The City of Brass: Escape to a city of adventure, romance, and magic in this thrilling epic fantasy trilogy (The Daevabad Trilogy, Book 1)

Cold. That was her first thought upon waking. Nahri shivered violently and curled into a ball, pulling her blanket over her head and tucking her frozen hands under her chin. Could it be morning already? Her face felt damp, and the tip of her nose was completely numb.

What she saw when she opened her eyes was so strange, she immediately sat up.

Snow.

It had to be; it matched Dara’s description perfectly. The ground was covered by a thin blanket of white with only a few dark patches of soil visible. The very air seemed more still than usual, frozen into silence by the snow’s arrival.

Dara was still gone, as were the horses. Nahri wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and fed the dying fire the driest branch she could find, trying not to let her nerves get the better of her. Maybe he’d just taken the horses to graze.

Or maybe he really did leave. She forced down a few bites of cold stew and then started packing up her meager supplies. There was something about the silence and lonely beauty of the fresh snowfall that made the solitude more intense.

The stale bread and spicy stew left her mouth dry. Nahri searched their small campsite, but the waterskin was nowhere to be seen. Now she did start to panic. Would Dara really leave her with no water?

That bastard. That smug, self-righteous bastard. She tried to melt some snow in her hands but only got a mouthful of mud. She spat, growing annoyed, and then pulled on her boots. Dara be damned. She’d noticed a stream in the sparse woods behind their camp. If he wasn’t back by the time she returned, well … she’d have to start making other plans.

She stomped toward the forest. If I die out here, I hope I come back as a ghoul. I will haunt that arrogant, wine-soaked daeva until the Day of Judgment.

As she walked deeper into the forest, the sounds of warbling birds faded. It was dark; the tall, ancient trees blocked what little light penetrated the cloudy morning sky. Unbending pine needles held up tiny cups of crisp snow in the air all around her.

A thin layer of ice covered the rushing stream. She broke it easily with a rock and knelt to drink. The water was so cold it made her teeth ache, but she forced a few mouthfuls down and splashed some on her face, her entire body trembling. She longed for Cairo, its heat and crowds the perfect remedy to this cold, lonely place.

A flash drew her attention back to the stream, and she glanced down to see a bright fish dash behind a submerged rock. It briefly reappeared to fight the swift current, its scales sparkling in the dim light.

Nahri pressed her palms against the muddy bank and leaned closer. The fish was a striking silver color with brilliant blue and green bands crossing its body. While it was only about the length of her hand, it looked plump, and she suddenly wondered how it would taste seared over her weak campfire.

The fish must have guessed her intent. Just as she was considering the best way to catch it, it vanished behind the rocks again, and a breeze blew straight through her thin headscarf. She shivered and stood; the fish wasn’t worth staying here any longer.

She returned to the forest’s edge and then stopped.

Dara was back.

She doubted he saw her. He stood between the horses with his back to the trees, and as Nahri watched, he pressed his brow against one’s fuzzy cheek, giving its nose an affectionate scratch.

She wasn’t moved by the gesture. Dara probably thought even animals were superior to shafit like her.

But there was visible relief in his face when she entered their campsite. “Where were you?” he demanded. “I was worried that something ate you.”

Nahri pushed past him toward her horse. “Sorry to disappoint.” She grabbed the edge of her saddle and shoved one foot into the stirrup.

“Let me help—”

“Don’t touch me.” Dara jerked away, and Nahri heaved herself awkwardly into the saddle.

“Listen …,” he started again, sounding admonished. “About last night. I was drunk. It’s been a long time since I’ve had company.” He chewed his lip. “I suppose I forgot my manners.”

She whirled on him. “Your manners? You go into a wild rant about the djinn—you know, the ones who stopped the indiscriminate butchery of shafit like me, insult me when I show some relief at the news of their victory, and then announce you’re planning to leave me at the gates of that damn city anyway? And you’re blaming it all on wine and your lack of manners?” Nahri scoffed. “By the Most High, you’re so arrogant you can’t even apologize properly.”

