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

Nahri took a long swig of water from the skin, swirled it around in her mouth, and spat. She’d have given her last dirham to drink without feeling grit in her teeth. She sighed and leaned heavily against Dara’s back, letting her legs hang loose on the horse.

“I hate this place,” she mumbled into his shoulder. Nahri was used to sand—she dealt with the storms that coated Cairo in a hazy yellow dust every spring—but this was unbearable.

They’d left the last oasis days ago, stealing a new horse and making one last push across open, unprotected ground. Dara said there was no choice; everything between the oasis and Daevabad was desert.

It had been a brutal crossing. They barely spoke, both too weary to do more than hold on to the saddle and continue in companionable silence. Nahri was filthy; dirt and sand clung to her skin and matted her hair. It was in her clothes and her food, under her nail beds and in between her toes.

“It’s not much farther,” Dara assured her.

“You always say that,” she muttered. She shook out a cramped arm and then wrapped it around his waist again. A few weeks ago she would have been too embarrassed to hold him so boldly, but now she no longer cared.

The landscape began to change, hills and scrubby, frail trees replacing the bare dirt. The wind picked up, blue clouds rolling in from the east to darken the sky.

When they finally stopped, Dara slid off the saddle and pulled away the filthy cloth that covered his face. “Praise be to the Creator.”

She took his hand as he helped her down. No matter how many times she dismounted, it always took a few minutes for her knees to remember how to work. “Are we there?”

“We’ve reached the Gozan River,” he replied, sounding relieved. “Daevabad’s threshold is just across the water, and none but our kind can pass through it. Not ifrit, not ghouls, not even peris.”

The land came to an abrupt end in a cliff that overlooked the river. In the gloomy light, the wide, muddy river was an unappealing brownish-gray, and the other side didn’t look promising. All Nahri could see was more flat dirt. “I think you may have overstated Daevabad’s charms.”

“Do you really think we’d leave a vast magical city open to the eyes of any curious human onlooker? It’s hidden.”

“How are we going to cross?” Even from up here, she could see whitecaps cresting on the rushing water.

Dara peered over the edge of the limestone cliff. “I could try to enchant one of the blankets,” he suggested, not sounding optimistic. “But let’s wait until tomorrow.” He nodded at the sky. “It looks like it’s about to storm, and I don’t want to risk crossing in bad weather. I remember these cliffs being pocked with caves. We’ll shelter in one for the night.” He started to lead the horse down a twisting, narrow path.

Nahri followed. “Any chance I could make a trip to the riverbank?”

“Why?”

“I smell like something died in my clothes, and I have enough dirt caked on my skin to make a double of myself.”

He nodded. “Just be careful. The way down is steep.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Nahri trekked down the sharp hill, zigzagging past rocky boulders and stunted trees. Dara hadn’t lied. She tripped twice and cut her palms on the sharp rocks, but the chance to bathe was worth it. She stayed close to the riverbank as she quickly scrubbed her skin, ready to jump back if the current grew too strong.

The sky grew darker by the minute; an unhealthy tinge of green lined the clouds. Nahri climbed out of the water, wrung out her hair, and shivered. The air was humid and smelled of lightning. Dara was right about the storm.

She was shoving her wet feet into her boots when she felt it. The touch of the wind, so firm it was like a hand upon her shoulder. She immediately straightened up and spun around, ready to hurl her boot at whatever it was.

There was no one. Nahri scanned the rocky shore, but it was empty and still save for the dead leaves blowing in the breeze. She sniffed and caught the oddly strong scent of peppercorns and mace. Maybe Dara was attempting to conjure up a new dish.

She followed the small trail of smoke drifting in the sky behind her until she found Dara sitting at the mouth of a dark cave. A pot of stew bubbled over the flames.

He glanced up and smiled. “Finally. I was starting to fear you drowned.”

The wind whipped through her wet hair, and she trembled. “Never,” she declared, cozying up to the fire. “I swim like a fish.”

He shook his head. “All your swimming reminds me of the Ayaanle. I ought to check your neck for crocodile scales.”

“Crocodile scales?” She snatched up his goblet in hopes the wine would warm her. “Truly?”

“Ay, it’s just something we say about them.” He pushed the pot in her direction. “Crocodiles are one of the preferred forms of the marid. Supposedly the ancient Ayaanle used to worship them. Their descendants don’t like talking about it, but I’ve heard bizarre stories about their old rituals.” He took the goblet back from her; the goblet refilled with wine the instant his fingers touched the stem.

Nahri shook her head. “What is it tonight?” she asked, looking at the stew with a knowing smile. The question had turned into a game: try as he might, Dara had never been able to conjure up anything other than his mother’s lentil dish.

