“Something in between.” Ali tried to study their surroundings without being too obvious. The prow of the sandship jutted over the cliff, the rest of it settled in its bed of broken trees. The creek was a good distance below, even the high-tide line at least a body length away. And though the ocean wasn’t far, the creek wasn’t deep enough to carry such a large boat.
At least not now, it wasn’t.
“Ali …” Nahri’s voice was low. “Why do you look like you’re considering something very reckless?”
God, they really had been spending too much time in each other’s company. “It would need to be tonight,” he said softly. “Before they start breaking the ship down.” He gazed at the sprawling sandship and their chains. “And we’d need help.”
“Help to do what?” Nahri prodded. “Al Qahtani, talk.”
He inclined his head to the glistening ocean. “Sail to Shefala.”
Her gaze darted between the creek and the ocean, following his path, and alarm crossed her face. “No. You shouldn’t even be using this marid magic anymore. It’s too dangerous.”
Ali didn’t disagree. Between Sobek’s cryptic warning and his own unease, he didn’t like this line of thinking any more than Nahri did. But the prospect of being delivered to Manizheh in irons was worse. And they were close, so close, to his family. To resources and safety that they wouldn’t find trapped at sea with al Mudhib and his men.
“Do you have a better suggestion?” he asked.
Nahri seemed grim. “Are you even capable of something like that?”
“It’s going to hurt, I won’t lie.” It was going to do a lot more than hurt—throwing off the ghouls with his marid magic had taken but a fraction of the effort freeing the ship would require, and that pain had nearly caused Ali to black out. “But maybe if you’re by my side, we can lift the seal, and you can use your abilities to keep my heart from exploding.”
“Nothing you just said made me feel any more confident.”
“Still waiting for a better idea.”
She took a deep breath, and then exhaled. “Fine. But you’re going to need to get that girl on our side when she returns.”
Nahri’s response threw him. “Me? You’re the more convincing one.”
“Yes, but I’m not the half-naked prince she couldn’t take her eyes off.”
Ali abruptly tried to cover his chest, an impossible task in chains. “I broke her nose.”
“Danger can be appealing.” Nahri’s expression grew shrewder. “Keep talking when she comes back. Flirt. Find out what she meant about shafit being indentured. There was anger there—it might work.”
Ali fought rising panic. Risking his life using marid magic to provoke an insurrection among pirates was one thing. Flirting was another. “I don’t know how to do that.”
Exasperation tightened her face. “Try. Do that thing where you act all earnest and talk about justice. It’s endearing.” Nahri straightened up. “She’s coming back.”
Flustered, Ali kept his mouth shut when the shafit girl returned. She carried a battered tin bowl, a ceramic canteen, and a net containing small vivid yellow fruits resembling tiny apples. “Food for our royal captives,” she announced, offering the bowl to Nahri.
Nahri eyed it with hungry regret. “Is that meat?”
The girl shrugged. “Turtle, maybe. I don’t ask, I just eat. We’re not all fancy people here.”
Nahri shook her head. “I can’t eat it. I’m Daeva. I don’t eat meat.”
“Then if you’d like to survive on fruit alone, be my guest.” The girl tossed a handful of fruit and the canteen into Nahri’s lap. “Drink.” She offered the bowl to Ali. “You?”
His stomach growled, but Ali demurred out of solidarity. “Fruit is fine, thank you.” He swallowed nervously. “May I ask your name?”
A little surprise entered her copper-brown eyes. “Fiza.”
When Ali didn’t respond, Nahri threw the canteen at him with what seemed unnecessary force before she turned to Fiza. “You’ll need to clean that cut on your face. And it’s deep. It could probably use a stitch or two.”
Fiza snorted. “I’ve seen that bag of yours, Nahid, and half the tools could cut my throat. I’ll take my chances with a scar.” She was dressed simply in a length of linen wound around her torso; Ali could see her stomach when she moved to depart. She looked strong but thin. Hungry.
“Stay,” Ali insisted, nodding at the bowl. “Eat that quickly, and no one will know it wasn’t us.”
She shot him a guarded look. “I don’t need mercy from a dead man.”
Flirting was going well. Ali racked his brain, trying to think of something else to say.
Do what Dhiru would do. Summoning his courage, Ali smiled as broadly as he could, trying to draw on whatever charm he might have picked up from his brother. “Then grant me your own mercy. This dead man could use some company.”
An amused glint entered her expression. “You are being rather obvious, prince.”
“I’m desperate. And you don’t need to call me prince. Alizayd is fine.”
Fiza narrowed her eyes and then dropped, perching on a broken log like a seabird. “All right.” She brought the bowl to her mouth, slurping back the soup. “At least give me a good story to take back to my companions. Has the Scourge truly returned? People say he flies on a shedu and split the Gozan like the Prophet Musa.”
Ali didn’t miss Nahri’s flinch. Hating what he knew he had to do, he scoffed. “He is a man half dead. He and Manizheh won through trickery and are hardly the all-powerful lords your captain is so frightened of.”
“Then why did you run from him?” Fiza laughed. “Did they find you in bed together?” she teased, tossing her head at Nahri. “Because let me tell you, there have been a great number of creative additions to this tale Manizheh has concocted of you stealing her daughter.”
“Of course not,” Ali stammered. “She’s married to my brother.”
“Does that matter?” Fiza drank more of the soup. “When I was a kid, people said the nobles in Daevabad all cheated
