“You’re beaming,” Dara said. “I do not think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”
Heat filled her cheeks, and Nahri tried to reach for aloofness again. “I’m sure you disagree. You probably think I should take the throne and make everyone bow down before me.”
“It does not matter what I think. It is your life.” Dara’s voice grew more halting. “I wish I had realized that earlier. I am sorry, sorrier than I can ever say, Nahri, that I tried to rob you of that choice. If I could go back … it breaks my heart to think of the different path we might have taken.”
Nahri’s throat constricted. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was not in a place where she could look back and wonder what might have been—Nahri suspected she had as many years of healing to get through as Daevabad itself did. She had simply spent too much of her life being a survivor, picking up the pieces and moving steadily forward.
Maybe it was good the djinn lived longer than humans; Nahri had a feeling she would need those centuries.
They kept walking, still on opposite sides of the path but now not so far apart. The forest grew sparser, opening onto a lovely, flower-filled glen. Dragonflies zipped over the waist-high grass, bees dipping between the blossoms. A hoopoe bird hopped along a knobby tree branch at the edge of the woods, its black-and-orange crest catching her eye.
It wasn’t the only thing that caught her eye. Nahri squinted, frowning as she studied the eastern corner of the glen. Though it was a clear, sun-drenched day, an odd haze—like the yellowed air after a sandstorm—hung over that part of the landscape, curtaining it off.
Dara must have noticed her staring. “The veil,” he explained. “I discovered it earlier. The new threshold of your realm.”
Nahri shivered. “I don’t think I’ll be crossing that anytime soon. Or possibly ever,” she added, fighting a little grief at the realization. It meant she might never see Egypt again. Would almost certainly never see Yaqub again. “Not after the last time Suleiman’s seal left the city.”
“No,” Dara agreed, his voice toneless. “I do not imagine you will.”
Despite everything, Nahri could still read Dara well enough that apprehension swept her. “Dara, why did you bring me here?”
He swallowed, his bright eyes averted. “Shortly after dawn tomorrow, a Daeva warrior is going to call upon you. Her name is Irtemiz. She is—she is like a little sister to me,” he said, tripping over his words. “She will have a story for you, a story I’ve asked her to spread.”
Nahri stilled, not liking the sound of any of this. “What story?”
Dara glanced back at her, and the heartbreak in his eyes sent fear spiking through her before he even opened his mouth. “She is going to tell you that last night I got very drunk and even more brooding than usual. That in a fit of guilt, I swore to go after Vizaresh and the enslaved djinn and then crossed this veil before anyone could stop me.”
Nahri blinked. Of all the things she’d thought Dara might say, that was not one of them. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m going after Vizaresh,” he repeated. “I am going to hunt down the enslaved djinn he has stolen and return them to be freed. But I do not intend to stop there. I intend to hunt down all the enslaved djinn and Daevas in the human world. The ones who were lost and forgotten like I was. The ones we know about and the ones with no hope. I’m going to find their vessels and bring them home.”
She fought for a response. “But how? The way people talk—that’s impossible. Most of the vessels are rings; they’re tiny. They could be anywhere in the world, and there’s no way to track them.”
“Then how fortunate I have millennia to discover a way.”
Millennia … Nahri had not contemplated that aspect of Dara’s new future, and the prospect tied her stomach into knots. “Dara, I know you feel guilty, but you don’t have to do this. To swear yourself to some impossible quest because—”
“I know I do not have to. I want to.” Dara held her gaze. “Nahri, I cannot go back and undo my mistakes, but I can find a way to do penance. To actually use this second chance I’ve been granted.” He gave her a broken smile. “Or maybe at this point, my third or fourth chance.”
“But you can’t just leave,” she objected. “The Daevas need you.”
“The Daevas have you. They need nothing else for centuries. But they are not my only people, and there is no one better suited to go after the enslaved djinn. I have the time. I have the magic. I very much have the urge to hunt down ifrit. Vizaresh, Qandisha … they’re still out there.”
Nahri took a deep breath, not understanding the finality in his voice. “All right. But you can still come back and forth to Daevabad. It’s not as though—”
“I cannot. Once I am past the veil, it will be like before. I will not be able to return. As you said, I do not bear Suleiman’s curse.”
And I cannot leave. The full weight of what Dara was trying to tell her nearly knocked Nahri off her feet.
Tears burned in her eyes. “So I’ll never see you again.”
“I think that likely. Nahri—” Dara closed the distance between them as Nahri promptly lost the battle with her tears, pulling her into his arms for the first time since the night they’d been ripped apart on the lake. “Nahri, please. Do not grieve,” he whispered. “You are going to build a wonderful life here, the life you always wanted. Daevabad will be glorious for it, and it will be easier if it does not have me.” Dara held her face, kissing the tears as they fell. “You have earned your