He grinned. “Pigeons stuffed with fried onions and saffron.”

“How forbidden.” She helped herself to the food. “The Ayaanle live near Egypt, yes?”

“Far to the south; your land is too fat with humans for the tastes of our people.”

The rain began to fall. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Dara made a face as he wiped water from his brow. “Tonight is not a night for stories,” he declared. “Come.” He picked up the pot, indifferent to the hot metal. “We should get out of the rain and get some sleep.” He fixed his gaze on the hidden city beyond the river, and his expression turned unreadable. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

NAHRI SLEPT FITFULLY, HER DREAMS BIZARRE AND full of thunder. It was still dark when she woke, their fire reduced to glowing embers. Rain battered the mouth of the cave, and she could hear the wind howling past the cliffs.

Dara was stretched out beside her on one of the blankets, but they’d grown familiar enough that she could tell from the cadence of his breathing that he was also awake. She rolled over to face him, realizing that he’d spread his robe over her as she slept. He lay flat on his back, his hands crossed over his stomach like a corpse.

“Trouble sleeping?” she asked.

He didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the rocky ceiling. “Something like that.”

A flash of lightning lit up the cave, followed shortly by a rumble of thunder. She studied his profile in the dim light. Her gaze trailed his long-lashed eyes down his neck and across his bare arms. Her stomach fluttered; she was suddenly aware of how little space separated them.

Not that it mattered—Dara’s mind was clearly worlds away. “I wish it were not raining,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically wistful. “I would have liked to look upon the stars in case …”

“In case?” she prompted when he trailed off.

He glanced at her, looking almost embarrassed. “In case it’s my last night as a free man.”

Nahri flinched. Too busy searching the sky for more rukh and trying to survive the last leg of their grueling journey, Nahri had barely given further thought to their reception in Daevabad. “Do you really think you’re going to be arrested?”

“It’s likely.”

There was a hint of fear in his voice, but having learned how prone to exaggeration Dara could be—especially when it came to the djinn—Nahri tried to reassure him. “You’re probably just ancient history to them, Dara. Not everyone is capable of holding a grudge for fourteen centuries.” He scowled and looked away, and she laughed. “Oh, come now, I’m just teasing you.” She pushed up on one elbow, and without thinking much of it, reached for his cheek to turn him back to face her.

Dara startled at her touch, his eyes bright with surprise. No, not at her touch, Nahri realized with some embarrassment, rather at the position she’d inadvertently put them in, her body half-draped over his chest.

She flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He touched her cheek.

Dara looked nearly as astonished as she did at the act, as if his fingers were lightly tracing her jaw of their own accord. There was so much longing in his face—as well as a good bit of indecision—that Nahri’s heart began to race, heat pooling in her stomach. Don’t, she told herself. He’s the literal enemy of the people you’re about to ask for sanctuary, and you want to add this to the ties already binding you? Only a fool would do such a thing.

She kissed him.

Dara made a halfhearted sound of protest against her mouth and then promptly tangled his hands in her hair. His lips were warm and urgent, and every part of her seemed to cheer as he kissed her back, her body filled with a hunger her mind was screaming warnings against.

He broke away. “We can’t,” he gasped, his warm breath tickling her ear, sending a thrill down her spine. “This—this is completely inappropriate …”

He was right, of course. Not about being inappropriate—Nahri had never much cared about that. But it was stupid. This was how lovesick idiots ruined their lives, and Nahri had delivered enough bastards and nursed enough broken wives through the last stages of syphilis to know. But she’d just spent a month with this arrogant, infuriating man, every night and day at his side, a month of his smoldering eyes and his scalding hands that lingered both a little too long and yet never long enough.

She rolled on top of him, and the look of stunned disbelief on his face was worth it alone. “Shut up, Dara.” And then she kissed him again.

There was no sound of protest now. There was a gasp—half exasperation, half desire—then he pulled her down against him, and Nahri’s thoughts stopped being coherent.

She was fumbling with the maddeningly complicated knot on his belt, his hands slipping under her tunic, when the cave shook with the loudest boom of thunder Nahri had yet heard.

She stilled. She didn’t want to—Dara’s mouth had just found a delightful spot at the base of her throat and the press of his hips against hers was doing things to her blood she’d never thought possible. But then a flash of lightning—brighter than the rest—lit up the cave. Another breeze swept in, extinguishing the small fire and sending Dara’s bow and quiver clattering to the floor.

At the sound of his precious weapon hitting the ground, he looked up, and then froze, noticing the expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I … I don’t know.” The thunder continued to rumble, but beneath it was something else, almost like a whisper on the wind, an urging in a language she didn’t understand. The breeze came again, rustling and tugging at her hair, smelling of those same spices. Peppercorn and cardamom. Clove and mace.

