The saviors of Daevabad.
Still Dara’s feet carried him forth. His scourge was gone, ripped from his hand when it stuck too deeply into the back of a weeping man who’d fallen to his knees to beg for his life. Dara now held a mace in one hand, a dagger in the other.
But the djinn hadn’t fallen apart completely. Not yet.
“Hold the hospital! Target the Scourge!”
Warriors threw themselves on him. Men mounted on horses, women flinging scalding Rumi fire. Yesterday he would have been dead a dozen times over, original daeva powers be damned. Now, with the blood magic protecting him, Manizheh’s curse defying nature itself, Dara stayed standing, cutting a path of death as he moved on the hospital that the woman he loved had worked so hard to rebuild. Tears pricked in his eyes, evaporating before they could be seen—he was not permitted to give any hint of the anguish ripping him apart.
Twenty paces from the hospital. Ten. Dara raised his hands. Go away from this in your mind. Energy sizzled through his fingers …
The great wooden doors burst open.
“Stop!”
Zaynab al Qahtani stood with a black flag in her hands.
It took a few moments for her cry to be carried. For the sight of her, unarmed save the flag, to freeze the djinn fighters where they stood. She took another step, and several people retreated, as though her very presence had forced them back. Razu was at her side, staring at Dara with naked hate and betrayal.
Gripping the flag as though it were a sword, Zaynab took another step toward him, her head held high. “We surrender,” she said coldly. “We will lay down our arms if you stop.” She dropped the flag. “Manizheh may have me.”
Dara raised his own hand. “Stand down,” he commanded his men. Not that he’d needed to. Zaynab had stilled them all.
Ah, but Manizheh’s wish burned through him. It wanted more. Humiliate her, it demanded. Make her cower.
“Zaynab!” Aqisa charged out from the hospital doors.
Razu and a pair of Geziri soldiers moved to grab the warrior. They were ill-matched, Aqisa wrenching free as Zaynab glanced back.
“Fall back, my friend. We have no choice.” But Zaynab’s voice snapped across the air as she added something in what sounded like stilted Geziriyya.
Dara had borne much shame in his life but watching the proud Qahtani princess approach with blazing eyes was a dishonor he knew he’d carry for the rest of his days. This wasn’t how he was supposed to take Daevabad from the family that had ruined his.
They aren’t the family that ruined yours. That family still rules you.
Zaynab stepped up to him. Like her younger brother, she was tall, and she evenly met Dara’s height.
“Here I am,” she declared. “May it please the wretched demon you call mistress.”
Dara glared, even as he ached to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. “What did you tell your warrior?”
“To gut you.”
The words were loud enough to carry. A few of his soldiers bristled, reaching again for their weapons.
Creator, kill me. Dara seized Zaynab al Qahtani, grabbing her roughly by the arm and yanking her forward. Manizheh’s wish was urging him to do worse, to rip away her veil and drag her by the hair. Instead, he walked faster toward the midan through the neighborhoods he’d annihilated, trying to distract himself from the awful longing. It looked as if a great wheel had rolled through, pulverizing everything in its path and leaving only fire and blood-splashed rubble. And weeping. Always weeping.
Manizheh was waiting in the midan, framed by the ifrit. Dara had barely reached her when the wish finally overpowered him. He shoved Zaynab to her knees before the Banu Nahida. The princess didn’t cry out, didn’t flinch. Instead she gazed upon Manizheh with utter disgust.
The Banu Nahida gave her a condescending look. “Well, haven’t you grown up.” She inclined her head toward Dara. “Thank you, Afshin.”
His chest abruptly expanded, the wish fulfilled. Dara took a shaky breath, and there it was. A sliver of freedom.
He grabbed his dagger, thrust it at his throat …
“Afshin, I wish for you to put that down,” Manizheh said, the order curt but pleasant. “I wouldn’t want you to harm yourself.”
The dagger fell from his hands.
Zaynab’s gaze darted to his. Whatever despair managed to slip through the obedient mask of his face must have been enough to trigger her suspicion, because she spun back on Manizheh.