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he said, exaggerating the words. “Is that what you wish to hear? You are the first shafit I’ve ever spent time with. I didn’t realize …” He cleared his throat, playing nervously with the reins. “Nahri, you have to understand that when I was growing up, we were taught that the Creator himself would punish us if our race continued breaking Suleiman’s laws. That another human would rise to strip away our powers and upend our lives if we didn’t bring the other tribes into line. Our leaders said the shafit were soulless, anything out of their mouths a deception.” He shook his head. “I never questioned it. No one did.” He hesitated, his eyes bright with regret. “When I think of some of the things I’ve done …”

“I think I’ve heard enough.” She jerked the reins out of his hands. “Let’s just go. The sooner we get to Daevabad, the sooner we’re done with each other.”

She kicked her horse a bit harder than usual, and it gave an annoyed snort before rushing into a trot. Nahri clutched the reins and squeezed her legs, praying her rash move wouldn’t land her on the ground. She was a terrible rider, while Dara seemed to have been born in the saddle.

She tried to relax, knowing from experience that the most comfortable way to ride was to let her body follow the animal’s motions, leaving her hips loose to sway instead of bouncing all over the place. Behind her, she heard Dara’s horse pounding the frozen ground.

He quickly caught up. “Oh, don’t run off like that. I said I was sorry. Besides …” She heard his voice catch, and when he spoke again, she could barely hear him. “I will take you to Daevabad.”

“Yes, I know. To the gates. We’ve been over this.”

Dara shook his head. “No. I will take you into Daevabad. I will escort you to the king myself.”

Nahri immediately pulled on her reins to slow her horse. “Is this a trick?”

“No. I swear on my parents’ ashes. I will take you to the king.”

Macabre oath aside, she found it hard to trust his rather abrupt change of heart. “Will I not embarrass the legacy of your precious Nahids?”

He dropped his gaze to study his reins, looking ashamed. “It matters not. In truth, I cannot predict how the djinn will react and …” A blush stole into his cheeks. “I could not bear it if something happened to you. I would never forgive myself.”

She opened her mouth to mock his reluctant affection for the “dirt-blood thief” and then stopped, struck by the soft edge to his voice and the way he was anxiously twisting his ring. Dara looked as nervous as a prospective bridegroom. He was telling the truth.

Nahri stared at him, catching sight of the sword at his waist. His silver bow gleamed in the morning light. No matter the disturbing things that occasionally came out of his mouth, he was a good ally to have.

She’d be lying if she said her gaze didn’t linger a moment longer than necessary. Her heart skipped a beat. Ally, she reminded herself. Nothing more.

“And how do you expect to be greeted in Daevabad?” she asked. Dara looked up, a wry smile on his face. “You mentioned being locked up in a dungeon,” she reminded him.

“Then how fortunate I travel with Cairo’s premier picker of locks.” He gave her a wicked grin before spurring his horse. “Try to keep up. It seems I cannot afford to lose you now.”

THEY TRAVELED THROUGHOUT THE MORNING, racing along the frost-encrusted plains, their horses’ hooves loud against the frozen ground. The snow cleared, but the wind kicked up, sweeping rolling gray clouds over the southern horizon and whipping through Nahri’s garments. With the snow gone, she could see the blue mountains surrounding them, capped by ice and belted by dark forests, the trees growing sparser as the rocky cliffs rose. At one point, they startled a group of wild goats grown fat on grass, with thick, matted coats and sharply curved horns.

She eyed them hungrily. “Do you think you could get one?” she asked Dara. “All you do with that bow of yours is polish it.”

He glanced at the goats with a frown. “Get one? Why?” His confusion turned to revulsion. “You mean to eat?” He made a disgusted sound. “Absolutely not. We don’t eat meat.”