Tea. Khayzur’s tea.

Nahri immediately drew back, filled with a foreboding she didn’t understand. “I think … I think there’s something out there.”

He frowned. “I didn’t hear anything.” But he sat up anyway, untangling his limbs from hers to retrieve his bow and quiver.

She shivered, cold without the warm press of his body. Grabbing his robe, she slipped it over her head. “It wasn’t a sound,” she insisted, knowing she probably sounded crazy. “It was something else.”

Another bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, its flash outlining the daeva against the dark. His brow furrowed. “No, they would not dare …,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Not this close to the border.”

Still, he handed her his dagger and then notched one of his silver arrows. He crept toward the cave’s entrance. “Stay back,” he warned.

Nahri ignored him, shoving the dagger in her belt and joining him at the cave’s mouth. Rain lashed their faces, but it wasn’t as dark as it had been earlier; the light from the moon was reflected in the swollen clouds.

Dara raised his bow and gave her a pointed look as the fletched end of the arrow caught her stomach. “At least a little back.”

He stepped out, and she stayed at his side, not liking the way he flinched when the rain hit his face. “Are you sure you should be going out in this weather—”

A bolt of lightning struck just ahead, and Nahri jumped, shielding her eyes. The rain stopped, the effect so immediate it was as if someone turned off a spigot.

The wind whipped through her damp hair. She blinked, trying to clear the spots from her vision. The darkness was lifting. The lightning had struck a tree right near them, setting the dead branches aflame.

“Come on. Let’s go back inside,” Nahri urged. But Dara didn’t move, his gaze locked on the tree. “What is it?” she asked, trying to push past his arm.

He didn’t answer—he didn’t have to. Flames raced down the tree, the heat so intense it instantly dried her wet skin. Acrid smoke poured off the wood, seeping past the roots and pooling into hazy black tendrils that slithered and twirled, solidifying as they slowly rose from the ground.

Nahri backed up and reached for Dara’s arm. “Is … is it another daeva?” she asked, trying to sound hopeful as the smoky ropes twisted together, thicker, faster.

Dara’s eyes were wide. “I fear not.” He took her hand. “I think we should leave.”

They had no sooner turned back toward the cave when more black smoke swept down from the cliffs above, surging past the rocky entrance like a waterfall.

Every hair on her body stood on end; the tips of her fingers buzzed with energy. “Ifrit,” she whispered.

Dara stepped back so fast that he stumbled, his usual grace gone. “The river,” he stammered. “Run.”

“But our supplies—”

“There’s no time.” Keeping one hand clenched on her wrist, he dragged her down the rocky ridge. “Can you swim as well as you claim?”

Nahri hesitated, thinking back to the Gozan’s fast current. The river was likely swollen from the storm, its already turbulent waters whipped into a frenzy. “I … maybe. Probably,” she corrected, seeing alarm flash across his face. “But you can’t!”

“It matters not.”

Before she could argue, he pulled her along, racing and scrambling down the limestone hill. The steep decline was treacherous in the dark, and Nahri slipped more than once on the loose, sandy pebbles.

They were running along a narrow ledge when a low sound broke across the air, something between a lion’s roar and the snap of an uncontrolled fire. Nahri glanced up, getting the briefest glimpse of something large and bright before it slammed into Dara.

The force knocked her back, her balance gone without the daeva’s firm grip on her wrist. She grabbed for a tree branch, for a rock, for anything as she stumbled, but her fingers raked uselessly through the air. Her feet met nothing, and then she was over the ridge.

NAHRI TRIED TO PROTECT HER HEAD AS SHE HIT the ground hard and rolled down the incline, the jagged rocks gouging her arms. Her body bounced past another small ledge, and then she landed in a thick patch of mud. The back of her head smashed into a hidden tree root.

She lay still, stunned by the blinding pain, the wind knocked out of her. Every part of her hurt. She tried to take a small breath and cried out at the protest of an obviously broken rib.

Just breathe. Don’t move. She needed to let her body heal. She knew it would; already the sting of her torn flesh was fading. She gingerly touched the back of her head, praying that her skull was still intact. Her fingers met bloodied hair but nothing else. Thank the Most High for that small piece of luck.

Something in her abdomen twisted back into place, and she sat up, wiping her eyes free of blood or mud or God only knew what. She squinted. The Gozan was ahead of her, the rushing water glistening as it crested into rapids.

Dara. She climbed to her feet and staggered forward, peering through the darkness at the ridge.

Another flash blinded her, and the air crackled, followed by a deafening boom that knocked her back. Nahri threw up her hands to protect her eyes, but the light was already gone, vanished in a haze of quickly evaporating blue smoke.

