She didn’t care. The hospital was the only place Nahri wanted to be. The work might have been grueling, but it was all that was required of her. She didn’t have to think about politics or what had gone down during the brutal last fight with the woman she’d thought was her mother. She didn’t have to have feelings. All Nahri had to do was fix people; her patients needed her so desperately that to even contemplate anything else would be selfish.
She headed for the apothecary. In the courtyard, Elashia was tending to a flock of children, having taken it upon herself to watch over the offspring of the hospital workers and patients. The kids were a brightly colored mess, laughing as they played with finger paints and squealing with delight as Elashia made their drawings come alive in squiggles of sea monsters and flying cats.
Nahri opened the apothecary door to cursing.
“Suleiman’s eye,” Jamshid wailed. “You’re not supposed to be yellow! Why do you keep turning yellow?”
“Problems?” Nahri asked.
“Yes,” Subha answered from the other side of the room, where, in true multitasker mastery, she was feeding her daughter and going over inventory rolls. “Your impatient apprentice thinks ‘chopped’ and ‘minced’ are interchangeable.” She eyed the churning and indeed very yellow potion threatening to escape the glass vial Jamshid was holding as far away from him as possible. “Zahhak hide,” she said dismissively. “You know what doesn’t have a violent mind of its own? Human ingredients.”
“And we bow to your superiority at every turn,” Nahri said, touching her heart.
“I don’t think you’ve voluntarily bowed to anyone in your life,” Subha replied. “Especially not the way you’ve been brandishing your new powers. There really is no reason to heal bones from across the room. Surely sitting by the bedside is equally effective.”
“It’s more efficient.”
“Damn it!” Jamshid dropped his flask in a metal bowl. “Now even the bowl is yellow.”
Nahri crossed to his side and moved the tray of ingredients. “Why don’t I work on potions for a bit, and you do a round in the surgical wing? Let me know if there are any emergencies.”
Relief filled his face. “Have I told you that you’re the best sister?”
Nahri’s good mood faded a bit. “Cousin, actually.”
“Sister,” he insisted. “I don’t care what blood says.” Jamshid pressed a kiss on the top of her head and then left.
Subha sighed, setting her quill down on top of her papers. “We’re running low on, well, everything. Alizayd had his ships bring as many medicinal herbs and supplies as they could carry, but we still need to find a way to get more, and soon.”
“We will.” Nahri took a moment to study the other doctor. Subha looked like she might have aged five years, stress lines around her eyes and new strands of silver in her hair. “When’s the last time you went home and slept?”
“Before Navasatem.”
Nahri sat across from her. “A wise woman once warned me that I wouldn’t be helping my patients if I overexhausted myself.”
“That woman had no idea what it would be like to run a hospital during a war.” Subha rubbed her eyes and resettled her daughter in her lap.
“Why don’t you let me take Chandra for a moment?”
The doctor gave her a skeptical look. “Much experience with babies?”
“I’m a woman of innumerable talents.” Nahri set Chandra against her shoulder and rubbed the baby’s back. She was warm, her soft weight unexpectedly pleasant.
“Don’t be doing any Nahid tricks to summon up burps,” Subha warned and stood, stretching her neck.
“Never.” Nahri paused. “I’m sorry, by the way. For leaving you here all on your own.”
“I didn’t get the impression magically vanishing through the lake was a conscious choice.”
“No, probably not. But still, it’s hard not to feel guilty.”
“You returned. You helped set things right. Though if we’re speaking honestly, I have another question. I’ve heard the story going around about what Manizheh told you regarding your parents. Is it true?”
The question didn’t surprise her. Nahri knew that rumor was circulating—she was letting it, taking advantage of the opportunity to declare her human heritage. “As far as I know, yes.”
“So you’re shafit.” Subha gazed at her. “Did you know?”
That question Nahri was less prepared for, but she wasn’t going to lie, not to Subha. “Yes. I didn’t know the truth about my parents—I really did think I was Manizheh’s daughter. But Ghassan told me years ago that I was a shafit, and I believed him.”
Subha’s face was unreadable. Not angry, not judging. Just waiting. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid.” It wasn’t brave, but it was the truth. “I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t think I could. I was terrified the Daevas would turn on me, and Ghassan would use it to destroy me.”
“I see.”
A new type of guilt snarled in Nahri, this one edged with shame. She had lived a difficult life in Daevabad under Ghassan, but it hadn’t been a shafit life. She’d traded on her supposedly pureblood privilege to survive and knew it was a thing she’d be rightfully called to account for. “Do you hate me?”
“For keeping yourself alive in a foreign, hostile city of magic? No. I also don’t speak for all the shafit. No one does. But make it right, Nahri. Don’t let us stand alone again. That’s better than any apology you could offer.”
“I will,” Nahri promised. “I swear—ouch!” she yelped when Chandra grabbed a handful of her hair. “Are you your mama’s enforcer now?”
There was a knock at the door, and Razu stuck her head in. “Do you need saving, Banu Nahri?”
“Yes. I am thoroughly outmatched.”
“No doubt.” But Razu’s tone turned serious. “Could we speak alone a moment?”
Subha was already taking her daughter back, expertly untangling Nahri’s hair. “We’ll
