Ali raised a hand, steadying the lake. Though he stood on a solid deck, he still felt submerged, pushed and tossed in an unseen current. “We’re relying on marid magic for all this,” he pointed out. “And there’s not going to be any marid magic if the Afshin spots me on a flashy ship of bones and murders me.”
“He has two new Nahids and an entire army to deal with. You really think he’s that focused on you?”
Ali paused. He was not an arrogant man, but their interactions had left him fairly certain that if Darayavahoush had a kill list, Ali occupied a prime position. “I think he’d take a lot of satisfaction from murdering me, yes.”
“My prince,” Wajed said, joining them. “The boats have all made it. Are you ready to take us to the beach?”
Ali nodded. They had little clue what else to do but meet up with the remains of the Royal Guard and then head to the palace—they needed all the men and firepower they could get. But Ali hated having no idea what he was walking into. Jamshid had rushed back to help his sister, adding only that they believed Manizheh might be using some sort of blood magic.
“Just wonderful omens all around,” Ali muttered to himself, glancing again at the fleet he’d organized. The mist might have been too thick for djinn eyes to pierce, but Ali saw with perfect clarity the scores of ships he’d reassembled and dragged from the abyss with Sobek’s help. As impressive, if not more painstakingly gathered, was its crew: djinn from literally all over the world. Ali and Fiza had spent every waking moment dashing through the currents to chase down leads from the farthest western coasts of Qart Sahar to the islands beyond Agnivansha. They had burst from the water with a simple message.
Return to Daevabad and save your kin.
Under any other circumstances, Ali knew they would have been denied. They probably would have been chased off and killed, or he would have been kidnapped for the ransom Manizheh was offering. But the desperate times she’d had taken advantage of—the pilgrims from all over the world who’d been trapped in Daevabad and the loss of magic—were just as easy to turn against her. Manizheh and Dara were distant stories, effortlessly spun into monsters. Ali, stepping from the deep with magic pouring from his hands, impossible ships before their eyes, offered a far nearer solution. And though plenty of people had turned him down, out of fear, caution, or because he looked like a “marid abomination,” he’d gathered enough fighters, supplies, and aid to make a difference.
Or so he hoped. Ali looked again at his army: sand-dragon riders from east Tukharistan who’d been living around a cold mountain lake and shafit riflemen from a hidden refuge in southern Agnivansha. Warriors from all over Am Gezira—he’d had no problem convincing his tribesmen, nearly all of whom had lost family and friends—and nearly an equal contingent from Ta Ntry.
Ali said a prayer under his breath and then finally answered Wajed. “We’re—”
A blur of gold fur and brilliant wings dashed by overhead. Ali glanced up and gasped at the sight of a shedu zipping through the air in a daringly erratic pattern, like a dove fleeing a hawk.
But it wasn’t Nahri riding the astonishing creature, it was Jamshid, back once more.
Jamshid glanced down, his gaze finding Ali’s. “She’s at the palace!” he yelled, turning around at the same moment to aim an arrow at whoever was pursuing him.
From the fog burst Ali’s nightmare.
Darayavahoush was finally the demon Ali had always known him to be, swathed in scaly black armor and riding a winged horse of smoke and embers. Fiery light crackled across his furious face as he flew after Jamshid, but then he whirled around … glowing emerald eyes landing on Ali, a conjured bow flashed.
Wajed lunged between them and shoved Ali into the lake.
The Qaid’s face brightened in pain, but Ali didn’t even get a chance to shout his name before the cold water closed over his face. The lake tugged Ali deeper, and he fought a moment of panic, his memories of being dragged down during his possession returning.
But the pull of the lake was like a worried friend now. Danger, memories that weren’t his warned. The surface was perilous, the fire-bloods who raced over it enemies.
No, they’re my family. The watery grip on his ankle relented slightly, and Ali swam for the boat, calling for the mists above the surface to thicken even further. He waited a moment, searching the sky, then pulled himself out of the water and climbed back onboard.
Relief coursed through him. Wajed was sprawled on the deck, cursing and fighting the djinn attempting to help him with the arrow piercing his shoulder, but still very much alive.
Ali fell to his knees at his side. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Wajed insisted, even while hissing in pain. “We need to get to the docks.”
She’s at the palace. Nahri. Ali traced the distance between the crumbling docks and the palace. They were on opposite sides of the city, and it would take time to get there—assuming they weren’t bogged down by enemy forces in the Daeva Quarter.
“No, please!” A horrifying scream pierced the lake, bouncing around the fog like a ghostly echo passed from ship to ship.
Ali looked around but could see no source of the sound. “Fiza?”
“I don’t know.” Fiza drew her pistol—a new one she’d “found” in a rather disagreeable trading post on the coast of Qart Sahar—and searched the fog. Another wail reverberated across the deck, and he