Then the ifrit was there, towering over her with arms as thick as tree boughs. Its flesh was pressed light, its skin shimmering between the ashy white of smoke and the crimson-tinged orange of fire. Its hands and feet were coal black, its hairless body covered with a scrawl of ebony markings even wilder than Dara’s.

And it was beautiful. Strange and deadly, but beautiful. She froze as a pair of golden feline eyes settled on her. It smiled, its teeth blackened and sharp. A coal-colored hand reached for the iron scythe at its side.

Nahri jumped to her feet and dashed across the rocks to open water, landing in the shallows with a splash. But the ifrit was too fast, snatching her ankle as she tried to swim away. She clawed at the muddy river bottom, hooking her fingers on a submerged tree root.

The ifrit was stronger. He yanked again, and Nahri screamed as he dragged her back. He’d grown brighter, his skin pulsing with hot yellow light. A scar ran across his bald head like a smear of extinguished charcoal. The thief in her could not help but note the gleaming bronze chest plate he wore over a simple linen waist cloth. A string of raw quartz stones looped his neck.

He raised her hand as if in shared victory. “I have her!” he screamed in a language that sounded like wildfire. He grinned again and ran his tongue over his sharp teeth, a look of unmistakable hunger in his gold eyes. “The girl! I have—”

Recovering her senses, Nahri grabbed for the dagger Dara had given her in the cave. Nearly slicing off one of her fingers in the process, she plunged it deep into the ifrit’s fiery chest. He cried out and dropped her wrist, sounding more surprised than hurt.

He lifted one painted eyebrow as he glanced down at the dagger, obviously unimpressed. Then he slapped her hard across the face.

The blow knocked Nahri off her feet. She reeled, black spots blinking before her eyes. The ifrit pulled the dagger free, barely glancing at it before he flung it past her.

She scrambled up, slipping and staggering as she tried to back away. She couldn’t take her eyes off his scythe. The iron blade was stained black, the edge battered and dull. It would kill her, no doubt, and it would hurt. A lot. She wondered how many of her Nahid ancestors had met their end upon that scythe.

Dara. She needed the Afshin.

The ifrit followed at a leisurely pace. “So you’re the one getting all the races riled up …,” he started. “The latest of Anahid’s treacherous, blood-poisoning spawn.”

The hate in his voice sent a new surge of fear through her body. She spotted the dagger on the ground and snatched it up. It might not hurt the ifrit, but it was all she had. She held it out, trying to keep as much distance as possible between them.

The ifrit grinned again. “Are you afraid, little healer?” he drawled. “Are you trembling?” He caressed his blade. “What I would do to see that traitor’s blood run out of you …” But then he dropped his hand, looking regretful. “Alas, we made a deal to return you unharmed.”

“Unharmed?” She thought back to Cairo, the memory of the ghoul’s teeth ripping open her throat vivid in her mind. “Your ghouls tried to eat me!”

The ifrit spread his hands, looking apologetic. “My brother acted rashly, I admit.” He cleared his throat as if he was having trouble speaking, and then tilted his head to regard her. “Astonishing really, I give the marid their due. At first glance, you’re completely human, but look past that and …” He stepped closer to study her face. “There’s the daeva.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. “Whoever you’re working for … whatever it is you want … I’m just a shafit. I can’t do anything,” she added, hoping the lie might buy her some time. “You don’t need to waste your time on me.”

“Just a shafit?” He laughed. “Is that what that lunatic slave thinks?”

The sound of a crashing tree drew her attention before she could respond. A line of fire danced across the ridge, consuming the scrub brush as if it was kindling.

The ifrit followed Nahri’s glance. “Your Afshin’s arrows might be sharper than his wits, little healer, but you are both outmatched.”

“You said you meant us no harm.”

“We mean you no harm,” he corrected. “The wine-soaked slave was not part of our deal. But perhaps … if you come willingly …” He trailed off with a cough and took in a sharp breath.

As she watched, he wheezed and reached for a nearby tree to brace himself. He coughed again, clutching his chest where she had wounded him. He pulled the breastplate off, and Nahri gasped. The skin around the wound had turned black with what looked like infection. And it was spreading, tiny coal-colored tendrils snaking out like delicate veins.

“Wha-what did you do to me?” he cried out as the blackening veins gave way to a blue-tinged ash before their eyes. He coughed again, hacking up a dark viscous liquid that steamed when it hit the ground. He staggered closer and tried to grab her. “No … you didn’t. Say you didn’t!” His golden eyes were wide with panic.

Still clutching the dagger, Nahri edged back, fearing the ifrit might be trying to trick her. But as he clutched his throat and fell to his knees, sweating ash, she remembered something Dara had told her weeks ago over the Euphrates.

