“Yes. Tiamat drained the fire from my blood. She wanted to make sure I couldn’t turn my back on them.” Ali held her gaze, his glowing eyes filled with sorrow. “I don’t think I’ll be helping you conjure any more flames.”
“You came back,” she said fiercely. “That’s all that matters.” Nahri smoothed down his collar and then raised her arm, pulling back her sleeve to reveal the scar Manizheh had burned into her wrist. Despite her magic, it had not healed. “We match.”
That brought a sad smile to his face. “I guess we do.” Ali glanced past her shoulder and frowned. “Are you packing?”
“I am.”
“Does that mean …” His face fell. “Are you leaving the palace too?” He sounded crushed but added, “I mean, not that I expected you to stay. I don’t have any expectations of you. Us.”
Nahri took his arm to stop his stammering. “Walk with me. I could use some fresh air.”
She led him to the infirmary grounds, picking her way along the overgrown path. The garden had been poorly tended, weeds and grass snaring her healing plants, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed. The orange grove was lush as ever, white flowers and bright fruit thick upon the trees.
Her father’s orange grove. The resilience of the plants struck a new chord with her, as did the name he’d given her. Golbahar, a spring flower. It might not be the name Nahri had chosen, but she could still honor its meaning.
The promise of new life, unfurling after a winter of violence.
“I’ve found a house in the shafit district,” she started. “It looks like it was abandoned even before the invasion, but it’s got good bones and a little courtyard, and it’s only a short walk from the hospital. The owner was willing to sell it to me for almost nothing, and I think … I think it would be good for me to live there.”
“That sounds nice,” Ali said. “Though I wish everyone I knew wasn’t leaving.” It sounded like he was trying to make a joke and failing. “It’s going to be me, a haunted palace, and a bunch of bickering government officials and delegates trying not to kill one another.”
“As if that’s not your dream.” Nahri pulled him into the orange grove, seating him next to her on the old swing. Ali looked warily at the roots sprawling over the ground. “Relax. You have an invitation this time. And I’m not leaving you. I’m going to help you, I promise. But I also want to start building something for myself,” she said, feeling a little uncharacteristically shy. “My own home, the hospital, the kind of life I want.”
“Then I’m happy for you,” he said warmly. “Truly. I’m going to miss not seeing you every day, but I’m happy for you.”
Nahri dropped her gaze. “I was actually hoping”—she nervously twisted the edge of her chador—“that you might visit me. Regularly. The books for the hospital … I was never any good with them,” she added, fighting the heat in her cheeks.
“The books for the hospital?” Ali frowned and shook his head. “I can find you a much better accountant, trust me. There’s so much you can do with charitable funding, and if you have a proper specialist—”
“I don’t want a specialist!” Creator, this man’s obliviousness was going to be the death of her. “I want to spend time with you. Time at my house being normal and not on the run from monsters or plotting revolutions. I want to see what it’s like.”
“Oh.” Delayed understanding crossed Ali’s expression. “Oh.”
Her face was burning. “I’d make it worth your while. You check my books, and I’ll teach you Divasti.”
“You’ve saved my life multiple times, Nahri. You definitely wouldn’t owe me anything for checking your books.”
Nahri forced herself to meet his eyes, trying to summon up a very different type of courage than she was used to.
The courage to be vulnerable. “Ali, I thought I made it clear I don’t intend to let you out of my debt.”
She said nothing else. She couldn’t. Even revealing this much of her heart was terrifying, and Nahri knew she wouldn’t be capable of anything deeper, perhaps not for a long time. She’d simply had her dreams shattered too many times.
But she would lay down roots and see what grew. Nahri would steal her happiness like she’d promised Dara, but she’d do it on her terms, at her speed, and pray that this time what she built wouldn’t get broken.
Ali stared back at her. And then he smiled, perhaps the brightest, happiest smile she’d ever seen from him.
“I suppose it would be the smart thing to do … politically,” he conceded. “My Divasti really is terrible.”
“It’s abominable,” Nahri said quickly. She fell silent, feeling both awkward and yet overwhelmingly pleased. And very aware of how quiet and isolated the orange grove was, the two of them secluded away in a nook of greenery.
That was, of course, the moment Ali chose to speak again. “You know how I have bad timing?”
Nahri groaned. “Ali, why? What now?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he confessed. “I thought I should wait for the right time or let you grieve first.” Ali reached for her hand. “But I know if I were you, I’d want to make that decision myself. And we promised—no lies between us.”
Nahri’s heart rose in her throat. “What is it?”
“I met with Sobek this morning.” Ali held her gaze, his eyes soft. “He has your mother’s memories. He showed me how I might share—”
“Yes,” Nahri cut in. “Whatever they are, yes.”
Ali hesitated. “They’re rough, Nahri. And I’ve never done this before. I don’t want to overwhelm you or hurt you …”
“I need to know. Please.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay. Let me see both your hands.” Nahri held out her free hand and he grasped it. “This
