?”
“No argument here.” Ali crossed back to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked, raising a fistful of flames. “Did it bite you?”
Nahri made a face. “I’m okay.” She held out her hand. Her thumb was bloody, but as Ali watched, the two swollen wounds where the snake’s fangs had penetrated shrank and then vanished under the smooth skin.
“Wow,” he whispered in awe. “That really is extraordinary.”
“Maybe.” She shot the dancing flames in his palm a jealous look. “But I wouldn’t mind being able to do that.”
Ali laughed. “You heal from the bite of a cursed snake in moments, and you’re jealous of a few flames? Anyone with a bit of magic can do this.”
“I can’t.”
He didn’t believe that for a moment. “Have you tried?”
Nahri shook her head. “I can barely wrap my mind around the healing magic, even with all of Nisreen’s help. I wouldn’t know where to begin with anything else.”
“Then try with me,” Ali offered. “It’s easy. Just let the heat of your skin sort of . . . ignite, and move your hand like you might snap your fingers. But with fire.”
“Not the most helpful explanation.” But she raised her hand, squinting her eyes as she concentrated. “Nothing.”
“Say the word. In Divasti,” he clarified. “Later, you’ll be able to simply think it, but for beginners, it’s often easier to perform incantations out loud in your native tongue.”
“All right.” Nahri stared at her hand again with a frown. “Azar,” she repeated, sounding annoyed. “See? Nothing.”
But Ali didn’t give up easily. He motioned toward the stony shelves. “Touch them.”
“Touch them?”
He nodded. “You are in the palace of your ancestors, a place molded by Nahid magic. Draw from the stone like you would water from a well.”
Nahri looked thoroughly unconvinced but followed him, placing her hand in the spot he indicated. She took a deep breath and then raised her other palm.
“Azar. Azar!” She snapped, loud enough to dislodge some dust from the nearest shelf. When her hand remained empty, she shook her head. “Forget it. It’s not as if I’m having any success with anything else. I don’t see why this would be any different.” She started to drop her hand.
Ali stopped her.
Her eyes flashed at the same time his mind caught up with his actions. Fighting a wave of embarrassment, he nevertheless kept her hand pressed against the wall.
“You tried twice,” he chided. “That’s nothing. Do you know how long it took for me to call up flames on my zulfiqar?” He stepped back. “Try again.”
She let out an annoyed huff but didn’t drop her hand. “Fine. Azar.”
There wasn’t even a spark; her face twisted with disappointment. Ali hid his own frown, knowing this should have been easy for someone like Nahri. He chewed the inside of his lip, trying to think.
And then it came to him. “Try it in Arabic.”
She looked surprised. “In Arabic? You really think a human language is going to call up magic?”
“It’s one that has meaning to you.” Ali shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to try.”
“I suppose not.” She wiggled her fingers, staring at her hand. “Naar.”
The dusty air above her open palm smoked. Her eyes widened. “Did you see that?”
He grinned. “Again.”
She needed no convincing now. “Naar. Naar. Naar!” Her face fell. “I just had it!”
“Keep going,” he urged. He had an idea. As Nahri opened her mouth, Ali spoke again, suspecting that what he said next would likely end either with her conjuring up a flame or punching him in the face. “What do you think Darayavahoush is up to today?”
Nahri’s eyes flashed with outrage—and the air above her palm burst into fire.
“Don’t let it go out!” Ali grabbed her wrist again before she could smother it, holding her fingers out to let the little flame breathe. “It won’t hurt you.”
“By the Most High . . . ,” she gasped. Firelight danced across her face, reflecting in her black eyes, and setting the gold ornaments holding her chador in place aglow.