“He doesn’t mean any offense,” Irtemiz explained quickly. “Banu Manizheh asked us to retrieve you.”
Dara didn’t like the sound of that. He hadn’t spoken properly to Manizheh since she’d thrown him out of the arena and couldn’t imagine a worse time to do so than right now, with his body exhausted and his emotions a mess after meeting Zaynab.
Nor could he deny her.
Giving a last longing look at the door—his bed really was comfortable, and the faint smell and sound of the horses below could have so easily lulled Dara into the fantasy that he was elsewhere—he grimaced. “Of course. I am here to serve. Always,” he added, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
They led him to Manizheh’s office—Ghassan’s old one. It had surprised Dara at first when she took it, Manizheh going so far as to have the dead king’s desk repaired so she could claim that as well. Dara had offered to use his magic to conjure her a new room, someplace light and airy, close to the infirmary or the gardens, but she’d refused.
“Ghassan took everything from me,” she’d said at the time, running her fingers over the ivory filigree set in the polished wood of the restored desk. “It pleases me to take what I can from him.”
Dara’s mood soured even further when he entered the office. Manizheh wasn’t alone—Vizaresh sat across from her. Odd. It was typically with Aeshma that Manizheh kept company, Vizaresh busy with Aeshma’s orders or generally doing whatever evil nuisances like him did to fill their days.
“Afshin. Finally. I was beginning to fear something had happened.” Manizheh’s gaze went to the leaves on his clothes. “A walk in the woods?”
“I like the woods. There are no people there.”
She sighed, glancing at his soldiers. “Would you leave us?”
They obeyed, shutting the door behind them. The air in the room was stifling, and feeling a little light-headed, Dara nodded in the direction of the fastened curtains. “Do you mind if I open the window? There is a pleasant breeze coming off the garden.”
“I do not wish to look upon the garden. It reminds me of my brother.”
Dara winced. He had indeed heard her express that sentiment before and forgotten. “Forgive me.”
“It’s fine. Sit.” Manizheh motioned to the cushion next to Vizaresh.
The ifrit gave him a wicked smile. “You look pale, Afshin. Is your latest resurrection not agreeing with you?”
“It is not,” Dara replied with as much sincerity as he could muster. “It is doing this thing where I become irrational and unpredictable and stab the throats of whichever fiery being is closest. Speaking of, have I told you just how bright you look this evening?”
“That’s enough,” Manizheh said testily. “Vizaresh, would you mind leaving us as well?”
With an exaggerated bow, the ifrit obeyed.
But it did little to help the tension in the room. Dara pressed his hands against his legs, struggling for words. He had never felt this way about someone before—this mix of loyalty and dread, love and revulsion.
Being alone with Manizheh reminded him of who else should have been here, so he started with that. “I am so sorry, Banu Manizheh. I know I said it earlier, but I am so very sorry about Kaveh.”
“I know you are.” Her voice was quiet. “I am too. But his death was not in vain. It made things clearer.”
“Clearer?”
“Yes.” Manizheh actually smiled at him. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. How are you feeling? I was alarmed to learn you’d left the infirmary. I need to know where you are, Afshin, at all times. Your well-being is important to me.”
Dara cleared his throat. “I am fine,” he lied.
“Are you truly? You’re not feeling different? Weak?” She reached out, touching the linen Dara had wrapped around the relic in his wrist. “I would have thought you’d have questions about this.”
He fought the urge to yank his arm away. “I assumed you would tell me in time.”
“Yes, of course. Indeed, it’s one of the reasons I summoned you here. I want to fix things between us, Dara. Our families have been tied together too long for our partnership to be so strained. I would like us to speak honestly with each other.”
“Then what happened in the arena?” The question burst from him. “I saw you use magic. And the Daeva woman who was on the platform …” Dara shuddered. “You demanded her name. You demanded she kill herself in your name.” Manizheh’s expression was still calm, eerily so, and frustration broke through in his voice. “Please explain. Tell me I am misinterpreting things.” He was nearly begging now. “That kind of magic, it is not ours. It is wrong.”
“Why? Because its knowledge comes from the ifrit?” She shook her head. “Those so-called nobles were traitors, and they were going to die either way. Why let the power in their blood drain into the sand, unused, when we needed it?”
Oh, Manizheh. It had been obvious in the arena but hearing her casually admit to something so ghastly broke Dara’s heart all over again.
And then Zaynab’s warning came back.
He felt a decision settle inside him. But not one that had anything to do with violence. Manizheh was still holding his wrist, which made it easier for Dara to do something he’d never done before.
He took her hands. “Banu Nahida, I think we should leave.”
Manizheh blinked in surprise. “Leave? What are you talking about?”
“We should leave Daevabad. This week. We’ll take supplies, all the Daevas who wish to accompany us, whatever is left of the Treasury. We’ll return to the mountains and—”
She jerked her hands away. “Have you lost your mind? Why would we leave Daevabad? The entire point of the war was to retake it!”
“No, it was to save our people. To reunite your family. And on that note …” Creator, it was so hard to say. “Banu Manizheh, we have failed. The city is falling apart, and our people are turning
