“Perhaps I am.” Ali slipped into the armor. It fit like a second skin, cool against his body. “You’ll teach me marid magic now? How to travel the currents?”
“That was the agreement. Where do you wish to go first?”
Ali ran his hands down the helmet. An utterly mad plan had been taking shape in his head, given new life by the marid memories Tiamat had poured into his brain.
“Is there a place where I can find shipwrecks?”
A HALF DOZEN ATTEMPTS AT TRAVELING THE CURRENTS later, the sea that stretched before them was shallow—at least compared to Tiamat’s fathomless abode. Pale sand studded with vibrant waves of razor-sharp coral and dancing fronds dazzled Ali’s eyes, jewel-bright fish flitting all about. Beyond was the surface, glimmering like liquid glass with sunlight.
Ali eyed the coral. Dangerous for ships. Beneath the water, he communicated to Sobek in the marid way, words swimming in his mind.
For centuries, Sobek agreed, spreading his hands to encompass the wrecks that surrounded them. The marid of this sea is fat with the blood and memories of mortal sailors. She rules in a ruin far to the north with a court of sharks.
Ali’s skin pricked. She will not mind our intrusion?
She owes me a favor, a pact gone unclaimed. And she will not cross Tiamat.
Ali again studied the ships. Most had been reduced to broken beams and rotting, seaweed-covered hulls. There were the bones of small smugglers’ canoes and elegant dhows, antique triremes and new galleons barely broken down. Lost cargo from across time and space was strewn across the sand: enormous stone amphorae and shattered porcelain vases, coins gone green with age and raw blocks of unpolished rock quartz.
You are certain this is possible? he asked Sobek again. Ali had told the marid his plan as Sobek coached him through handling the currents.
The magic is possible, yes. But you understand none of this will protect you from the Nahid’s champion. No marid can stand against him.
I will not be alone, Ali replied. This is only our first stop.
You intend to go someplace other than Daevabad?
Ali smiled in the water. I intend to go everywhere.
He had promised Nahri he would return, and Ali would.
But first, he was going to get her an army.
41
NAHRI
The shedu landed lightly on the roof of Shefala’s castle, the pearl-colored peri fluttering down beside them. It was dark, the moon and stars veiled by clouds, but even if it had been midday, Nahri suspected they wouldn’t have been seen. The peris had literally plucked her from the castle’s halls and taken her to a cathedral of ice and snow above the clouds. If they didn’t want to be seen by djinn, they wouldn’t be.
Must be nice to have power like that, to view problems that are life and death for us as mere errors to be “corrected.” Nahri had sworn never to be a pawn again, and yet here she was, a peri blade in her belt, forced to serve another master in order to save the people she loved. She slipped off the shedu’s back, aware of the peri’s eyes on her.
“You should leave tonight,” the air elemental chirped. “There is no time to waste.”
“It that one of your ‘suggestions’ or an order?”
The peri bowed her head. “You are a mortal with human blood. I would never dare give such a lesser creature an order.”
“If you call me a ‘lesser creature’ again, I’m going to stab you with this blade.”
“Such fire.” It sounded like the compliment one would give a toddler and, paired with the peri’s condescending smile, indeed tempted Nahri to draw the dagger. “But that would be unwise. That blade is for the Afshin, no other.” The peri’s voice sharpened. “You must swear not to use it on Manizheh. She has been deemed impermissible.”
“Not powerful enough for you?” When the peri’s eyes narrowed in warning, Nahri rolled hers. “Fine, I swear. I won’t use your blade on Manizheh.”
“Good.” The peri stepped back. “They only eat fruit, by the way.”
“What?”
“Your shedu. He will need to be fed.” Without another word, she vanished, flitting into the dark sky.
Nahri glanced at the shedu. “Fruit?”
He purred, a grumbly, grating sound, and then rubbed his head against her shoulder, nearly knocking Nahri from the roof.
She patted his head, scratching behind his ear. “Oh, all right. I guess you’re not too bad.” She tried to think, her mind spinning. After so many weeks of fretting and loss, the prospect of being in Daevabad by dawn seemed impossible. Dangerous. She needed a plan.
There is no plan. You fly to Daevabad, throw yourself weeping in Dara’s arms, telling him you’re sorry, telling him you love him—all the things he’d said to her in anguish the night of the attack—until he lets down his guard.
Then she would put a dagger through his heart.
I wonder if he’ll crumble to dust again. If it will hurt, if he’ll have enough time to look at me and realize what I’ve done. Nahri’s fingers twitched in the shedu’s mane, and he bumped her hand away.
He is Manizheh’s weapon, she reminded herself. Dara had made his choice, and thousands had died for it.
She took a steadying breath. Food. Supplies. The cold distance and calm Nahri needed would come with preparation. It always did. Dara was just another mark. This was just another con.
Nahri glanced at the shedu. She wasn’t certain how much the creature understood, but she supposed they were going to learn together. “Stay here and out of sight,” she warned. “I’ll be back.”
She slipped into the castle through a broken rain shutter, landing lightly on her feet in a dark, empty corridor. Doing so made Nahri feel younger, as though she might be breaking into a mansion back in Cairo. She padded down the corridor, startling the guards outside her door.
“Banu Nahida!” The Geziri one gaped, looking between the
