He stirred.
It wasn’t much, just a sigh and a slight twitch of one hand. But then there was movement beneath his closed eyes. The boy mumbled in his sleep, and Nahri let out a choked breath, fighting not to collapse.
She glanced back. Every eye in the room was on her, staring with a mix of horror and awe.
Nahri grinned. “Would someone hand me my sutures?”
IT TOOK THE REST OF THE NIGHT TO STITCH HIM UP. Nahri waited until the boy opened his eyes, and then another relative came by with a board to move him. His home was only down the block and Nahri gave his parents thorough instructions on how to care for him, assuring them she’d come by around noon for a checkup.
His father was an apologetic, grateful mess when he left. “May God shower you with blessings,” he gushed. “We’ll find a way to pay you, I promise.”
Nahri shook her head, watching as the mother cradled her son. “You don’t need to pay me,” she said, holding open the door. “I was happy to help.”
She watched them depart as dawn softened the sky. It was quiet save for the song of birds, a breeze bringing the scent of the Nile. Nahri took a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace and purpose she hadn’t felt since the morning of the Navasatem parade.
She still had it. Her magic might be gone, but Nahri had just saved a life, doing a procedure she suspected trained physicians would be lucky to pull off. She leaned against the apothecary door, trembling as the buzz of anxiety and excitement drained from her body, and then she wiped her eyes, embarrassed to find them wet.
I am who I always wanted to be. Forget Daevabad’s politics or the lack of whatever certificates the human world would never grant a woman like her. Nahri was a healer, and no one could take that away from her.
She went back inside. Ali and Yaqub were sitting across from each other, both looking stunned amidst the bloody tools and rags.
No, not just stunned—Ali looked as close to vomiting as she’d ever seen him. Nahri had to bite back a smile. “You’re the last person I’d think squeamish.”
“I’m not squeamish,” he said defensively. He raised a shaking finger at the drill. “I do not ever want to touch that thing again, but I’m not squeamish.”
Trying not to laugh, she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you get some sleep while I clean up? I’m far too jumpy.”
Relief lit his face. “God bless you.” Ali was gone the next moment, lighting out of there like he was being chased by a karkadann.
“Let me help you,” Yaqub offered. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep after watching brain surgery being performed in my apothecary.”
They got to work, Nahri piling the bloody rags in a sack to be washed, and Yaqub wiping down his instruments.
Nahri rolled up the cloth she’d used to cover the table. “I’m sorry for not asking your permission first. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
Yaqub clucked his tongue. “First she takes a risk for a stranger, now she apologizes. Where is the rude girl who tried to swindle me so many years ago?”
Gone, for a long time now. “I can steal those instruments if you’d like to feel nostalgic.”
He shook his head, clearly not buying it. “You’ve changed for the better, whether or not you want to admit it.” He hesitated before meeting her gaze. “You did it somehow, didn’t you? You went and trained as a doctor.”
“You could say that.”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Where were you, Nahri? Really?”
A dozen excuses ran through her head, but God forgive her, she was so tired of lying.
Nahri took a deep breath. “Would you believe me if I said I came from a long line of djinn healers and was being held captive in a hidden magical kingdom on the other side of the world?”
Yaqub snorted. “Not even you could sell that story.”
Nahri forced a nervous laugh, the blood leaving her face. “Of course not,” she said, fighting disappointment. “Who would believe such a crazy tale?”
Yaqub set a kettle over the fire again. “It was an astonishing feat wherever you learned it,” he said, spooning tea leaves into two glass cups. “You’ll have stories spreading about you.”
“Especially since I didn’t make them pay.”
“That does sweeten the pot.”
Nahri dried the instruments, wrapping them in clean cloth, and then Yaqub motioned for her to sit. “You have ruined my night, so now take some tea with me,” he ordered, handing her a glass. “I would talk to you.”
She was instantly anxious. “If this is about us moving on, I can find other lodgings—”
He shushed her. “I’m not asking you to leave. I’m asking the opposite. I want you to stay.”
Nahri frowned. “What do you mean?”
He blew on his tea. “It’s hardly a secret that I’m getting old—you yourself have made any number of obnoxious comments to that effect—and no one in my family is equipped to take over the apothecary. My wife and I had discussed selling it, but I wonder if you and your friend would be interested in staying on and taking over.”
She stared at him in astonishment. That was frankly the last thing she’d expected Yaqub to say. “I haven’t trained as an apothecarist,” she sputtered.
“You haven’t trained as an apothecarist … for God’s sake, you just did brain surgery on the table! You could build your own sort of practice here and let your reputation speak for itself. And if you’re so concerned, I’m not yet ready to retire. I’d be perfectly happy to take the two of you on as apprentices for a few years.”
The offer was so kind and perfect that all Nahri could do was find reasons to push it away. “I’m a woman. No one will take me seriously
