“The tide will be coming in soon,” he said. “I think I should go.”
The blunt reminder that they’d done all this only for Ali to still have to surrender himself to some demonic colossus at the bottom of the sea set despair sweeping through Nahri again. She rose to her feet, trying to force some professional distance into her voice. “How are you feeling?”
A little relief entered Ali’s expression as he rubbed the spot above his heart. “Like the world’s worst thorn was removed.”
Jamshid squeezed Nahri’s hand. “I’ll come find you after.”
But Ali caught Jamshid’s wrist as he attempted to pass. “Thank you, Baga Nahid.”
Jamshid bit his lip, looking like he was contemplating a sarcastic response, but then he simply nodded. “You’re welcome. And good luck, Alizayd.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Ali eyed the table they’d only half cleaned up. “That looks like a lot more blood than was expected.”
Nahri paused, not wanting to delve back into the terror she’d felt watching him die before her eyes. “It got a little complicated.”
He drifted nearer but stayed out of arm’s reach. “I knew it wanted you,” he said, nodding to the ring on her thumb. His lips quirked in amusement, but in his expression Nahri saw poorly concealed grief at the good-bye they both knew he’d returned to say. “How many times have you saved me now?”
“I told you that you’d never get out of my debt.”
“May I confess something?” Ali gazed at her in open sorrow. “I never really wanted to be out of your debt.”
The floor seemed to move beneath her. “Ali—”
“Wait. Please. Please just let me say this.” When Nahri exhaled, letting her silence stretch out, Ali continued. “I don’t regret kissing you. I know it was wrong. I won’t do it again. Yet I cannot make myself regret it. But the way we started, how I stopped—I didn’t want you to think that … that it was impulsive. That I didn’t want it.” He dropped his gaze. “That I haven’t wanted it for a very long time.”
Nahri was going to cry. She was going to scream. This still didn’t seem real; his fate monumentally unfair and almost too awful to truly contemplate. Yet Nahri checked the anguish threatening to tear her apart. He didn’t need anything else to worry about. “I don’t regret it either, Ali.”
He glanced up, looking close to tears as well. “I’m glad,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do things the proper way by you. Sorry that we couldn’t …” He trailed off, stumbling on the words.
Nahri should have offered them. But she couldn’t. Because if Nahri said those words, she knew he was never going to come back. She knew what happened when she dared to have hopes and dreams.
They got broken.
Instead she took two steps forward and flung her arms around his neck. She didn’t kiss him—she would respect the line Ali had drawn—but she clutched him close, not missing the cool wetness on her cheek. She couldn’t have said which of them was crying.
“Come back,” she begged. “Cut a deal with Tiamat. Flatter her sea snakes, or throw yourself on Sobek’s mercy. Don’t be stupid or reckless or proud. Give her what she wants, Ali, and come back to me.”
He was trembling. “I’ll try.”
Nahri broke away, giving him a fierce look. “No, promise me. Promise me you’ll come back.”
Ali stared down at her. She expected him to say there was no way he could honor such an impossible promise. That he’d already given to Nahri the one thing they knew Tiamat desired.
“I promise,” he whispered.
There was a knock on the door. “Zaydi,” Wajed called. The old warrior sounded heartsick. “It’s time.”
Ali stepped back, but his fingers stayed tangled in Nahri’s for a moment longer. “About Daevabad …”
“We’ve got it,” she said with the most confident smile she could muster—she was still the better liar. She squeezed his hand. “Jamshid and your mother and I. Don’t worry about us.”
“There was never a more capable group.” Ali brushed his thumb over the ring on her finger and then released her hands. “May the fires burn brightly for you, my friend.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “Go with God, Ali,” she returned in Arabic. “Peace be upon you.”
34
ALI
Though the rain had finally broken, the beach was so misty and humid that Ali was soaked before he spotted the ship Wajed had prepared, driven up on the sand. The tide lapped around the sewn hull, wild and ravenous. There were no stars, no moon, just monsoon clouds glowing faintly with the celestial light they concealed. The ocean, typically so gentle, lashed with spray as storm-churned waves beat against the beach.
Promise me you’ll come back. Nahri’s plea ran through his mind, her eyes wet with tears. Ali could still feel her lips on his, her touch driving him to madness. He was struggling not to. He’d made the most earnest apology he could muster during his last prayer while also being honest with himself and his Creator—there was little point in lying to the One who knew his heart either way.
But Ali feared he might have lied to Nahri. Because he didn’t see a way back from this.
With the ring gone, he could barely check the marid magic rushing through him. Whispers raced through his mind, the damp wind tugging him forward on ribbons of moisture. The wet sand sucked at his sandals, but Ali tried not to look at it. Like others had warned, the tide had carried with it rotting seaweed, decaying fish, and what smelled horribly, impossibly, like djinn blood.
Come, the ocean seemed to beckon, to mock. Ali swore he heard laughter and gripped
