Nahri winked and sat back to open Yaqub’s bag. She sighed in open pleasure and then began laying out the medical instruments like they were prized jewels.
Spotting the trephine drill and still feeling queasy, Ali looked away as he ate, gazing at the river. They continued in silence for a bit longer, and a rare peace settled over him. The sensation that he had a vise in his chest aside, this was a pleasant way to travel. The gentle rocking of the boat, the spread of the glistening water, and the warm breeze … it was almost hypnotic. He finished his pastry—and Nahri was right, it was pretty good—and then bent low, trailing a hand through the river again.
Ease swept over him so fast Ali exhaled aloud, the pain in his heart lessening as if a cool compress had been laid upon it. Water rippled up his wrist, tracing the path of his scars, as his reflection came to him in shimmering undulations. It was probably a trick of the light, but his eyes looked strange, not his usual warm gray, but rather deep, fathomless pools of obsidian even darker than Nahri’s.
It would feel so good to swim. The prospect of submerging, of the world going quiet and still as the Nile closed over his head, suddenly felt irresistible. Tendrils of water wrapped around his arm, gripping tight, and mildly—as though half awake—Ali realized he had not summoned them.
“I think that’s where we woke up.”
Ali started, pulled from his daze. The water fled from his fingers. “What?”
Nahri pointed. On the distant shore, a cracked minaret stood among tangled greenery, the crumbling remains of what might have been a small village becoming clearer as they drew near. “Do you remember anything of it?” she asked.
“Not really.”
Nahri’s gaze was locked on the village. “Can we get closer?”
Ali nodded, moving to adjust the rudder and steering them toward the flooded shore. “Do you think this was it?”
“Yes.” She shivered. “It’s strange, but the place felt so familiar. The path to the river, the lay of some of the ruins …”
“And this is the village you’ve been having nightmares about?”
“I think so, not that I can recall anything when I wake up.” She let out a frustrated sound, putting down the scalpel she’d been admiring. “It’s like something won’t let me remember, like the dream is yanked away the moment I open my eyes.”
“Like how you also don’t remember anything of your childhood before Cairo?”
Nahri looked uncertain. “A bit like that, yes.”
“This village isn’t far from the city, and there were scorch marks inside the minaret. Do you think—”
“That I was there when it was destroyed?” Nahri was trembling. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.”
“It could be important.”
“Ali, it’s only been two weeks since I watched my mother’s poison tear through the palace. I’m not ready to uncover some new horror from my childhood. Not yet.”
He swallowed back his questions. “All right.” He turned around, adjusting the rudder again.
“But I did see a shedu.”
Ali jolted the rudder, nearly steering them off course. “You saw a what?”
“A shedu. Just before you passed out. There was a sandstorm, and then this creature … It looked at me, looked … through me like it was unimpressed, and then vanished. It all happened so fast that I’m not sure I wasn’t hallucinating.”
Ali wasn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t think the shedu still existed. Honestly, I thought they might have just been a legend in the first place.”
“That’s what I used to think about djinn.”
It’s what I used to think about marid. Ali wasn’t sure he was ready to see any more legends come to life, at least not without being better prepared. “I hope the library at Shefala is as grand as my mother always claimed. I suspect you and I have a lot to read up on.”
“I’m surprised you don’t know for certain. I’d think you’d be begging your mother for tales of some massive library.”
Regret peppered him. “I wasn’t always open to tales of Ta Ntry as a child,” Ali confessed. “Once I was sent to the Citadel, I found I fit in better with the other Geziris if I ignored my Ayaanle side. It also made things easier with my father.” He ran his hands over his knees. “Not that it matters. He died thinking me a traitor anyway.”
“You did the right thing.” Nahri’s voice was unexpectedly fierce. “Your father needed to be stopped.”
“I know.” And he did—his father’s last act would have slaughtered hundreds of innocent shafit if Ali hadn’t taken the Citadel. But that didn’t erase his sorrow. There would be no explanations, no apologies, no chance to make things right. Ghassan was dead, and he’d left Daevabad in no less a brutal fashion than he had ruled it. All Ali could do now was pray the Almighty had more mercy on his father than Ghassan had shown his subjects. At least with Muntadhir, he had the slight solace of knowing his brother died a hero, of having a moment to say good-bye.
We’re okay, akhi. We’re okay. Ali steeled himself for the grief, for the clawed beast that erupted from his chest when he thought of Muntadhir, but it didn’t feel as vicious as it usually did. Ali was no longer uselessly wringing his hands in Cairo; he’d taken a small step on his path to avenge his brother and save their people, and even his broken heart seemed to recognize it.
He turned back around. Nahri was no longer looking at him; instead she was leaning against a cushion, her attention focused on cleaning and admiring her new medical tools, a far happier expression on her face. She’d removed her scarf, and her hair fell to her waist in a thick halo of black curls.
The sight stole his breath. Forget the royal finery she’d worn as Daevabad’s next queen. Sailing down the Nile in a dull second-hand dress with the Egyptian sun shining on her