“What? Why not?” Meat had been a rare luxury on her limited income in Cairo. “It’s delicious!”

“It’s unclean.” Dara shuddered. “Blood pollutes. No Daeva would consume such a thing. And especially not a Banu Nahida.”

“A Banu Nahida?”

“The title we give to female Nahid leaders. A position of honor,” he added, a little chiding in his voice. “Of responsibility.”

“So you’re telling me I should hide my kebabs?”

Dara sighed.

They kept riding, but Nahri’s legs were aching by the afternoon. She twisted in her saddle to stretch her cramping muscles and pulled the blanket tighter, wishing for a cup of Khayzur’s hot spiced tea. They’d been traveling for hours; certainly it was time for a break. She kicked her heels against the horse’s side, trying to close the distance between her and Dara so she could suggest they stop.

Annoyed by his inexperienced rider, her horse snorted and skidded to the left before galloping forward and passing Dara.

He laughed. “Having some problems?”

Nahri cursed and yanked back on the reins, pulling her horse into a walk. “I think it hates—” She stopped speaking, her eyes drawn toward a dark crimson smudge in the sky. “Ya, Dara … have I gone mad or is there a bird the size of a camel flying toward us?”

The daeva whirled around, then pulled to a stop with a curse, snatching the reins from her hands. “Suleiman’s eye. I don’t think it’s seen us yet, but …” He looked worried. “There’s no place to hide.”

“Hide?” she asked, lowering her voice when Dara hushed her. “Why? It’s just a bird.”

“No, it’s a rukh. Bloodthirsty creatures; they’ll eat anything they find.”

“Anything? You mean like us?” She groaned when he nodded. “Why does everything in your world want to eat us?”

Dara carefully pulled his bow free as he watched the rukh circle the forest. “I think it’s found our camp.”

“Is that bad?”

“They have an excellent sense of smell. It will be able to track us.” Dara inclined his head to the north, toward the thickly forested mountains. “We need to reach those trees. Rukh are too large to hunt in the forest.”

Nahri glanced back at the bird, which had drifted closer to the ground, and then at the edge of the forest. It was impossibly far. “We’ll never make it.”

Dara pulled off his turban, cap, and robe and tossed them to her. Puzzled, Nahri watched as he secured his sword to his waist. “Don’t be such a pessimist. I have an idea. Something I heard about in a story.” He nocked one of his gleaming silver arrows. “Just stay low and hold on to your horse. Don’t look back, and don’t stop. No matter what you see.” He pulled on her reins, jerked her horse in the right direction, and urged both animals into a trot.

She swallowed, her heart in her throat. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Before she could protest, Dara smacked her horse’s rump hard. She could feel the heat of his hand from her saddle; the animal whinnied in protest and bolted toward the forest.

Nahri threw herself forward, one hand clutching the saddle and the other wrapped in the horse’s damp mane. It took every bit of self-control not to scream. Her body bounced wildly, and she tightened her legs, desperately hoping that she wouldn’t be thrown off. She caught a brief glimpse of the racing ground before squeezing her eyes shut.

A long cry pierced the air, so high-pitched it seemed to tear right through her. Unable to cover her ears, Nahri could only pray. Oh, Merciful One, she begged, please don’t let this thing eat me. She’d survived a body-possessing ifrit, ravenous ghouls, and a deranged daeva. This couldn’t end with her being gobbled up by an overgrown pigeon.

Nahri peeked up from the horse’s mane, but the forest didn’t look much closer. Her horse’s hooves beat against the ground, and she could hear it panting. And where was Dara?

The rukh screeched again, sounding furious. Worried about the daeva, she ignored his warning and glanced back.

“God preserve me.” The whispered prayer came unbidden to her lips at the sight of the rukh. She suddenly knew why she’d never heard of them.

No one survived to tell the tale.

