Manizheh stepped closer to the mirrored table, picking up Nahri’s hair comb. “There’s someone else who might know where Ghassan would have kept Jamshid,” she said, running her fingers over the ivory teeth. “Someone who might also be able to tell us about Suleiman’s seal—and where his brother and wife would run if indeed they’re still alive.” She slipped the comb into one of her pockets. “I say it’s time we pay a visit to our former emir.”
3
NAHRI
Yaqub reentered the room, and dropped a shawl around her shoulders. “You look cold.”
Nahri drew the shawl closer. “Thank you.” It wasn’t particularly chilly in the apothecary’s cramped back storeroom—especially not at the side of a feverish, unconscious djinn—but Nahri hadn’t been able to stop shivering.
She dipped her compress into a bowl of cool peppermint-scented water, squeezed it, and then laid it flat upon Ali’s brow. He stirred but didn’t open his eyes, the cloth steaming where it touched his hot skin.
Still standing, Yaqub spoke again. “How long has he had the fever?”
Nahri pressed her fingers against Ali’s throat. His pulse was still too fast, though she’d swear it was a degree slower than it had been at the riverside. She prayed to God it was, anyway, clinging to Muntadhir’s warning that it would take the new seal-bearer a few days to adjust to the ring’s presence and praying this was all normal, not a consequence of taking the ring out of Daevabad.
“A day,” she answered.
“And his head …” Yaqub’s voice was uncertain. “You’ve bandaged it. Did he take a blow? If there’s a wound and it turned septic—”
“It didn’t.” Nahri wasn’t sure what a human would see if they looked at the glowing mark of Suleiman’s seal on Ali’s temple but had decided not to find out, ripping a strip from the bottom of her dress and tying it tight around his brow.
Gripping a new cane—it really had been a long time—Yaqub lowered himself to the ground beside her, carefully balancing another bowl. “I brought some broth from the butcher. He owed me a favor.”
Guilt stabbed through her. “You didn’t have to trade a favor for me.”
“Nonsense. Help me raise your mysterious companion a bit. He’s moving enough that you should try and get some liquid in him.”
Nahri lifted Ali’s shoulders, her arms still aching from the river. He mumbled something in his sleep, shivering like her, and her heart panged. Please don’t die, she begged silently as Yaqub slid another cushion behind him.
Yaqub wordlessly took over, coaxing a couple of spoonfuls of broth into Ali’s mouth and down his throat. “Not too much,” he instructed. “You don’t want him to choke.” His voice was gentle, like a man trying not to spook a nervous animal, and it touched Nahri almost as much as it embarrassed her. If she had feared him turning her away at the door, such worry had been entirely unfounded—the old pharmacist had taken one look at her with a sick man in her arms and invited her in without question.
He sat back. “My mind or my eyes must be going. Every time I look at him, he seems to vanish.”
“Odd,” Nahri replied, her voice strained. “He looks normal to me.”
Yaqub set down the bowl. “I always had the impression that you and normal did not quite fit. Now, I would ask if you’d like to get a proper doctor to see him and not just some batty old pharmacist, but I suspect that I already know the answer.”
Nahri shook her head. No human doctor was going to be able to help Ali, and she didn’t want either of them attracting undue attention. “No doctors.”
“Of course not. Why do something that would make sense?”
Ah, there was the old business partner she remembered. “I don’t want to get in trouble with anyone,” she retorted. “I don’t want you to get in trouble. It’s best if we lie low for now. And I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded on you like this. I’ll get the rest of this broth in him and then—”
“And then you’ll what? Drag an unconscious body around Cairo?” Yaqub asked drily. “No, you will both be staying right—” He jumped, staring in bewilderment at Ali. “He did it again,” he said. “I would swear he just vanished.”
“It’s your eyes. They start going at your age.” When Yaqub gave her an incredulous look, Nahri forced a pained smile. “But thank you for your offer of hospitality.”
Yaqub sighed. “You would return under such circumstances.” He climbed heavily to his feet, motioning for her to follow. “Come. Let whoever this is rest. You need to eat, and I have some questions.”
Apprehensive, Nahri nonetheless drew a light blanket over Ali and climbed to her feet. She straightened up, twisting her back to relieve her aching body. She felt so horribly frail.
It’s only temporary. Ali would wake up and lift the seal, they’d get their magic back and then they’d sort everything out.
They had to.
Nahri’s stomach grumbled as she passed through the door. Yaqub was correct about her hunger. She hadn’t eaten in a long time, her last meal spent in the hospital with Subha as they struggled to take care of the victims of the Navasatem attack.
By the Most High, was that only two days ago? A wave of fresh despair welled in Nahri’s chest. What would happen to Subha, her family, and the rest of the shafit in a city controlled by Manizheh and Dara, especially when their new Daeva rulers learned of the Navasatem attack? Might the doctor be shown mercy for having saved Daeva lives? Executed for her brazenness?
“Are you coming?” Yaqub called.
“Yes.” Nahri tried to distract herself from her fears, but being in Yaqub’s shop only shook up her emotions more. The apothecary looked like it had been plucked from her memories, as messy and warm as always. There were the old wooden work-bench and
