“I do not know,” Dara confessed. “They jumped in the lake with Suleiman’s seal. We think they were trying to get away, but they vanished.”
Anger crept into the woman’s gaze. “I am very fond of that girl, Afshin. If what happened in the palace was enough to convince her that jumping in a cursed lake was safer than staying with you, I’d say you’ve done quite a bit of harm.”
“I know.” Dara’s voice broke. “I know I have wronged her, but I was trying to set things right. Manizheh had a plan—”
“To rule over a city of corpses? How was killing more people going to help Nahri?”
“I serve the Nahids,” he whispered. “The Daevas. I wanted them to be free.”
There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again. “Baga Rustam used to whisper of freedom too. But only when he was young.” She poked him, and Dara winced. “You still have your magic, and people say there are times you look like an ifrit, that you can shape smoke into living beasts. You are not like Elashia and me, are you?”
Dara shook his head. “I was before. Closer, anyway.”
“And Manizheh did this to you?”
There was a knowing in her voice that sent ice racing down his spine. “Did she not free you as well?”
“Baga Rustam freed me.” She met his gaze, a careful look in her eyes. “He told me once that he did not trust his sister with the freeing of slaves. She had ambitions that worried him.”
“What sort of ambitions?”
She ignored the question, crossing her arms and continuing her own interrogation. “Does your bond still exist?”
“My bond?”
The two women exchanged a glance. “Nahids use some of their own blood to conjure our new bodies,” she explained. “It creates a bond. A strong one. You should be able to sense Manizheh’s presence, to hear if she calls for you.”
I have only ever heard one Nahid call for me. A song that had dragged him across the world to a human cemetery on a long-ago night. Not for the first time, Dara was struck by how very little he knew about his own existence.
“I don’t know,” he finally replied. “I don’t know anything of this.”
“Then you’re not very useful, are you?” But she beckoned him forward. “Sit up. Let me see your shoulder.”
Dara obeyed, grunting as a new burst of pain stabbed through his arm. “Blasted human weapons.”
“Ah, yes, it must be terrible to briefly feel powerless.” She tore his blood-soaked shirt at the gash, peeling it away from the wound. “They won’t forget its effect on you.”
With every press of her fingers, Dara was fighting not to pass out again. “I won’t either.”
She sat back on her heels. “The bullet isn’t deep. I can get a tool to cut it out. It will be crude and painful, but you’ll be able to escape, and then you can get Manizheh to properly care for you.”
“Again, why would you help me?”
“Because you’re going to help me.” She rose to her feet and then shoved his head back down. “Stay.”
She slammed the chest shut.
DARA FAINTED, DRIFTING IN AND OUT OF CONSCIOUSNESS as he slowly continued bleeding to death. That fact—and the pain—had started to bother Dara less and less as he lost feeling in the limbs jammed into the abominably small chest. He was dimly aware of the passage of time, of arguing voices.
And then the lid was flung open again. Light blinded him, the flare of a blazing candelabra and two torches.
There was yet another djinn in the room with bright emerald eyes.
“Suleiman’s eye,” Dara wheezed, embers falling from his lips. “How many of you are there?”
The new djinn—an elderly Ayaanle man with wild, overgrown eyebrows—reared back like Dara was a rukh.
“No,” the man said, shaking badly and attempting to back away. He brandished the candelabra like a weapon, which seemed unnecessary given Dara’s actively dying state. “I will not go with him, Razu. I will not!”
“Issa.” The Tukharistani woman—Razu—stepped into view, pulling the candelabra from his hands. “We’ve discussed this. You need to leave, my friend.” Her voice softened. “I know how frightened you are of the ifrit, and it is tearing me apart to see you suffer. Let the Afshin send you home.”
Let the Afshin do what? Dara opened his mouth, trying to object, but the only sound that emerged from his throat was a rattle. There were suddenly six freed djinn with green eyes, the original trio having sprouted twins.
No, not twins. He was seeing double. His head lolled back, his vision blurring.
Razu snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Pay attention. I have a deal for you.” She gestured to Issa. “I’m going to save your life and get you back to Manizheh. In exchange, you’re going to send him to Ta Ntry. That is your specialty, no? Flying rugs and conjured winged horses? Make him one and send him home.”
Dara squeezed his eyes shut, trying to summon what remained of his strength. “I … cannot. Banu Manizheh does not wish news to leave.”
“And I do not wish to fly one of his contraptions!” Issa protested.
Razu made a hissing noise, silencing both men. “Elashia, help Issa pack. Make sure he takes food, not just books and explosives.”
Dara heard the door open and close, the Ayaanle elder still rambling.
Razu sighed. “You’re not dead yet, are you?”
He managed a slight shake of his head.
“Good.” There was a moment of silence. “Banu Nahri planned out every detail of that courtyard. The tiles on the fountain, the trees overlooking the walking paths. She wanted it to be a place of healing for her patients, and you turned it into a slaughterhouse.”
Dara pressed the back of his skull into the wood. “They took my warrior.”
“Then why did you stop?” He opened his eyes, meeting Razu’s jewel-like gaze. She continued. “If you were justified in killing them, why did you stop when Doctor Sen