Camel size was a terrible understatement; larger than Yaqub’s shop and with a wingspan that would have covered the length of her street in Cairo, the monstrous bird probably snacked on camels. It had ebony eyes the size of platters and glittering feathers the color of wet blood. Its long black beak ended in a sharply curved tip. It looked big enough to swallow her whole, and it was closing in. There was no way she’d make it to the forest.

Dara suddenly veered into view behind her. His boots jammed against the stirrups, he was damn near standing on the horse, turned around to face the rukh. He drew back his bow, unleashing an arrow that hit the beast just below its eye. The rukh jerked its head back and shrieked again. At least a dozen silver arrows pierced its body, but they didn’t slow it in the slightest. Dara shot it twice more in the face, and the rukh dove for him, its massive talons outstretched.

“Dara!” she screamed as the daeva made a sharp eastward turn. The rukh followed, apparently preferring a reckless daeva to a fleeing human.

There was little chance he could hear her over the rukh’s enraged shrieks, but she couldn’t help but shout, “You’re going the wrong way!” There was nothing east but flat plains—was he trying to get himself killed?

Dara shot the creature once more and then threw his bow and quiver away. He pulled himself into a squatting position on the horse’s saddle and cradled his sword to his chest with one arm.

The rukh cried out in triumph as it closed in on the daeva. It opened its talons wide.

“No!” Nahri screamed as the rukh snatched up the horse and Dara, as easily as a hawk might seize a mouse. It rose in the air while the horse screamed and kicked, and then veered back south.

She yanked hard on the reins to pull her racing horse around. It reared, trying to throw her off, but she held on, and it turned. “Yalla, go! Go!” she shouted, reverting to Arabic in panic. She kicked hard, and it bolted after the rukh.

The bird soared away with Dara clutched in its talons. It cried out again and then tossed both Dara and his horse high in the air. It opened its mouth wide.

It was only seconds, but the moment between seeing Dara thrown in the air and seeing him vanish seemed to last an eternity, twisting something deep in her chest. The rukh caught the horse again with one foot, but the daeva was nowhere to be seen.

She searched the sky, expecting him to reappear, to flit into existence like the wine he conjured up. This was Dara, the magical being who traveled by sandstorms and saved her from a pack of ghouls. He had to have a plan; he couldn’t just vanish down the gullet of some bloodthirsty bird.

But he didn’t reappear.

Tears pricked her eyes, her mind knowing what her heart denied. Her horse slowed, balking at her kicks. It clearly had more sense than she did; the only thing they could offer the rukh was dessert.

She could see the crimson bird silhouetted against the mountains; it hadn’t gotten very far but suddenly shot up in the sky, frantically flapping its wings. As she watched, it started to fall and then momentarily righted itself, letting out a screech that sounded more frightened than triumphant. Then it fell again, tumbling through the air and crashing to the frozen ground.

The force of the distant impact shuddered through her horse. Nahri wanted to scream. Nothing could survive a fall like that.

She didn’t let her horse slow until they reached the shallow crater the rukh’s body had smashed into the ground. She tried to steel herself but had to look away from Dara’s dead horse. Her own animal startled and fussed. Nahri fought for control as she approached the rukh’s massive body. It towered over them, one enormous wing crumpled under its dead weight. Its glittering feathers were twice her height.

She began to circle the bird, but the daeva was nowhere to be seen. Nahri choked back a sob. Had it really eaten him? That might have been faster than crashing to the ground, but—

A cold, sharp feeling cut through her and she reeled, overcome with emotion. She caught sight of the creature’s bent head, black blood pouring from its mouth. The sight of it filled her with rage, displacing her grief and despair. She grabbed her dagger, overcome by the irrational need to tear at its eyes and rip out its throat.

Its neck twitched.

Nahri jumped, and her horse backed up. She tightened her grip on the reins, ready to flee, and then the neck twitched again … no, it bulged, like something was inside.

