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. Nahri, wake up.”

“Mmm?” Nahri lifted her head from the open book upon which she’d fallen asleep. She rubbed away a crease the crumpled page had left on her cheek and blinked sleepily in the dark.

A man stood over her bed, his body outlined in the moonlight.

A hot hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream. He opened his other palm; dancing flames lit his face.

“Dara?” Nahri managed, her voice muffled against his fingers. He dropped his hand, and she drew up in surprise, her blanket falling to her lap. It had to be past midnight; her bedroom was otherwise dark and deserted. “What are you doing here?”

He dropped onto her bed. “What part of ‘stay away from the Qahtanis’ did you not understand?” Anger simmered in his voice. “Tell me you didn’t agree to marry that lecherous sand fly.”

Ah. She was wondering when he’d hear about that. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” she countered. “An opportunity presented itself, and I wanted to—”

“An opportunity?” Dara’s eyes flashed with hurt. “Suleiman’s eye, Nahri, for once could you speak like someone with a heart instead of someone peddling stolen goods at the bazaar?”

Her temper sparked. “I’m the one without a heart? I asked you to marry me, and you told me to go produce a stable of Nahid children with the richest Daeva man I could find as soon as …” She trailed off, getting a better look at Dara as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was dressed in a dark traveling robe, silver bow and arrow-filled quiver slung over his shoulder. A long knife was tucked in his belt.

She cleared her throat, suspecting she was not going to like the answer to her next question. “Why are you dressed like that?”

He stood up, the linen curtains blowing gently in the cool night air behind him. “Because I’m getting you out of here. Out of Daevabad and away from this family of sand flies, away from our corrupted home and its mobs of shafit clamoring for Daeva blood.”

Nahri exhaled. “You want to leave Daevabad? Are you mad? We risked our lives to get here! This is the safest place from the ifrit, from the marid—”

“It’s not the only safe place.”

She drew back as a vaguely guilty expression crossed his face. She knew that expression. “What?” she demanded. “What are you keeping from me now?”

“I can’t—”

“If you say ‘I can’t tell you,’ I swear on my mother’s name to stab you with your own knife.”

He made an annoyed noise and paced around the edge of her bed like an irritated lion, his hands clasped behind his back, smoke swirling about his feet. “We have allies, Nahri. Both here and outside the city. I said nothing in the temple because I didn’t want to raise your hopes—”

“Or let me have a say in my own fate,” Nahri cut in. “As usual.” Thoroughly annoyed, she flung a pillow at his head, but he easily ducked it. “And allies? What is that supposed to mean? Are you plotting with some secret Daeva cabal to steal me away?” She said it sarcastically, but when he flushed and looked away, she gasped. “Wait … are you plotting with some secret Daeva cabal—”

“We don’t have time to get into the details,” Dara interrupted. “But I’ll tell you everything on the way.”

“There’s no ‘on the way’—I’m not going anywhere with you! I gave my word to the king … and my God, Dara, have you heard how these people punish traitors? They let some great horned beast stomp you to death in the arena!”

“That’s not going to happen,” Dara assured her. He sat beside her again and took her hand. “You don’t have to do this, Nahri. I’m not going to let them—”

“I don’t need you to save me!” Nahri jerked her hand away. “Dara, do you listen to anything I say? I started marriage negotiations. I went to the king.” She threw up her hands. “What are you even saving me from? Becoming the future queen of Daevabad?”

He looked incredulous. “And the price, Nahri?”

Nahri swallowed back the lump that rose in her throat. “You said it yourself: I’m the last Nahid. I’m going to need children.” She forced a shrug, but couldn’t keep the bitterness entirely out of her voice. “I might as well make the best strategic match.”

“‘The best strategic match,’” Dara repeated. “With a man who doesn’t respect you? A family that will always view you with suspicion? That’s what you want?”

No. But Nahri had made clear her feelings for Dara. He’d rejected them.

And in her heart she knew she was starting to want more in Daevabad than just him.

She took a deep breath, forcing some calm into her voice. “Dara … this doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I’ll be safe. I’ll have all the time and resources to properly train.” Her throat caught. “In another century, there might very well be a Nahid on the throne again.” She glanced up at him, her eyes wet despite her best effort to check her tears. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Dara stared at her. Nahri could see the emotions warring in his expression, but before he could speak, there was a knock at the door.

“Nahri?” a muffled voice called out.

A familiar voice.

Smoke curled around Dara’s collar. “Forgive me,” he started in a deadly hush. “Exactly which brother did you agree to marry?”

