And then she saw them. Subha in the infirmary they’d rebuilt, forcing a cup of tea on her as Nahri tried to hold herself together for her injured tribesmen. Jamshid laughing in the infirmary on his steed of cushions. The shafit children in the school at the workcamp. The Daeva children grinning at her in the Temple.
The Geziri children who died with sparklers in their hands. The people who, like Ali had irritatingly pointed out, did not have their choice.
Nahri swore, loud and profuse enough to startle a pigeon that had been resting in the eaves of the nearest mausoleum. Then she rose to her feet and returned to Yaqub’s, praying she wasn’t too late.
THEY WERE WAITING FOR HER OUTSIDE THE APOTHECARY. Yaqub was dressed in the shawl he wore on his walks home, visibly fretting as he passed his cane from hand to hand. At his side, Ali was somber, looking even more isolated than usual from the humans passing by.
Yaqub clucked his tongue as he caught sight of her. “You are terrible for the nerves, do you know that?”
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Nahri apologized. “I just … I needed some space to think.” She kept her attention fixed on Yaqub, not unaware of the weight of Ali’s gaze.
The pharmacist looked unconvinced. “Young women should do their thinking in their homes,” he grumbled, adjusting his shawl. “It is safer.” He nodded at the door. “I left you beans and bread.”
Nahri let the “young women” comment slide for now. “Thank you, grandfather,” she said simply. “Give my blessings to your family.”
Ali stepped toward her the moment Yaqub was gone. “Nahri, I’m sorry. You’re right; I had no business—”
“You’re going to tell me everything,” she cut in. “What the marid did to you, whatever lore and history you’ve been hiding about the war, about the seal—everything, understand? No more secrets.”
He blinked. “I mean, of course—”
Nahri held up a hand. “I’m not done. If we’re going to do this, you need to listen to me. We need to be careful. No reckless plans of self-sacrifice and spouting off things that will get us killed. I’m not going near Banu ‘I control people’s limbs with my mind’ until we have a plan that I—not you—believe solid.”
Ali brightened. “Wait, you’re going to come with me to Ta Ntry? You don’t want to stay in Cairo?”
“Of course I want to stay in Cairo! And if Daevabad wasn’t in the hands of a murderous Nahid who makes your father’s body count look like child’s play, I would. But it’s like you said,” she explained begrudgingly. “We have people there relying on us.”
His eyes were shining with pride. God, Nahri wanted to stab him.
He touched his heart. “It would be my greatest honor to fight at your—”
Nahri let out an exasperated hiss to shut him up. Better rudeness than letting slip how relieved she was that he hadn’t already left. “No. None of that. I’m not even committing to anything, understand?” she warned, jabbing a finger in Ali’s face. “I haven’t had the greatest experience showing up unexpectedly at magical courts of bickering djinn who warred against my ancestors. If things go to hell in Ta Ntry, I’m gone.”
The ghost of what might have once been a smile curved his lips. “Then there’s no one I’d rather be abandoned by.” Ali’s expression softened. “And thank you, Nahri. I don’t think I could get through all this without you.”
She grumbled, fighting the emotions eating at her heart. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Now Ali did smile, the first time she’d seen him do so since the attack. “Then what do we do next, as it seems you’re in charge?”
Nahri nodded at Muntadhir’s khanjar. “We go buy a boat.”
11
DARA
Dara grimaced, watching as the line of young men before him shot arrows into the trees, into the grass, into a distant tent … really, anywhere that wasn’t their target.
“Are they getting any better?” he finally asked.
Noshrad, one of his original warriors, looked discouraged. “They have generally started shooting in a forward direction instead of at each other.”
Dara pinched his brow. “I do not understand. Our people are renowned at the bow. Navasatem was to be occurring. Where are all the Daeva archers who would have competed?”
“Since your death, the only Daevas permitted to own a bow have been noblemen sworn to the Qahtanis. Kaveh warned me many were the boon companions of Emir Muntadhir and advised we weed them out of potential recruits until things are … less tense.”
The news that there was a whole group of skilled Daeva archers—the exact kind of people Daevabad needed—unavailable because of their ties to Muntadhir al Qahtani filled Dara with a new desire to strangle the former emir.
He cracked his knuckles, forcing himself to remain calm. “There must be more Daeva men willing to protect their city.”
“We’ve already posted everyone with any fighting experience.” Noshrad hesitated. “But we haven’t been as successful with recruitment as we’d hoped. People are too afraid. With magic gone, everyone’s just waiting for the next catastrophe.”
Waiting for the next catastrophe seemed an entirely too-apt description of their current circumstances. Dara gazed at the field his men had turned into a training yard. With the rest of the city walled off, the Daevas had opened the gate that led from their quarters into the hills, forests, and farms that dominated the rest of the island—a gate and an option no other tribe had. Most of the land was owned by the city’s oldest Daeva families—or at least had been until Manizheh declared everything under her control. The city had been well stocked for Navasatem, but between the huge number of tourists and the fact that no ships or caravans were coming in, it was only a matter of time until food became an issue, so they intended to make sure what had yet to be harvested remained in their hands.
Food wasn’t technically Dara’s problem;