It was said the very blood of a Nahid was poisonous to the ifrit, more fatal than any blade. As if in a trance, her gaze slowly fell on the dagger. Mixed in with the ifrit’s black blood was her own dark crimson from when she’d cut herself trying to stab him.

She looked back at the ifrit. He was lying on the rocks, blood leaking from his mouth. His eyes, beautiful and terrified, met hers. “No …,” he panted. “We had a deal …”

He hit me. He threatened to kill Dara. Acting on a rush of cold hate and instinct that likely would have frightened her if she had given it more thought, she kicked him hard in the stomach. He cried out, and she dropped to her knees, pressing her dagger against his throat.

“Who did you make a deal with?” she demanded. “What did they want with me?”

He shook his head and took a rattling breath. “Filthy Nahid scum … you’re all the same,” he spat. “… knew it was a mistake …”

“Who?” she demanded again. When he said nothing, she slashed her hand open and pressed her bloody palm against his wound.

The sound that came from the ifrit was unlike any she could imagine: a screech that tore at her soul. She wanted to turn away, to flee into the river and submerge herself, escaping all this.

Nahri thought again of Dara. Over a thousand years as a slave, stolen from his people and murdered, given over to the whims of countless cruel masters. She saw Baseema’s gentle smile, the most innocent of innocents gone forever. She pushed harder.

With her other hand, she kept the dagger against his throat, though judging from his shrieks, it wasn’t necessary. She waited until his cries turned to a whimper. “Tell me, and I’ll heal you.”

He squirmed under her blade, his eyes briefly dilating black. The wound bubbled, steaming like an overfilled cauldron, and a terrible liquid sound came from his throat.

“Nahri!” Dara’s voice rose from somewhere in the dark, a distant distraction. “Nahri!”

The ifrit’s fevered gaze fixed on her face. Something flickered in his eyes, something calculating and vile. He opened his mouth. “Your mother,” he wheezed. “We made a deal with Manizheh.”

“What?” she asked, so startled that she nearly dropped the knife. “My what?”

The ifrit started to seize, a rattling moan coming from somewhere low in his throat. His eyes dilated again, and his mouth fell open, a haze of steam rushing past his lips. Nahri grimaced. She doubted she’d get much more information from him.

His fingers scrabbled on her wrist. “Heal me …,” he begged. “You promised.”

“I lied.” With a sharp and vicious motion, she slashed her hand back and cut his throat. Dark vapor rose from his maimed neck and stifled his cry. But his eyes, fixed and hateful, stayed on her blade, watching as she raised it over his chest. The throat … Dara had once instructed, the weaknesses of the ifrit one of the few things he would tell her.

… the lungs. She brought the blade back down, plunging it into his chest. It didn’t go in easily, and she fought the urge to vomit as she leaned her weight into the dagger. Viscous black blood gushed over her hands. The ifrit convulsed once, twice, and then fell still, his chest lowering like she’d emptied a sack of flour. Nahri watched another moment but knew he was dead, felt the lack of life and vigor immediately. She had killed him.

She stood; her legs trembled. I killed a man. She stared at the dead ifrit, transfixed by the sight of his blood seeping and smoking over the pebbly ground. I killed him.

“Nahri!” Dara skidded to a stop in front of her. He took one of her arms as his alarmed eyes raked over her bloodied clothing. He touched her cheek, his fingers grazed her wet hair. “By the Creator, I was so worried … Suleiman’s eye!”

Spotting the ifrit, he leaped back, pulling her protectively behind him. “He … you …,” he stammered, sounding more shocked than she had ever heard him. “You killed an ifrit.” He whirled on her, his green eyes flashing. “You killed an ifrit?” he repeated as he took a closer look.

Your mother … The ifrit’s final claim taunted her. She couldn’t forget that strange flicker in his eyes before he spoke. Was it a lie? Words meant to haunt the enemy who would kill him?

A hot breeze swept past her cheeks, and Nahri lifted her eyes. The cliffs were on fire; the wet trees snapped and cracked as they burned. The air smelled poisonous, hot and seeded with tiny burning embers that swept across the dead landscape and twinkled above the dark river.

She pressed one of her bloody hands against her temple as a wave of nausea swept over her. She turned away from the dead ifrit, the sight of its body triggering a strange sense of rightness that she didn’t like. “I … he said something about …” She stopped speaking. More black smoke was coming down the cliff, twisting and slithering through the trees and growing into a thick roiling wave as it neared them.

“Get back!” Dara yanked her away, and the smoky tendrils flattened with a low hiss. Dara took the opportunity to shove her toward the water. “Go, you can still get to the river.”

