Tomb might have been an accurate word, because it was difficult not to feel trapped. Jamshid and Nahri were guarded day and night, delivered to the library after a sunrise breakfast and staying through the evening. It was ostensibly their choice to spend every minute scouring the Nahid texts for ways to take down Manizheh and Dara, but it still felt too much like Daevabad. Nahri hated needing guards, but she feared the stares—both curious and hostile—of the castle’s soldiers more.
Then perhaps you should protect yourself and marry the prince they all adore.
It was not the first time the thought had occurred to her. Hatset’s offer had buried itself under Nahri’s skin as it had most certainly been meant to. And Nahri hated it. She couldn’t look at Ali, whose company she badly missed, without worrying about the whispers it would provoke. Without wondering whether Hatset had suggested such a marriage to him, and if he found himself just as torn between duty and politics and useless, messy feelings.
“Oh … oh, this is interesting,” Jamshid said, excitement rising in his voice.
Happy to be pulled from her thoughts, Nahri sat up. “Does it tell us how to immobilize overly powerful Afshin warriors and restore magic to the entire djinn world?”
Jamshid’s face fell. He’d long abandoned his serious scholar pose of sitting at the desk and was now lying on his stomach, propped up on bent elbows. “Well, no. But it mentions that the Nahids were beginning to have trouble controlling the marid and traveling through the lake.” He frowned. “It says the marid asked to be released, but that doesn’t make sense. We weren’t controlling them. The stories say they helped Anahid build the city and brought tribute, but …”
“Dear brother, if there is anything I have learned since summoning a daeva, it’s that those in power have a rather biased view of how they treat the people who ‘bring’ them tribute.”
“Fair point.” Jamshid glanced up with a grin. “I like when you call me that. Awful, awful extenuating circumstances aside, I’m glad to have learned of at least one secret relative.” He sighed. “Though the fight I’m going to have with my father when I see him again …”
You will answer for the choice you just made. Not tonight. Not to me … but you will answer. Kaveh’s words played in Nahri’s memory—the threat he’d voiced after she refused to lure Ali to his death to save Jamshid.
Her throat caught. “I’m sure.”
Jamshid glanced down at his book and then blanched. “Suleiman’s eye … apparently they stopped traveling through the lake because Nahids who tried ended up washing up on the beach with their body parts rearranged—sometimes still alive. It says the water was entirely cursed shortly after, and that was the last time anyone heard from the marid.” He turned the page. “Oh. There’s a drawing. How … thorough.”
Nahri held her tongue. Another secret. She hadn’t spoken to Ali about the marid since they arrived in Ta Ntry—mostly because she was avoiding him, but she wasn’t spilling his most dangerous secret, not even to her brother.
She changed the subject. “I wonder if that’s how we ended up in Egypt. If I unknowingly transported Ali and myself using the lake’s magic.”
“It might have been, if Egypt was on your mind,” Jamshid said distractedly. He turned another page, handling the delicate parchment as though it were the wing of a butterfly. “I still can’t believe these books have been here all this time. When I think of the good they could have done back in Daevabad, actually being read and studied in the Grand Temple instead of being locked up to gather dust …” He shook his head, bitterness creasing his face. “What else doesn’t our tribe know about its history and culture because our enemies robbed us of our heritage?”
“Probably a lot.”
Jamshid sat up, quickly glancing at the door. “Then can I ask you something?” When Nahri nodded, he continued. “Are you sure, really sure, that we’re going down the right path?”
“Jamshid, we’ve discussed this. And you agreed—”
“I didn’t. I said that I’d listen, and I’m trying, Nahri. I’m really trying. But every day we’re locked in here like prisoners, and I read about our stolen past …” He turned to her, his eyes seeking understanding. “You are the cleverest person I know, and I trust you. But when I look at our guards, I see Ghassan’s thugs. I see soldiers who broke into Daeva homes and beat Daeva men when they were drunk and didn’t like the look of someone passing them on the street.”
“And do you not think they feel the same? That some of them look at us and see the ‘fire worshippers’ who murdered their friends in the Citadel? This was never going to be easy.”
“I know, but …” Jamshid ran his hands over his face. “My whole life, I never imagined there could be anything different. The Daevas had been crushed by the Qahtanis for centuries before I was born. It would continue for centuries after. It was inevitable. Even Muntadhir—the man I loved, who I prayed might be kinder—was getting pulled into it. And now?” he whispered. “It’s under Daeva rule again. Like it was in the glory age of these books. It feels like maybe we’re fools to consider undoing that.”
A chill raced down Nahri’s back. “It wasn’t a glory age for everyone, Jamshid. You speak as though there are only djinn and Daevas in Daevabad. What about the shafit? How do you