Manizheh lifted her hand as though to beckon the carriage. It was a slight movement, but enough to let Dara’s emerald ring briefly gleam in the dusty light.
Zaynab choked. “Oh my God.”
Manizheh smiled, this time with triumph. “Come, girl. Your brother has been so anxious to see you.”
39
NAHRI
Nahri yelped in surprise, stepping back and crashing into the wall behind her. The shedu was so close she could have touched it, and when it shook its head, the snow clinging to its silver-tinged mane fell upon her face.
“God preserve me,” she whispered, her slippers sliding on the icy ground as she tried to retreat, wall be damned. Nahri thrust out a hand, conjuring a fistful of flames. But it wasn’t much of a defense, and she suddenly found herself wondering if her mother hadn’t been right to learn how to control limbs.
The shedu didn’t seem impressed. It sat back on its haunches, regarding her with a catlike blend of curiosity and mild disdain. A very large cat, with muscles rippling under pale golden fur. Its eyes might have been stolen from the glistening ice around them, a silver so pale they seemed clear.
But its wings. Oh, its wings. If they’d been striking back on the banks of the Nile, they were utterly glorious now, the long, elegant feathers glittering in every color in creation, a jeweled rainbow reflecting the cascading prisms of ice and snow surrounding them.
Nahri and the shedu stared at each other for a very long moment, her ragged breathing the only sound. She didn’t know if it was the same shedu that had come upon her and Ali in a sandstorm back in Egypt—she wasn’t particularly experienced at distinguishing the faces of overly large, legendary flying cats—but the encounter hadn’t left her feeling warm.
“Is this your doing?” she demanded, motioning to the snowy mountains surrounding them. It might have been madness to try and converse with the beast, but God knew she’d done stranger things since accidentally summoning a Daeva warrior.
The shedu shook out its wings and offered a lazy blink of its eerie eyes in response.
Nahri’s temper—and fear—broke. “I’ll wrestle you,” she threatened, remembering Jamshid’s long-ago story about how their earliest ancestors tamed the shedu. “Don’t think I won’t.” It wasn’t even a bluff. Wrestling a shedu at least promised a quicker end than freezing to death on whatever mysterious mountain she’d been transported to.
“They do not speak,” a new voice cut in, its language a mix of warbles and chirps. “Though I do believe such a match would be quite entertaining.”
Nahri jumped, glancing up.
A peri smiled back.
Identical to Khayzur in form, down to the talons clutching the rock and the birdlike lower half, this peri had the face of a young woman and brilliant pearl-colored wings. A fanlike crest of dark ivory feathers sprouted from her head like a halo.
The peri hopped down, taking advantage of Nahri’s speechlessness to join the shedu, with which she exchanged a mischievous look. Then she nodded at the fire still twirling in Nahri’s hand. “It is not an encounter with a daeva if they are not attempting to burn something in a quick-tempered rage.”
Nahri felt both called out and defensive of her people. “I’m going to do a lot more than burn something if you don’t return me to Ta Ntry.”
Another playful expression danced over the peri’s thin lips. Amusement, appraisal … things that indeed made Nahri want to set her on fire. “Are you not curious as to why we have invited you?”
“
Invited? You kidnapped me!”
A tone of distress entered the creature’s voice. “Oh no, we would never do such a thing. We could not, not to a lesser creature. Ours is an invitation. It is entirely your choice as to whether you climb upon my companion and fly to hear our proposal.” The peri stroked the shedu’s back. The winged lion arched under her hand and let out a grumbly sound of satisfaction. “Or you may stay here. Though be warned that the winds are treacherous at night, enough to strip a mortal’s flesh from their bones.”
That was Nahri’s choice? “Return me to Ta Ntry,” she demanded again. “If I die here, will it not be on your hands?”
The peri raised her wings in what might have been a shrug. “Would it truly be on our hands? We tried to warn you, and the weather, it is so unreliable …”
“Don’t you control the winds?”
“Perhaps.” The peri’s pale eyes glittered. “But come, daughter of Anahid. I do believe we can help each other.”