The river. She shook her head; even as she watched, an enormous tree branch shot past like it had been fired from a cannon, and the water roared as it crashed against the boulders littering its banks.

She couldn’t even see the opposite shore—there was no way she could cross. And Dara would probably dissolve.

“No,” she replied, her voice grim. “We’ll never make it.”

The smoke surged forward and began to separate, swirling and piling into three distinct shapes. The daeva snarled and drew his bow. “Nahri, get in the water.”

Before she could reply, Dara gave her a hard push, knocking her into the cold current. It wasn’t deep enough for her to submerge, but the river fought her as she climbed back to her feet.

Dara released one of his arrows, but it sailed uselessly through the nebulous forms. He cursed and shot again as one of the ifrit flashed with fiery light. A blackened hand grabbed the arrow. Still holding it, the ifrit burned back into its solid form, followed immediately by the other two.

The ifrit with the arrow was even larger than the one Nahri had killed. The skin around his eyes smoldered in a rough band, black and gold. The other two were smaller: another man and a woman wearing a diadem of braided metals.

The ifrit rolled Dara’s arrow between his fingers. It began to melt, the silver winking as it dripped into the dirt. The ifrit grinned, and then his hand smoked. The arrow was gone, replaced by an enormous iron mace. The spikes and ridges of its heavy head were dull with blood. He hoisted the horrific weapon up on one shoulder and stepped forward.

“Salaam alaykum, Banu Nahida.” He gave her a sharp smile. “I have so looked forward to this meeting.”

THE IFRIT’S ARABIC WAS FLAWLESS, WITH JUST enough of Cairo’s flavor to make her flinch. He inclined his head in a slight bow. “You call yourself Nahri, yes?”

Dara drew back another arrow. “Don’t answer that.”

The ifrit lifted his hands. “There is no harm. I know it’s not her real name.” He turned his golden gaze back to Nahri. “I am Aeshma, child. Why don’t you come from the water?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then the female sauntered over to Dara.

“My Scourge, it has been far too long.” She licked her painted lips. “Look at that slave mark, Aeshma. A beauty. Have you ever seen one as long?” She sighed, her eyes creasing in pleasure. “And oh, how he earned them.”

Dara paled.

“Don’t you remember, Darayavahoush?” When he said nothing, she gave him a sad smile. “A pity. I’ve never seen a slave so ruthless. Then again, you were always willing to do anything to stay in my good graces.”

She leered at him, and Dara recoiled, looking sick. A surge of hatred swept through Nahri.

“Enough, Qandisha.” Aeshma waved his companion off. “We are not here to make enemies.”

Something brushed against Nahri’s shins under the black water. She ignored it, focusing her attention on the ifrit. “What do you want?”

“First: for you to get out of the water. There is no safety in there for you, little healer.”

“And there’s safety with you? One of your people in Cairo promised the same and then set a pack of ghouls on us. At least there’s nothing in here trying to eat me.”

Aeshma raised his eyes. “A terribly ill choice of words, Banu Nahida. The denizens of air and water have already done you both more harm than you know.”

She frowned, trying to untwist his words. “What do you …” She stopped speaking. A shudder went through the river, like something impossibly large heaving itself along the muddy bottom. She eyed the water around her. She could’ve sworn she saw a flash of scales in the distance, a wet glistening that vanished as quickly as it had come.

The ifrit must have noticed her reaction. “Come now,” he urged. “You are not safe.”

“He’s lying.” Dara’s voice was barely more than a growl. The daeva was still, his hate-filled gaze fixed on the ifrit.

The skinny one suddenly straightened up, sniffing the burning air like a dog before rushing into the brush where the murdered ifrit lay.

“Sakhr!” The skinny ifrit cried, his luminous eyes wide in disbelief as he touched the throat Nahri had torn open. “No … no, no, no!” He threw his head back and let out a screech of despair that seemed to rend the very air before bending back over the dead ifrit and pressing his forehead to the corpse’s.

His grief took her completely by surprise. Dara said the ifrit were demons. She wouldn’t have thought they cared for each other at all, let alone so deeply.

The wailing ifrit silenced his cry as he caught sight of her, and hate filled his golden eyes. “You murderous witch!” he accused her, rising to his feet. “I should have killed you in Cairo!”

Cairo … Nahri backed up until the water surged around her waist. Baseema. He was the one who’d possessed Baseema, who doomed the little girl and sent the ghouls after them. Her fingers twitched on her dagger.

He charged forward, but Aeshma grabbed him and threw him to the ground. “No! We made a deal.”