She’d already slipped off her horse when a dark blade finally emerged from inside the rukh’s neck, laboriously cutting a long vertical gash before being dropped to the ground. The daeva followed, washed out in a wave of black blood. He collapsed to his knees.

“Dara!” Nahri ran and kneeled at his side, throwing her arms around him before her mind caught up with her actions. The rukh’s hot blood soaked through her clothes.

“I …” He spat a gob of black blood onto the ground before shaking free of her grasp and climbing laboriously to his feet. He wiped the blood from his eyes, his hands trembling. “Fire,” he rasped. “I need a fire.”

Nahri looked around, but the ground was covered in wet snow, and there were no branches in sight. “What can I do?” she cried as the daeva gasped for air. He collapsed to the ground again. “Dara!”

She reached for him. “No,” he protested. “Don’t touch me …” He dug his fingers into the ground, sending up sparks that were quickly extinguished by the icy dirt. A terrible sucking sound came from his mouth.

She crept closer despite his warning, aching to do something as a deep shudder ran through his body. “Let me heal you.”

He slapped her hand away. “No. The ifrit—”

“There are no damned ifrit here!”

Beads of ash rolled down his face. Before she could reach for him again, he suddenly cried out.

It was as if his very body momentarily turned to smoke. His eyes grew dim, and as they both watched, his hands briefly translucent. And though Nahri knew nothing about how daeva bodies worked, she could tell from the panic in his face that this was not normal.

“Creator, no,” he whispered, staring in horror at his hands. “Not now …” He glanced up at Nahri, a mixture of fear and sadness in his expression. “Oh, little thief, I’m so sorry.”

He had no sooner apologized than his entire body shimmered like steam, and he fell against the ground.

“Dara!” Nahri knelt at his side and checked him over, her instincts kicking in. She could see nothing but slick black blood, whether the daeva’s or the rukh’s, she had no idea. “Dara, talk to me!” she begged. “Tell me what to do!” She tried to pull open his robe, hoping to see some type of wound she could heal.

The hem crumbled into ash. Nahri gasped, trying not to panic as the daeva’s skin took on the same hue. Was he going to turn to dust in her arms?

His skin briefly firmed up even as his body grew light. His eyes fluttered shut, and Nahri went cold. “No,” she said, brushing the ash from his closed eyes. Not like this, not after everything we’ve been through. She wracked her memory, trying to think of anything useful he’d told her about how the Nahids healed.

He had said they could undo poisons and curses, she remembered that. But he hadn’t told her how. Did they have their own medicines, their own spells? Or did they do it by touch alone?

Well, touch was all she had. She pulled his shirt open and pressed her trembling hands against his chest. His skin was so cold it numbed her fingers. Intent, he had mentioned more than once. Intent was critical in magic.

She closed her eyes, focusing entirely on Dara.

Nothing. There was no heartbeat, no breath. She frowned, trying to sense anything wrong, trying to imagine him healthy and alert. Her fingers grew frosty, and she pressed them harder against his chest, his body twitching in response.

Something wet tickled her wrists, growing faster and thicker, like steam off a boiling pot. Nahri didn’t move, keeping the image of a healthy Dara, his smile sly as always, firmly in her mind. His skin warmed a bit. Please, let it be working, she begged. Please, Dara. Don’t leave me.

A sharp ache crept up from the base of her skull. She ignored the pain. Warm blood dripped from her nose, and she fought a wave of dizziness. The steam was coming more quickly. She felt his skin grow firm beneath her fingertips.

And then the first memory flashed before her eyes. A green plain, lush and entirely unfamiliar, sliced in half by a brilliant blue river. A young girl with eyes as black as obsidian. She held out a badly constructed wooden bow.

“Look, Daru!”

“A masterpiece!” I exclaim, and she beams. My little sister, ever the warrior. The Creator help the man she marries …

Nahri shook her head, dispelling the memory. She needed to remain focused. Dara’s skin was finally growing hot again, the muscles solidifying under her hands.

