And five years after Dara burned their city and killed their kin, the Tukharistanis—no doubt led by some of the survivors he’d spared—entered the city at Zaydi al Qahtani’s side. They sacked the Daeva Quarter. They hunted through the streets until they found his family’s home.
They got the revenge that would haunt him through all his resurrections …
RAISED VOICES FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CHAMBER caught Dara’s ear, pulling him from his memories.
“—if the djinn want their kin returned, they can come to me and surrender,” Manizheh said, her voice lifting in anger. “The Grand Temple had no business interfering!”
“They are afraid of you,” he heard a familiar voice plead. “Banu Manizheh, they are terrified. The rumors they came to me with … they think your Afshin is drinking blood and eating the hearts of his enemies. They think you’re giving over anyone who opposes you to the ifrit to be enslaved!”
Dara flinched at the words from Kartir, the Daeva high priest—he could see the back of Kartir’s peaked azure cap and crimson robe. Dara moved closer but stayed out of sight. Before the conquest, he would have never contemplated so blatantly spying on his Banu Nahida. But Manizheh had proved at least one of the secrets she held—the poison that had killed the Geziris—was deadly, and while Dara believed she was still working for the good of their people, it seemed wise not to allow himself to be kept completely in the dark.
“And if they came to me directly, they’d learn such things were ridiculous.” Manizheh was seated on the throne, dressed in a gown of indigo and gold, her chador hanging lightly from a braided crown. Kaveh was at her side, as usual, watching the exchange with concern.
“They’re not going to come to you. Not after what happened to the Geziris. That poison was a cruel act, my lady. People are saying it’s the reason magic is gone, that you twisted your Nahid abilities, and the Creator punished you.”
Manizheh drew up. “And is that what the high priests believe as well? Have you been wringing your hands in the temple my ancestors built, taking meetings with djinn and undermining me with our people? You might remember it is my family that our creed elevates—it’s we who are to lead you, not the other way around.”
“You are to be stewards,” Kartir corrected, and Dara couldn’t help but respect the man’s courage, even as his words stirred an unease that had been growing in Dara’s soul. “The Nahids were tasked with caring for this city and its people, all of them. It’s a responsibility, Banu Nahida. Not a right. I beg you, turn back from this violence. Let the djinn being held hostage in the palace go home.”
Kaveh spoke up, perhaps seeing the fury burning in Manizheh’s eyes. “That’s not possible, Kartir, and respectfully, you are out of your element. This is a political matter. Everyone holds hostages, and right now, they’re one of the most powerful cards we have.”
“That was how Ghassan ruled,” Kartir rebuked him. He’d crossed the room to service one of the fire altars, swapping the low-burning incense for fresh cedar. His voice was soft, but Dara did not miss his next words, for they went to his heart like a lance. “How the last Nahid Council ruled as well … and then lost the support of its people.”
“Blasphemy,” Kaveh spat, true anger in his face. There was no quicker way to shed Kaveh’s political pragmatism than to criticize the woman he loved. It was worrying Dara more and more—Manizheh needed advisors who didn’t always tell her what she wanted to hear. “The last Nahid Council didn’t lose the support of its people, it was slaughtered by a bunch of dirt-blood obsessed sand flies.”
No, Dara wanted to say, his heart aching with the memory of Qui-zi. The Nahids had started to go astray, we just didn’t know until it was too late.
“Dirt-blood,” Kartir repeated. He was staring at the fire altar. “This is not ours, did you know that?”
Manizheh was still glowering. “What are you talking about?”
“Our fire altars. We were not the ones who invented them. Humans did. If you travel to southern Daevastana, you will find the remains of them in buildings that look like ours but were built long before this city was erected. The humans used them in their rites. Our fire temples, our buildings, our food, the very cut of our clothes …” Kartir turned around, his gaze falling on Kaveh. “Your title, Grand Wazir. Our government. Do you think our ancestors before Suleiman built grand palaces of mudbrick and discussed financial policy when they lived on the winds and took sustenance from wildfires? We owe our survival to humans. We built our entire civilization off theirs, and now we act as if the greatest contamination in our world is a drop of their blood.”
Manizheh shook her head. “What you’re talking about happened thousands of years ago. It isn’t relevant anymore.”
“Isn’t it? For much of my life, I thought the same. I taught the same. And yet I wonder if we’ve been blind to the lessons of Anahid’s own life. Did she not build a city, a palace, a temple with human architecture and fill it with human innovations? Was her closest companion not a human prophet?” Kartir drew nearer to the throne. “Anahid embraced all that humanity could teach her; she designed a capital not just