The skinny ifrit jumped to his feet and immediately started after her again, snapping and hissing as he tried to wriggle free of Aeshma’s grasp. The dirt beneath his feet sparked. “The devil take your deal! She blood-poisoned him—I’m going to rip out her lungs and grind her soul to dust!”

“Enough!” Aeshma threw him to the ground again and raised his mace. “The girl is under my protection.” He glanced up and met Nahri’s eyes. There was a much colder look to his face now. “But the slave is not. If Manizheh wanted her bloody Scourge, she should have told us.” He lowered his weapon and gestured at Dara. “He’s yours, Vizaresh.”

“Wait!” Nahri cried as the skinny ifrit leaped on Dara. Dara smashed him across the face with his bow, but then Qandisha—bigger than both men—simply grabbed Dara by the throat and lifted him off his feet.

“Drown him again,” Aeshma suggested. “Maybe this time it will take.” The river danced and boiled around his feet as he started after Nahri.

Dara tried to kick Qandisha, his cry abruptly ending when she plunged him under the dark water. The ifrit laughed as Dara’s fingers clawed at her wrists.

“Stop!” Nahri screamed. “Let him go!” She hopped back, hoping to lose Aeshma in the deeper water and swim back to Dara.

But as Aeshma closed in, the river swept back, almost like a wave drawing up. It pulled from the bank, pulled from her ankles, and in seconds, it was gone from her feet altogether, leaving her standing in a foot of muck.

Absent the sound of the rushing current, the world went quiet. There was not even a hint of wind, the air saturated with the scent of salt, smoke, and wet silt.

Taking advantage of Aeshma’s distraction, Nahri darted toward Dara.

“Marid …,” the female ifrit whispered, her golden eyes wide with fright. She dropped Dara and grabbed the other ifrit by his skinny arm, yanking him away. “Run!”

The ifrit were fleeing by the time Nahri reached Dara. He was holding his throat, sucking for air. As she tried to pull him to his feet, his eyes locked on something past her shoulder, and the color left his face.

She glanced behind her. She immediately wished she hadn’t.

The Gozan was gone.

A wide, muddy trench stood in the river’s place, wet boulders and deep ridges marking its former path. The air was still smoky, but the storm clouds had vanished, revealing a swollen moon and a rich spread of stars that lit up the sky. Or at least would have lit up the sky had they not been steadily blinking out as something darker than night rose in front of them.

The river. Or what had been the river. It had drawn back and thickened, rapids and tiny waves still rippling across its surface, swirling and churning, defying gravity to rise. It wriggled and undulated in the air, slowly towering over them.

Her throat tightened in fear. It was a serpent. A serpent the size of a small mountain and made entirely of rushing black water.

The watery snake writhed, and Nahri got a glimpse of a head the size of a building, with whitecaps for teeth, as it opened its mouth to roar again at the stars. The sound broke across the air, some horrifying combination of a crocodile’s bellow and the break of a tidal wave. Behind the serpent, she spied the sandy hills where Dara said Daevabad lay hidden.

He was frozen in terror now, and knowing how frightened he was of water, she didn’t expect that to change. She tightened her grip on his wrist. “Get up.” She pulled him forward. “Get up!” When he moved too slowly for her liking, she slapped him hard across the face and pointed toward the sandy dunes. “Daevabad, Dara! Let’s go! You can kill all the djinn you want once we get there!”

Whether it was the slap or the promise of murder, the terror holding him seemed to break. He grabbed her outstretched hand, and they ran.

There was another roar, and a thick tongue of water lashed the spot where they’d been standing, like a giant swatting a fly. It crashed against the muddy bank, and water swept out to splash their feet as they fled.

The serpent twisted and slammed to the ground just ahead of them. Nahri slid to a halt, pulling Dara in another direction to sprint across the emptied riverbed. It was littered with damp waterweeds and drying boulders; Nahri stumbled more than once, but Dara kept her on her feet as they dodged the crushing blows of the river monster.

They had gotten a bit more than halfway across when the creature suddenly halted. Nahri didn’t turn around to see why, but Dara did.

He gasped, his voice returning. “Run!” he screamed, as if they were not already doing so. “Run!”

Nahri ran, her heart pounding, her muscles protesting. She ran so fast she didn’t even notice the ditch, a spot of what must have been deep water, before she was sailing over it. She hit the uneven bottom hard. Her ankle twisted as she landed, and she heard the snap before she felt the pain of the broken bone.

Then from the ground, she saw what had made Dara scream.

Having risen once again to howl at the sky, the creature was letting its lower half dissolve into a waterfall taller than the Pyramids. The water rushed toward them, the wave at least three times her height and spreading out in both directions. They were caught.

Dara was at her side again. He clutched her close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His fingers snaked through her wet hair. She could feel his warm breath as he kissed her brow. She held him tight, tucking her head into his shoulder and taking a deep breath of his smoky scent.

