“I’ll go,” Jamshid said again, more quietly. “Let me talk to our mother, Nahri. I have experience with Daevabad’s politics. If I can’t—”
“Queen Hatset!” The doors burst open, an Ayaanle steward falling to her knees. “Forgive me, my lady. But it’s your father.”
NAHRI FINISHED HER EXAMINATION, BRUSHING HER fingers over Seif’s frail wrist and urging the bones underneath his paper-thin skin to knit back together.
“Why was he in the north tower?” Hatset demanded. “I warned you that he was having one of his spells. You need to keep a better eye on him when he’s like this!”
Musa let out a frustrated sound. “We’re trying, Auntie, but you know how he is, and he always finds a way out. He’s been muttering about angels, saying he hears them whispering around the castle.”
Nahri shifted on her heels, gently moving the old man’s skinny hip back into place. The break there was simpler than the one in his wrist, but there was only so much she could do to heal it. The vagaries of aging—atrophying bones and fading organs—could not be removed with the laying on of Nahid hands, perhaps the Creator’s quiet pushback against their abilities. Immortality was not supposed to be theirs to grant.
She eased a small pillow beneath him to alleviate the pressure. “You’re going to need to find a way to keep him in bed.” This wasn’t the first time Nahri had met Seif Shefala, a charming, sly old man who’d managed to win her over even if his mind remained a decade in the past. “I’m sorry, my queen, but I don’t think he’ll be able to walk again, even short distances. And his wrist …”
Hatset looked shattered. “He was transcribing his great-grandmother’s poems. The oral history of our family. It was the only thing that would bring him back to himself.”
Musa touched Hatset’s hand. “He can dictate to us when he’s feeling better. We’ll record them. And we’ll make sure one of the family is at his side.”
Nahri heard the unspoken until the end. Because even with the best care, she wasn’t sure Hatset’s father would see another monsoon. And though she’d heard enough to know he’d lived a long, full life, that wouldn’t make his passing any less devastating for his loved ones.
“Thank you, nephew,” Hatset said softly. “Would you mind calling a meeting with the rest of the family? We should talk.”
Musa left, and then it was just the three of them. By the time Nahri had finished healing Seif, the old man was starting to stir, a grimace passing over his face.
She rose to her feet. “I’m going to prepare a potion for his swelling. It will help with the pain when I’m not with him.”
“Thank you,” Hatset replied, her gaze on her father. “Banu Nahida,” she called when Nahri was at the door.
Nahri glanced back, and the weary, haunted expression on the queen’s face stopped her cold. She’d never seen Hatset look so defeated.
“Issa offered to give the funeral prayers for Alizayd this morning.” The queen didn’t look at Nahri as she spoke. “I don’t think he realized how I would react. I think he was genuinely trying to be kind.”
“Ali’s not dead.” The words rushed out of Nahri, a fierce denial. “He’s coming back.”
Hatset glanced at her, and for the first time Nahri saw a true hint of desperation in the queen’s aching gold eyes. “Your people believe you are blessed. Do you know his fate somehow? For certain?”
Nahri couldn’t lie to her. Not to a daughter whose father was dying. A mother who’d done everything to keep her children safe, only to have them ripped away by monsters. “No.” Her own voice broke. “But I made him swear it, and I think he’s afraid of me.”
Hatset gave her an anguished, heartbroken smile. “He definitely is.” She paused, some of the emotion leaving her face. “You may stay in Ta Ntry, Banu Nahri. For what you’ve done for my family, for my father, for my son, you will always have a place in my home.”
Nahri probably should have been grateful, but she knew a catch when she heard it. “And Jamshid?”
“Jamshid is going back to Daevabad. I’ve made my decision. He’s made his decision.” Hatset sounded almost sorry. “And if you try to stop him, I will have you locked in a cell.”
I’d like to see you keep me there. But Nahri bowed her head. “I should get started on that medication.”
Only when she was alone in the corridor did Nahri let her mask fall, pressing a fist to her mouth to keep herself from screaming.
My brother is going to die. Jamshid’s story about poisoning Ali came back to her. He’s not going to be able to convince Manizheh to turn away from violence, so he’s going to do something stupid and brave to try and stop her, and then he’s going to die. It didn’t matter that Jamshid was Manizheh’s son; Nahri had seen the limits of their mother’s maternal affection.
Despair consumed her as Nahri hugged her arms against the chill in the corridor, turning everything she knew over in her mind, desperate to find a solution that did not involve losing yet another person she loved.
I should go drown those firebirds. She’d be putting them out of their misery and removing Jamshid’s ability to leave. Nahri shivered again, her steamy breath clouding.
And then she stopped.
It should not be this cold in Shefala.
A finger of ice brushed her spine as Nahri glanced down the corridor. She was alone, and there was an unnatural stillness to the air, a quiet so intense it felt physical. Smothering. It was the middle of the afternoon—there should have been a whole cacophony of various noises, and yet the castle was so silent it felt like Nahri was its only inhabitant. She reached out with her magic, the sixth sense little