“I was told peris don’t get involved with mortal affairs.”
“And that is correct. Yet on occasion—a very rare occasion—we may point out possible corrections. Your choice, of course.” With that, the peri spread her wings and took to the air, soaring off.
Nahri watched her go, pride and indecision warring inside her. But despite what the peri claimed, she had no real choice.
She turned to the shedu. “I’m a terrible rider,” she warned. “And if you try to eat me, I’m going to give you ulcers.”
The shedu might not have been able to speak, but Nahri would swear she saw understanding in its silver gaze before it folded its wings and knelt at her feet.
“Oh,” she said. “Er, thanks.” Feeling unnerved, she clambered onto its back. The lion was warm beneath her, its shaggy fur easing the chill from her bones. She gripped its mane. This was going to be so much worse than a horse.
“Go,” she whispered.
The shedu leapt into the air.
Nahri’s dignity lasted approximately the length of time it took her to suck in a breath for the scream that followed. She clutched the shedu’s neck, burying her face in its mane and digging her knees into its side like a crab. The frigid air tore over her back, ripping away her scarf and making her wonder if freezing to death would really have been all that bad.
But after another moment of not falling and smashing on the ground, Nahri tried to relax. You are the Banu Nahida, she reminded herself. The “daughter of Anahid.”
She would not show these creatures her fear.
Summoning every bit of courage she could, Nahri peeked up from the shedu’s mane. They were rising higher, the mountain range shrinking to a stitched wound of rock and snow far below.
She struggled for air, feeling breathless as they ascended. The ring scorched against her finger, and her dizziness eased, but the air still felt too thin. They flew into a cloud bank, and Nahri shuddered at the brush of unseen hands and wings. There were whispers all around her, voices that didn’t sound like any kind of creature she knew.
The clouds dissipated, and the shedu landed, the ground shrouded by mists. Nahri slipped from its back. One of its wings curved protectively around her. She could see nothing but swirling snow.
But she could hear. Flapping and rustling, like a library of books having their pages shaken out above her head. Nahri looked up.
There were a dozen flocks of peris flying above her. Scores. Perhaps hundreds, the creatures dipping and diving and soaring in formation. Avian bodies with silver scales flashed and cut through the clouds, here one moment, gone the next. Wings were winks of color: bright lime and peacock blue, burnt saffron and indigo night. Colorless eyes were everywhere, all focused on Nahri, pinning her down in a temple of ice and air.
Without warning, three landed. The one from the cliff with the pearl-colored wings and two more in shades of ruby and sapphire. They circled her, their long feathers—as long as Nahri was tall—dragging through the frost. A chittering erupted among them that, despite her magic, Nahri could not make out.
She crossed her arms, resisting the urge to hug herself. It was just so cold. Her thin robe was meant for Ta Ntry’s heat, and Nahri’s exposed hair, tossed in the icy gusts, had frozen in stiff curls. The ice spread over everything, tracing in wild swirls and fronds, light snow dusting her skin and catching in her eyelashes.
With the creatures stalking her like vultures, Nahri again found herself wishing for a weapon. Not that there was a point. She’d seen Khayzur use wind magic to bring down the marid-controlled Gozan when it was a watery serpent the size of a mountain. The djinn spoke of the peris with awe; they were creatures said to have flown to the heavens and listened to angels. To exist in a separate, unknowable realm.
And to supposedly never interfere with the lives of mortal, lesser creatures like djinn and humans. Khayzur had been killed, after all, for the “transgression” of saving Dara’s and Nahri’s lives.
None of which explained why they had snatched her out of a djinn stronghold in Ta Ntry. She looked around. They were surrounded by a seemingly endless expanse of white, towering walls that shifted and moved beyond the clouds.
The ruby peri clucked something to his fellows, sounding distinctly disapproving. If Khayzur had exuded warmth despite his strange appearance, this one seemed as coolly aloof as the air spirits were rumored to be, his colorless gaze and crimson mask arresting. His head bobbed and darted like an owl as he studied her.
“What?” she demanded in Divasti. “What are you staring at?”
