Stop. Nahri was still a prisoner after all, married to Muntadhir, under Hatset’s thumb, and surrounded by enemies. She had only one person who she trusted, and she could not conceive of a more spectacular way to blow that up than to indulge in her current line of thinking.
Even so, she walked over to the balcony, stopping at the doors and sticking a hand out just far enough to catch a couple of drops. “There. I’ve joined you.”
Ali didn’t seem to notice her sarcasm. “These rains travel so far,” he mused. “Over the mountains and plains, the islands, and the great ocean of Tiamat. Can you imagine taking that journey year after year, for millennia? Eons? All the things you would see. My, you might even fly to Daevabad’s lake on those clouds.”
“I can’t say I can put myself in the mind of a traveling raindrop, no.”
Ali swished a hand over the wet railing, sending a spray of water to the garden below. “Imagine it being disrupted, then. A routine you’d kept since the dawn of time suddenly denied the sweet embrace that once ended it.”
The sweet embrace? “Ali, forgive the question, but have you been drinking?”
The sound of his laughter mingled with the rain lashing against the castle walls. “Maybe I’m trying to loosen up.”
Without warning, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her to his side. Nahri yelped in outrage, instantly soaked to her skin. The balcony had flooded, water rushing over her slippers.
“This is supposed to be enjoyable?” she yelled over the sound of the pouring rain, blinking madly. “I can barely see!”
“So close your eyes.”
The wind whipped through her wet hair, and Nahri gave the ground an uneasy look. Rain rushed by in gushing torrents of red-brown mud. It wasn’t that far a drop, but a fall would hurt, and the balcony’s railing was low.
“I don’t want to close my eyes. We’re high up, and it’s slippery. I don’t need to trip and go flying—”
“I won’t let you trip.” Ali’s hands circled her waist, pulling her close. “Trust that I want you here.”
Every inappropriate thought Nahri had had in the bedroom came surging back. She could feel the heat of his hands through her soaked dress, her heart hammering against her chest. Startled, she glanced up, looking to see some sort of explanation in his face.
Nothing. Ali’s eyes were still closed, the same oddly playful—and deeply out of character—smile on his rain-dotted lips. He looked more at ease than Nahri had ever seen him.
He looked inviting.
He’s not the only one who’s ever looked inviting. Six years ago, Nahri had kissed a handsome warrior just beyond the pouring rain on a whim, giving in to a wave of desire. And what resulted between them had nearly destroyed her.
“We should go back inside,” Nahri blurted out. “And then leave. My bedroom, I mean. We should leave my bedroom. People will talk.”
A pout twisted his face, and now Nahri really did wonder if someone had spiked his drink—Alizayd al Qahtani did not pout.
“I do not wish to leave.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “I am very content here with you.”
Alarm sparked through her. As undeniably pleasant as the unspooling of heat was in her belly, there was something clearly wrong with her friend. “I don’t think we should …” Nahri tried to disentangle herself.
Ali’s grip tightened.
If something seemed wrong before, the fact that he didn’t let her go sent warning bells ringing in her mind. This was not the man she knew. “Ali, let me go.”
He laughed, but there was no warmth in the sound now. “No, I do not think I will.” He dropped his head and then finally opened his eyes.
They were a churning mirror of the storm-dark monsoon sky.
Nahri instantly tried to jerk away. “Marid,” she whispered.
Ali let out a giggle that was almost childish. “Oh, but I had you!” He held Nahri out, his wild eyes taking her in. “My, you are lovely. Sobek’s exact type. Whatever agreement he had with your kin must have been very strong for him not to have snapped you right up,” he said, clicking his teeth.
“Let me go,” she demanded, trying to wrench free. “What have you done to Ali?”
He rolled his eyes. “Your Ali is fine. Well, no, he is not. He is screaming and begging me not to hurt you.” Ali—whatever was in Ali—suddenly paused, cocking his head as if listening to a hidden voice. “What an unnecessarily vicious threat, mortal.” He shoved a hand in Nahri’s hair, yanking her close again. “He really is besotted with you, you know. He has wanted this for so long, aching to touch you, to taste you—” He pushed her away. “The irony is rich enough for one of the stories your people like to spin.”
Nahri fell hard to the floor, splashing against the flooded stone. “Let him go.”
Ali grinned, but it wasn’t his smile. It was malevolent and twisted, and it shattered her to see it on his face. “Give me your name, daughter of Anahid, and I’ll be gone from him in the next breath. Take me to your Daevabad, let me sink its filthy streets below the water, and I’ll return you both to Cairo, wipe your memories of magic, and let you live as happy little mortals in your apothecary. It’s what you really want, isn’t it?” His voice rose in a high-pitched copy of hers. “We could have a life here together, Ali. A good one.”
More fury than shame boiled in her. Nahri shoved herself back to her feet. “Who are
