“So you want to run just because a few traitors and djinn don’t like having to bow their heads? Absolutely not!”
“Because it is turning you into a monster!” Dara tried to steady his voice, but it was impossible. “Banu Nahida, you and I had this conversation back at camp about the vapor. You did not listen to me then. I beg you to listen now. Let us return to Daevastana, to our roots. Let us build something real. Without blood magic, without the ifrit.”
“And Daevabad?” Manizheh sounded disgusted. “The Daevas who don’t follow us to the mountains? The ones who can’t? My children? You would abandon them?”
“I would see them live,” Dara replied, hating the truth in his next words. He did not dare name Kartir, but Zaynab had impressed him, and he strongly suspected the Daeva priest and the others of their tribe would be able to negotiate a manageable peace with the princess, provided that things did not get worse. “At this point, I think they’d be safer not being tied to us. And perhaps if they believe Daevabad is safe, Nahri and Alizayd will return with the seal.”
“And Jamshid?” Her voice was more cutting now. “I know he’s not the Nahid you’re infatuated with, but you might remember my son is currently a prisoner. And if you think Hatset is letting him go while I take a break to rebuild my strength, you’ve misplaced any tactical cleverness you once held.” Manizheh stood up and paced away. “I’ve lost Kaveh. I will not lose Jamshid.”
“Then we’ll get him back. If you don’t need me in Daevabad to hold the city, we could go to Ta Ntry and try to—”
“No.”
It was a curt answer, the kind of command that once would have shut him up. Now it only made Dara angrier. He dug his fingers into his cushion, fighting the desire to tear it apart.
Manizheh had stopped at the shelves opposite the desk. “The workers found something in here, you know, when they were going through the damage.”
The change in subject took him aback. “What?”
She was already retrieving a slender black case. She opened it and turned around.
Dara went cold, rising to his feet. “That’s an Afshin arrow,” he said, recognizing the scythelike ends only his family had been permitted to use. But this particular arrow’s style of fletching … “That’s one of my arrows. Suleiman’s eye. That must be from the rebellion.”
“I thought it might be.” Manizheh ran her fingers along the arrow, and unease crawled over Dara at the possessiveness in the gesture. “I said I wanted to speak honestly with you, and you’ve clearly unburdened yourself. I would like to do the same. We are obviously and unfortunately at odds when it comes to our goals.”
Her calm tone was maddening. “Our goals? You’re murdering Daevas for blood magic and using the corpses of your relatives to heal me. We are not ‘at odds.’ You’ve gone too far, and I’m trying to bring you back!”
She closed the case and put it back on the shelf. Her other hand toyed with something around her neck. Jewelry, perhaps. “You know, Rustam said the same thing.” Manizheh pulled free the gold chain underneath her braid and with a sudden jerk on the pendant, broke it.
Bewildered, Dara saw too late what had been hanging from the necklace.
His ring.
He lunged forward, but Manizheh had already slipped it over her finger.
“Stop,” she whispered.
Dara stopped so suddenly it was as if he’d slammed into a wall. Shock froze his tongue.
Manizheh’s eyes were wider than he had ever seen them, her entire body trembling. “Don’t move.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than his entire body went numb, as though his limbs were encased in stone. Dara tried to scream, but it was like his body no longer obeyed his commands.
His body no longer obeyed his commands. His ring was on Manizheh’s finger …
No, this couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. Dara had to be dreaming, hallucinating. Not even Manizheh had that kind of power. Only the ifrit—
Manizheh hadn’t moved either. She looked like she wasn’t certain, but then suspicion stole over her face. “Where were you this evening? Tell me the truth. You may speak.”
His mouth released from her control, Dara gritted his teeth, biting his tongue so hard he tasted blood. It didn’t matter—there was the burn of magic, and then his lips were opening. “In the forest.”
Her eyes narrowed. “With whom?”
He writhed against the unseen bonds holding him. “Zaynab al Qahtani and her warrior. The freed djinn Razu.” He groaned, fighting to shut his mouth. No, Creator, no. “Kartir.”
Fury flashed across her face. “You and that blasphemous priest met with Zaynab al Qahtani? You stood before the woman I’ve been begging you to find, the woman upon whose life my son’s life depends, and you let her walk away?”
“I was trying to make peace.” He couldn’t stop speaking. “To convince her to surrender before you—”
“Before I what?”
“Before you used blood magic against her.”
Manizheh’s eyes glittered. “You told that sand fly princess I was using blood magic?” She seethed. “Is there anything else you’ve been keeping from me?”
“Yes.” Dara gagged, the words coming so fast that he tripped over them. “I helped another freed djinn flee to Ta Ntry.”
Manizheh paled—she obviously hadn’t expected that. “Who? When?”
“An old man named Issa. Weeks ago.”
Manizheh took two steps toward him, grabbed the knife from Dara’s belt, and then smashed the hilt across his face.
“Traitor,” she hissed. “So you too have been working against me?”
Despair and pain swept him. “I have been working for you. All I wanted to do was follow you. To follow the best version of you. To see our people thriving and free under good and honorable Nahid leaders.” Dara hated the words as they were ripped from him. How naive they sounded.
How naive he’d been.
You let them destroy you. Time and time again, you loved them, and they destroyed