A dazzling court, the palace walls covered in precious metals and jewels. I breathe in the scent of sandalwood and bow. “Does this please you, my master?” I ask, my smile ingratiating as always. I snap my fingers, and a silver chalice appears in my hand. “The finest drink of the ancients as requested.” I hand the beaming human fool the chalice and wait for him to die, the drink little more than concentrated hemlock. Perhaps my next master will be more careful in the wording of his wishes.

Nahri shook free of the horrifying image. She bent down to concentrate. She just needed a little more time …

But it was too late. The darkness behind her closed eyes swept away again, replaced by a ruined city surrounded by rocky hills. A sliver of moon splashed dim light on broken masonry.

I thrash against the ifrit, dragging my feet on the ground as they pull me toward the sinkhole, the remains of an ancient well. Its dark water glimmers, hinting at hidden depths.

“No!” I scream, for once not caring about my honor. “Please! Don’t do this!”

The two ifrit laugh. “Come now, General Afshin!” The female offers a mock salute. “Don’t you want to live forever?”

I try to struggle, but the curse has already weakened me. They bind my wrists with rope, not bothering with iron, and then wrap the rope around one of the heavy stones lining the well.

“No!” I beg, as they haul me over the edge. “Not now! You don’t under—” The brick hits me in the stomach. Their black smiles are the last thing I see before the dark water closes over my face.

The brick plummets to the bottom of the well, dragging me along headfirst. I frantically twist my wrists, clawing and ripping at my skin. No, I can’t die like this. Not with the curse still on me!

The stone thuds against the bottom, my body bouncing against the rope. My lungs burn, the press of dark water against my skin terrifying. I follow the rope, trying desperately to find the knot tying it to the stone. My own magic is lost to me, the ifrit’s curse coursing through my blood, preparing to seize me as soon as I breathe my last.

I’m going to be a slave. The thought rings through my mind as I fumble for the knot. When I next open my eyes, it will be to look upon the human master to whose whims I’ll be entirely beholden. Horror surges through me. No, Creator, no. Please.

The knot won’t budge. My chest is collapsing, my head spinning. One breath, what I would do for just one breath …

There was a scream from another world, a faraway world on a snowy plain, shouting a strange name that meant nothing.

The water finally pries past my clenched jaws, pouring down my throat. A bright light blossoms before me, as lush and green as the valleys of my homeland. It beckons, warm and welcoming.

And then Nahri was gone.

“NAHRI, WAKE UP! NAHRI!”

Dara’s terrified cries tugged at her mind, but Nahri ignored them, warm and comfortable in the thick blackness that surrounded her. She pushed away the hand shaking her shoulder, settling deeper into the hot coals and savoring the tickle of fire licking up her arms.

Fire?

Nahri had no sooner opened her eyes and seen a set of dancing flames than she shrieked and jumped up. She batted her arms and the fiery tendrils shimmied away, dropping to the ground like snakes and melting into the snow.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!”

Dara’s voice barely registered as she frantically swept her body. But instead of scorched flesh and burned clothes, she found only normal skin. Her tunic barely felt warm to the touch. What in the name of all … She glanced up, giving the daeva a wild look. “Did you light me on fire?”

“You wouldn’t wake!” he protested. “I thought it might help.” His face was paler than usual, the crossed wing and arrow tattoo on his face standing out like charcoal. And his eyes were brighter, closer to how they’d looked in Cairo. But he was standing up, healthy and whole, and mercifully not translucent.

The rukh … she remembered, her head feeling like she’d had too much wine. She rubbed her temples, unsteady on her feet. I healed him and then …

She gagged, the memory of water pouring down her throat strong enough to make her sick. But it hadn’t been her throat, hadn’t been her memory. She swallowed, taking in the sight of the anxious daeva again.

“God be merciful,” she whispered. “You’re dead. I saw you die … I felt you drown.”