She expected it to be her last.

And then something slammed down between them and the wave.

The ground shook, and a high-pitched screech that would have frozen the blood of the bravest man alive broke the air. It sounded like a whole flock of rukh descending upon their prey.

Nahri looked up from Dara’s shoulder. Outlined against the rushing wave was an enormous sweep of wings, glittering with lime-colored sparks where the starlight touched them.

Khayzur.

The peri shrieked again. He spread his wings, raised his hands, and then took a breath; as he inhaled, the air around Nahri seemed to ebb—she could almost feel it being pulled from her lungs. Then he exhaled, sending a racing, funnel-shaped cloud toward the serpent.

The creature let out a watery bellow when the winds hit. A cloud of steam evaporated off its side, and it flinched, ducking away toward the ground. Khayzur flapped his wings and sent another giant gust. The serpent let out a defeated sound. It collapsed in the distance with a crash, flattening back out across the land, gone in an instant.

Nahri let out a breath. Her ankle was already healing, but Dara had to help her to her feet and give her a shove to get out of the ditch.

The river had lain down along different banks and was busily consuming the trees and ripping at the cliffs they had just escaped. There was no sign of the ifrit.

They had crossed the Gozan.

They had made it.

She stood up, giving her ankle a delicate twist before she let out a triumphant shout. She could have thrown her head back and howled at the stars herself, she was so thrilled to be alive. “By God, Khayzur has the best timing!” She grinned, glancing around for Dara.

But Dara wasn’t behind her. Instead she spotted him rushing toward Khayzur. The peri landed on the ground and immediately collapsed, his wings falling around him as he crumpled.

By the time she reached them, Khayzur lay cradled in Dara’s arms. His lime-colored wings were marked with white boils and gray scabs that grew larger before her eyes. He shuddered and several feathers fell to the ground.

“… was following and tried to warn …,” he was saying to Dara. “You were so close …” The peri stopped to take a deep, rattling breath. He looked shrunken, and there was a purplish cast to his skin. When he looked up at her, his colorless eyes were resigned. Doomed.

“Help him,” Dara begged. “Heal him!”

Nahri bent to take his hand, but Khayzur waved her off. “There’s nothing you can do,” he whispered. “I broke our law.” He reached up and touched Dara’s ring with one of his claws. “And not for the first time.”

“Just let her try,” Dara pleaded. “This can’t be happening because you saved us!”

Khayzur gave him a bitter smile. “You still don’t understand, Dara, about my people’s role. Your race never did. Centuries after being crippled by Suleiman for interfering with humans … and you still don’t understand.”

Taking advantage of Khayzur’s distracted rambling, Nahri laid her palm over one of the boils. It hissed and grew icy at her touch and then doubled in size. The peri yelped, and she pulled away. “I’m sorry,” she rushed. “I’ve never healed anything like you.”

“And you can’t now,” he said gently. He coughed to clear his throat and lifted his head, his long ears pricked up like a cat’s. “You need to go. My people are coming. The marid will be back, as well.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Dara said firmly. “Nahri can cross the threshold without me.”

“It is not Nahri they want.”

Dara’s bright eyes widened, and he glanced around, as though he expected to see a new addition to their trio. “M-me?” he stammered. “I don’t understand. I’m nothing to either your race or the marids!”

Khayzur shook his head as the shrill cry of a large bird pierced the air. “Go. Please …,” he croaked.

“No.” There was a tremor in Dara’s voice. “Khayzur, I can’t leave you. You saved my life, my soul.”

“Then do the same for another.” Khayzur rustled his wrecked wings and gestured at the sky. “What’s coming is beyond you both. Save your Nahid, Afshin. It’s your duty.”

It was as if he’d cast a spell on the daeva. She watched Dara swallow and then nod, all trace of emotion vanishing from his face. He laid the peri carefully on the ground. “I am so sorry, old friend.”

“What are you doing?” Nahri exclaimed. “Help him to his feet. We need to— Dara!” she shouted as the daeva picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Don’t! We can’t leave him here!” She kneed the daeva in the chest and tried to push off his back, but his grip was too tight. “Khayzur!” she screamed, catching a glimpse of the injured peri.

He gave her a long, sad look before turning his gaze back to the sky. Four dark shapes soared over the cliffs. The wind kicked up, seeding the air with sharp pebbles. She saw the peri wince and draw a withered wing across his face for protection.

“Khayzur!” She kicked at Dara again, but he only sped up, struggling to clamber over a sandy dune with her still on his shoulder. “Dara, please! Dara, don’t—”

And then she could not see Khayzur any longer, and they were gone.