He was across the room in three strides. Nahri raced after him, throwing herself in front of the door before he could rip it off the hinges. “It’s not what you think,” she whispered. “I’ll get rid of him.”

He glowered but stepped back into the shadows. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart and then opened the door.

Alizayd al Qahtani’s smiling face greeted her.

“Peace be upon you,” he said in Arabic. “I’m so sorry to …” He blinked, taking in the sight of her bedclothes and uncovered hair. He immediately averted his eyes. “I … er—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “What’s wrong?”

He’d been holding his left side but opened his black robe now, revealing the bloodstained dishdasha beneath. “I tore some of my stitches,” he said apologetically. “I wanted to wait in the infirmary overnight, but I can’t get the bleeding to stop and …” He frowned. “Is something wrong?” He studied her face, casting aside propriety for a moment. “You—you’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, aware of Dara watching from the other side of the door. Her mind raced. She wanted to tell Ali to run, to yell at him for daring to come to her door unaccompanied—anything to get him safely away—but he did look like he needed help.

“Are you sure?” He took a step closer.

She forced a smile. “I’m sure.” She considered the distance between the two of them and the infirmary. Dara would not dare follow her, would he? He could have no idea how many patients rested inside, how many guards waited in the outer corridor.

She nodded at Ali’s bloody dishdasha. “That looks awful.” She stepped through the door. “Let me—”

Dara called her bluff.

The door was ripped from her hand. Dara reached for her wrist, but a wide-eyed Ali grabbed her first. He pulled her into the infirmary, shoving her behind him, and she landed hard on the stone floor. His zulfiqar burst into flames.

In seconds, the infirmary was in chaos. A spray of arrows fired into the wooden balustrade, following Ali’s path as his zulfiqar lit the curtain sectioning off the patient beds on fire. Her birdman shrieked, flapping his feathered arms from atop his bed of sticks. Nahri climbed to her feet, still a little dizzy from the fall.

Ali and Dara were fighting.

No, not fighting. Fighting was two drunks brawling in the street. Ali and Dara were dancing, the two warriors spinning around each other in a wild blur of fire and metal blades.

Ali leaped onto her desk, as graceful as a cat, using its height to strike Dara from above, but the Afshin ducked away in the nick of time. He smashed his hands together, and the desk burst into flames, collapsing under Ali’s weight and tossing the prince to the burning ground. Dara aimed a kick at his head, but Ali rolled away, slashing the backs of Dara’s legs as he went.

“Stop!” she cried as Dara hurled one of the desk’s burning legs at Ali’s head. “Stop it, both of you!”

Ali ducked the chunk of flying debris and then charged the Afshin, bringing the zulfiqar down at his throat.

Nahri gasped, her fears for the men abruptly reversing. “No! Dara, watch–” The warning wasn’t out of her mouth before Dara’s ring blazed with emerald light. Ali’s zulfiqar shuddered and dimmed, the copper blade twisting and then wriggling. It let out an angry hiss, melting into the shape of a fiery viper. Ali startled, dropping the snake as it reeled back to snap at him.

Dara didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the djinn prince by the throat and slammed him into one of the marble columns. The entire room shook. Ali kicked him, and Dara smashed him into the column again. Black blood dripped down his face. Dara tightened his grip, and Ali gasped, clawing at Dara’s wrists as the Afshin strangled him.

Nahri raced across the room. “Let him go!” She grabbed Dara’s arm and tried to wrest him off, but it was like fighting a statue. “Please, Dara!” she screamed as Ali’s eyes darkened. “I beg you!”

He dropped the prince.

Ali crumpled to the ground. He was a wreck, his eyes dazed, blood dripping down his face, more blossoming through his dishdasha. For once, Nahri didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees, knocked his turban away, and ripped the neckline of his dishdasha to the waist. She pressed a hand against each wound and closed her eyes.

Heal, she commanded. The blood instantly clotted beneath her fingers, the skin smoothing into place. She hadn’t even realized how immediate, how extraordinary it was until Ali groaned and started coughing for air.

“Are you okay?” she asked urgently. From across the room, she was aware of Dara staring at them.

Ali managed a nod, spitting a stream of blood. “Did … did he hurt you?” he wheezed.

By the Most High, is that what he thought he was interrupting? She pressed one of his hands. “No,” she assured him. “Of course not. I’m fine.”

“Nahri, we need to go,” Dara warned in a low voice. “Now.”

