Indigo-colored swells blossomed and faded in his eyes, reflecting the roiling clouds. “I am the marid of the monsoon,” he explained, touching his fingers in a mocking attempt at the Daeva blessing. “An early monsoon this season, for I am also the most loyal servant of Tiamat, and she has sent me to discover just who has been causing our people so many problems.”
It was raining so hard that Nahri must have missed the sound of the door opening, but suddenly she heard Jamshid’s muffled voice, calling from the bedroom.
“Nahri? Nahri, listen, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, but—”
Ali was at her side in a flash. He seized her arm, pressed a knife—one of Fiza’s—to her throat, and then stepped with her into the bedroom.
Her brother froze.
“Shut your mouth,” the marid said coldly. “Close the door and come in, or I’ll cut her throat.”
Jamshid kicked the door shut and then stalked over, his gaze burning. “I’m going to kill you.”
Nahri tried to object. “It’s not—”
The marid clapped a hand over her mouth. “You’ll forgive your sister,” he said. “Poor girl’s had such a difficult past few months.”
Jamshid glared. “What do you want, al Qahtani?”
The knife pressed closer to her throat. “I want you to kill yourself.”
Jamshid’s eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”
“Kill yourself. Take a running dive off the balcony, and I’ll let her go. You were willing to die for my brother. Certainly you’d make the same sacrifice for your sister.”
Jamshid shook his head, looking more horrified now than angry. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“No, I’ve lost my home and seen my kin enslaved.” The marid abruptly released her, raising Ali’s arms as if to admire them. “And an old cousin has done something very foolish in a halfhearted attempt at mercy.”
Nahri scrambled away. “There’s a marid possessing him.”
Jamshid grabbed her. “A marid?”
Ali clucked his tongue. “She’s been keeping a lot of secrets from you.” His alien gaze turned to her. “Shall we tell him the other one?”
No. “Please,” she begged.
His expression grew vicious. “We begged too, once, but your ancestors did not care.” He tilted his head. “Well, some of your ancestors. The human ones had nothing to do with it—they were likely living their simple lives along your Nile, worshipping Sobek.”
“Who the hell is Sobek?” Jamshid sounded utterly baffled. “And what human ones? What are you talking about?”
Ali grinned at Nahri as though they were in on some great joke together. “I suppose you were the one to get your mother’s cleverness.” He turned back to Jamshid, slowing his speech like he might have been talking to a child. “Your sister is a … what is the word your people use? ‘Dirt-blood’ sounds so cruel.”
Jamshid’s gaze darted to hers. “Wait … you’re shafit?” And then Nahri saw it, her brother connecting the dots—the regret, the pity Nahri had never wanted to watch fill his eyes. “Oh, Nahri …”
The marid was cackling. “Surprise!”
But if the marid had thought to divide them with that revelation, he’d clearly picked the wrong brother. Jamshid pushed her firmly behind him in the direction of the door. “Nahri, run. I’ll handle this.”
“Run?” The marid sounded disappointed. “I was really hoping for far more of a fight. Anahid would have ripped me from this body by now and sent me fleeing into the clouds. A shame you broke her magic.”
The goading in his voice was the last straw. “Surely you didn’t disrupt your ten-thousand-year-old voyage across the ocean just to toy with a bunch of mortals,” Nahri accused. “So why don’t you just tell us what you want?”
“I want you dead,” the marid replied, and in Ali’s sincere voice, the words cut even deeper. “I want every one of you who carries fire in their veins dead, and I want your city destroyed. Alas, my people cannot seem to accomplish those goals without making it worse for ourselves.”
“Maybe you’re not as clever as you think.”
The marid abruptly turned the knife inward, pressing the point against Ali’s throat. Nahri tried to lurch for him, but Jamshid held her back.
“And maybe I am. Careful, Nahid,” the marid warned. “You forget I see what he has lived through. I know how to hurt you.”
“Is that the point of this, then? To hurt us?”
“Oh no. I was sent to investigate the strange happenings in the waters of this land and why it was my cousin Sobek refused our summons.” The marid dragged the knife down Ali’s neck. A thin line of glistening blood traced the blade’s path—it was killing Nahri not to grab it out of his hands. “Torturing two Nahids is mere enjoyment.”
He smashed the hilt of the knife into Ali’s face. Blood burst from his nose.
“Help!” the marid bellowed. “Guards!”
Any hope that the soldiers who constantly shadowed Jamshid had decided to take a coffee break vanished the moment the doors burst inward, two armed men charging in.
The guards’ eyes went wide, darting between Nahri, standing disheveled with her hair loose near the bed, a bleeding Ali, and a visibly enraged Daeva brother.
“Prince Alizayd!”
Ali pointed wildly at Jamshid. “The fire worshipper attacked me. I want him dead!”
Nahri lunged forward. “That’s not true!”
“Kill him!” the marid shrieked. “Kill—” And then Ali let out a strangled cry, falling to his knees. A squall-colored mist burst from his skin, and then a hint of familiar gray dashed across his eyes.
“Nahri,” Ali said, choking out her name. “The river,” he gasped. “The creek. S-Sobek. Get So—” His words turned into a bloodcurdling scream, his back arching as the mist dashed back into his body.
When Ali looked at her again, it was with the hate-filled gaze of the monsoon marid.
Thunder crashed in Nahri’s ears, a gust of wind bursting into the room and drenching them all. The rain pelted her, hard enough to hurt. The guards cried out, Jamshid moved to protect her …
But Nahri wasn’t wasting another minute.
She ran, knocking aside her brother’s hand and dodging the marid when he lunged for her. Nahri didn’t stop running