The ruby peri seemed unruffled. “Banu Nahri e-Nahid,” he replied plainly, as though the question were honest. “A daeva of part human heritage and the current bearer of the ring of Suleiman the Lawgiver.”
All right, maybe not every peri had mastered sarcasm. “What do you want?” Nahri skittered back when he drew nearer, pressing against the shedu’s warm flank. “Why have you taken me here?”
Her unease must have been obvious, for the sapphire peri spoke for the first time. “You are safe,” they assured her gently. This peri looked older, their blue feathers tinged with silver and lines creasing their pale eyes. “We could not harm you even if we desired it. Your human blood protects you.”
“A lie. You’ve already tried to harm me—you would have left me to die on a cliff. And it’s not even the first time. You sent a rukh after Dara and me!”
“The rukh was sent to follow the Afshin after much discussion,” the pearl peri corrected. “But they are wild creatures. Who can predict what happens when they are hungry?”
Rage boiled in Nahri again. “So sending a starving predator the size of a house across our path was permitted, while Khayzur’s saving our lives was punished with death?”
“Yes,” the peri declared, giving Nahri a careful look. “There had been whispers and warnings for years about a daeva who would upset the balance of the elemental races. Our people took counsel, and Khayzur betrayed it when he saved the Afshin the first time. He was warned. He knew the consequences.”
“She is too young.” It was the sapphire peri. “Too angry.”
“Zaydi al Qahtani was not much older when his people were given the knowledge of their weapons,” the ruby peri countered.
“And he took nearly as many lives as were saved,” the other peri retorted. “We agreed then that mortals did not have the wisdom to receive our guidance.”
Zaydi al Qahtani. “Wait.” Nahri glanced between the arguing creatures. “The peris gave the Geziris their zulfiqars?”
“Indirectly,” the sapphire one said swiftly. “Certain paths were crossed, and pieces left to complete. The final steps were not taken by us.”
“So peris do interfere. But only when it suits you.”
“We do not interfere,” the ruby peri insisted. “We seek to avert the greatest harm, to listen to the warnings of the heavens when its laws are about to be broken.”
“You interfere,” Nahri said, more vehemently. Arguing with these creatures while trapped
in their realm was probably not the wisest move, but she was tired of being manipulated and deceived by people who believed themselves superior. At least Ghassan had been up front; these twisted half-truths, as if Nahri was the one being unreasonable, were almost worse.
The pearl peri looked amused. “I told you she had Anahid’s tongue.”
“I take it she too was given some of this ‘guidance’?” Nahri asked.
“You wear it on your finger.” The peri moved as if to reach for Nahri’s hand, and Nahri jerked back. “But the seal ring’s magic has not bonded to you, and it will not—not even if you bring it back to Daevabad. Anahid was a daeva who traveled the sands for millennia and was a companion to a prophet. She gave her life and heart for her city. That is not an enchantment you can fix without a similar exchange.”
A similar exchange. Nahri heard the underlying message in those polite words. “You said your people had a proposal for me. So why don’t you state it? Clearly, if that’s even possible for you.”
The ruby peri spoke again, bringing his hands together. “There are certain laws of creation. Of balance—a balance that benefits us all, peri and daeva, marid and human. Those laws have now been broken, twisted and degraded, again and again by one of your kin.”
Nahri untangled the peri’s words. “By Manizheh, you mean. You’re a bit late with your outrage. She already attacked Daevabad and murdered thousands.”
“The internecine squabbles of your people do not concern us,” the peri replied, seeming annoyed by her interruption. “What the daevas wish to do to one another is their business—until it infects those whose blood flows with other elements. Until it threatens the balance.”
“‘Until it infects …’” Nahri repeated, ill at the choice of words. “Then that’s what this is. Manizheh’s gotten powerful enough to scare you, and you’d like another daeva to handle the unpleasant task of getting rid of her. Will I be getting a zulfiqar like Zaydi? Another seal ring? Or maybe just more nonsense riddles I’ll need to puzzle out myself?”
The Empire of Gold Page 54