The devastated shadow that overtook his face was confirmation enough. Nahri gasped and instinctively stepped back, bumping into the still warm body of the rukh.

No breath, no heartbeat. Nahri closed her eyes, everything coming together too fast. “I-I don’t understand,” she stammered. “Are you … are you some sort of ghost?” The word sounded ridiculous to her ears even as its implication broke her heart. Her eyes were suddenly wet. “Are you even alive?”

“Yes!” The words tumbled out in a rush. “I mean, I-I think so. It’s … it’s complicated.”

Nahri threw up her hands. “Whether or not you’re alive shouldn’t be complicated!” She turned away, linking her fingers behind her head and feeling wearier than she had at any point during their exhausting journey. She paced down the length of the rukh’s belly. “I don’t understand why every …” And then she stopped, distracted by the sight of something lashed to one of the rukh’s massive talons.

She was at the rukh’s foot in an instant, tearing the bundle from its ties. The black scrap of fabric was filthy and torn but the cheap coins were recognizable. As was the heavy gold ring tied to one end. The basha’s ring. She untied both, holding the ring up in the sunlight.

Dara hurried toward her. “Don’t touch that. Suleiman’s eye, Nahri, not even you could want those. They’re probably from its last victim.”

“They’re mine,” she said softly, quiet horror taking grip of her heart. She rubbed the ring, remembering how it had cut her palm so many weeks ago. “They’re from my home back in Cairo.”

“What?” Dara stepped closer and snatched the headdress from her hands. “You must be mistaken.” He turned the filthy fabric over and pressed it to his face, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not mistaken!” She dropped the ring, suddenly wanting nothing to do with it. “How is that possible?”

Dara lowered the headdress; there was panic in his bright eyes. “It was hunting us.”

“You mean it belonged to the ifrit? They broke into my home?” Nahri asked, her voice rising. Her skin crawled at the thought of those creatures in her tiny stall, rifling through the few precious things she owned. And what if that hadn’t been enough? What if they’d gone after her neighbors? After Yaqub? Her chest tightened.

“It wasn’t an ifrit. The ifrit can’t control rukhs.”

“Then what can?” Nahri didn’t like the cold stillness that had overtaken him.

“Peris.” He threw the headdress to the ground, the movement sudden and violent. “The only creatures who can control ruhks are peris.”

“Khayzur.” She took a shaky breath. “But why?” she stammered. “I thought he liked me.”

He shook his head. “Not Khayzur.”

She couldn’t believe his naiveté. “What other peris even know about me?” she pointed out. “And he rushed off after finding out about my Nahid heritage—probably to go tell his friends.” She started walking toward the rukh’s other leg. “I bet my teacup is tied over …”

“No.” Dara reached for her hand. Nahri flinched, and he immediately pulled back, a flash of hurt in his face. “I … Forgive me.” He swallowed and turned toward the horse. “I’ll try not to touch you again. But we need to leave. Now.”

The sadness in his voice cut her deeply. “Dara, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“There’s no time.” He gestured for her to climb into the saddle, and she did so reluctantly, taking the bloody sword when he handed it to her.

“I will need to ride with you,” he explained, pulling himself up and settling in behind her. “At least until we find another horse.”

He kicked the horse into a trot and despite his promise, she fell back against his chest, momentarily taken aback by the smoky heat and warm press of his body. He’s not dead, she tried to assure herself. He can’t be.

He pulled the horse to an abrupt stop where he’d thrown his bow and quiver. He raised his hands, and they flew to him like loyal sparrow hawks.

Nahri ducked as he swung the weapons over her head, looping both over his left shoulder. “So what do we do now?” She thought back to Khayzur’s easy banter and Dara’s quip about how the peri could rearrange the landscape with a single sweep of his wings.

“The only thing we can,” he said, his breath soft against her ear. He snatched up the reins again, holding her tight. There was nothing affectionate or remotely romantic about the gesture; it was desperation, like a man clinging to a ledge.

“We run.”