Ali looked between them, and shock bloomed in his face. “You’re running away with him? But you … you told my father—”

There was a loud knock on the door leading to the outer corridor. “Banu Nahida?” a muffled male voice called. “Is everything all right?”

Ali straightened up. “No!” he boomed. “It’s the Af—”

Nahri clapped her hand over his mouth. Ali jerked back, looking betrayed.

But it was too late. The banging on the door grew louder. “Prince Alizayd!” the voice shouted. “Is that you?”

Dara swore and rushed to the door to lay his hands on the door pulls. The silver instantly melted, winding across the doors in a lacelike pattern to lock them together.

But Nahri doubted it would keep anyone out for long. He has to go, she realized, something breaking in her heart.

And though she knew he had no one to blame but himself, Nahri still choked on the words. “Dara, you need to go. Run. Please. If you stay in Daevabad, the king will kill you.”

“I know.” He snatched Ali’s zulfiqar as the coppery snake tried to slither past, and it instantly re-formed in his hands. He crossed to her desk and emptied a glass cylinder containing some of her instruments. He rifled through the random tools and plucked out a bolt of iron. It melted in his hands.

Nahri stilled. Even she knew he shouldn’t have been able to do that.

But Dara barely winced as he reshaped the soft iron into a skinny length of rope. “What are you doing?” she demanded as he bent and yanked Ali’s hands away from hers. He wrapped the soft metal around the prince’s wrists, and it instantly hardened. The banging outside grew louder, smoke seeping under the door.

Dara beckoned to her. “Come.”

“I already told you: I’m not leaving Daevabad—”

Dara pressed the zulfiqar to Ali’s throat. “You are,” he said, his voice quietly firm.

Nahri went cold. She met Dara’s eyes, praying she was wrong, praying that the man she trusted above all others was not really forcing this choice upon her.

But in his face—his beautiful face—she saw intent. A little regret, but intent.

Ali chose that particularly ill-advised moment to open his mouth. “Go to hell, you child-murdering, warmongering—”

Dara’s eyes flashed. He pressed the zulfiqar harder against Ali’s throat.

“Stop,” Nahri said. “I …” She swallowed. “I’ll go. Don’t hurt him.”

Dara moved the zulfiqar away from the prince, looking relieved. “Thank you.” He jerked his head at Ali. “Watch him a moment.” He quickly crossed the room, heading toward the wall behind her desk.

Nahri felt numb. She sat beside Ali, not trusting her legs.

He stared at her with open bewilderment. “I’m not sure whether to thank you for just saving my life or accuse you of betrayal.”

Nahri sucked in her breath. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

Ali dared a glance at Dara and then lowered his voice. “We’re not going to get away,” he warned, his worried eyes meeting hers. “And if my father thinks you’re responsible … Nahri, you gave him your word.”

A heavy grinding sound interrupted them. Nahri looked up to see Dara painstakingly pulling apart the stone wall along its decorative edges, smoke and bright white flames licking at his hands. He stopped once the gap was large enough to squeeze through.

“Let’s go.” Dara grabbed Ali by the back of his robe and dragged him along, pushing him through first. The prince fell hard, to his knees.

Nahri flinched. She couldn’t tell herself that Ali was just a mark anymore; he’d become a friend, there was no denying it. And he was a kid in comparison to Dara, decent-hearted and kind, whatever his faults.

“Give me your robe,” she said curtly as Dara turned back to her. Nahri hadn’t had time to dress, and she would be damned if she was going to be dragged through Daevabad in her bedclothes.

He handed it over. “Nahri, I … I’m sorry,” he said in Divasti. She knew his words were sincere, but they didn’t help. “I’m just trying to—”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she rebuked him, her tone sharp. “And I’m telling you: I’ll never forgive you if something happens to him—and I’ll never forget what you did here tonight.”

She didn’t wait for a response; she didn’t expect one. Instead, she stepped through the gap. She got one last glimpse of her infirmary, and then the wall sealed behind her.

THEY WALKED FOR WHAT FELT LIKE HOURS.

The narrow passageway Dara led them through was so tight that they had to literally squeeze through at points, scraping their shoulders on the rough stone walls. Its ceiling soared and dipped, rising to towering heights before plunging so low they were forced to crawl.

Dara had conjured up small fireballs that danced overhead as they journeyed through the otherwise pitch-black tunnel. No one spoke. Dara seemed intensely focused on sustaining whatever magic held the passage open while Ali drew increasingly ragged breaths. Despite being healed, the prince didn’t look well. Nahri could hear his heart racing, and he kept bumping into the close walls like a dizzy drunk.

He finally stumbled to the ground, crashing hard into the backs of Dara’s legs. The Afshin swore and turned around.

Nahri swiftly stepped between them. “Leave him alone.” She helped Ali to his feet. He was sweating ash and seemed to have trouble focusing on her face. “Are you okay?”

He blinked and swayed slightly. “Just having some issues with the air.”

“The air?” She frowned. The tunnel smelled a bit stale for sure, but she could breathe just fine.

“It’s because you do not belong here,” Dara said darkly. “This is not your city, not your palace. The walls know that even if you Geziri dogs do not.”

Nahri glared at him. “Then let’s hurry.”

As they walked, the tunnel widened and grew steep, eventually shifting into a long set of crumbling steps. She braced herself against the wall, flinching when it turned damp beneath her hands. In front of her, she heard Ali take a deep breath of the humid air. As the stairs grew slippery with moisture, she would swear his steps looked surer.

Dara stopped. “It’s flooded ahead.”

The flames above their heads brightened. The steps ended in a pool of still black water that smelled as vile as it looked. She drew to a stop at the edge, watching the flickering lights reflect on the water’s oily surface.

“Afraid of a little water?” Ali pushed past Dara and strode confidently into the dark pool, stopping when it reached his waist. He turned back. His ebony robe melted so easily into the black water that it looked like the liquid itself was draped over his shoulders. “Worried the marid will get you?”

“At home in there, aren’t you, little crocodile?” Dara mocked. “Does it remind you of Ta Ntry’s fetid swamps?”

Ali shrugged. “Sand fly, dog, crocodile … Are you just working your way through the animals you can name? How many can be left? Five? Six?”

Dara’s eyes flashed, and then he did something Nahri had never seen him do.

He stepped into the water.

Dara raised his hands, and the water fled, rushing over rocks and dashing through crevices. The drops that didn’t make it sizzled underfoot as he passed through.

Nahri’s mouth fell open. His ring was glowing, a bright green light, like the sun shining upon a wet leaf. She thought back to what he’d done to the shedu, to Ali’s zulfiqar, to the iron bindings.

And suddenly she wondered just how many secrets Dara was holding back from her. Their kiss in the cave seemed very long ago.

The Afshin shoved a visibly shocked Ali forward. “Keep walking, djinn, and watch your mouth. It would greatly upset the Banu Nahida if I cut out your tongue.”

Nahri quickly caught up to Ali.

“So his very presence boils water now?” Ali whispered, giving Dara’s back a nervous look. “What manner of horrors is that?”

I have no idea. “Maybe it’s just part of being a slave,” she said weakly.

“I’ve known freed slaves. They don’t have that kind of power. He probably went the way of the ifrit and gave himself over to demons long ago.” He grimaced and looked down at her, lowering his voice even further. “Please, in the name of the Most High, tell me you don’t truly intend to go off with him.”

“You do remember the zulfiqar at your throat?”

“I will throw myself in the lake before I let that monster use my life to steal yours.” He shook his head. “I should have just given you that book in the garden. I should have told you about the cities he destroyed, the innocents he murdered … you’d have stuck a knife in his back yourself.”

Nahri recoiled. “I would never.” She knew Dara had a bloody past, but surely Ali exaggerated. “It was a war—a war your people started. Dara was only defending our tribe.”

“Is that what he told you?” Ali drew in his breath. “Defending … Nahri, do you know why people call him the Scourge?”

Something very cold crept down her spine, but she pushed it away. “I don’t. But might I remind you that you were the one who came to me the other night covered in another man’s blood,” she pointed out. “Dara’s hardly the only one keeping secrets.”

Ali abruptly stopped. “You’re right.” He turned to her, his expression resolved. “It was the blood of a shafit assassin. I killed him. He was a member of a political group called the Tanzeem. They advocate—sometimes violently—for the rights of the shafit and are considered criminals and traitors. I was their primary benefactor. My father found out and ordered me to befriend you and convince you to marry my brother as penance.” He raised his dark eyebrows, blood crusted at his hairline. “There. Now you know.”

Nahri blinked, taking it all in. She had known Ali had his own agenda, the same as she did—but it stung to hear it laid out so plainly. “The interest in my country, in improving your Arabic … I take it that was all pretense?”

“No, it wasn’t. I swear. However our friendship started, however I felt about your family …” Ali looked embarrassed. “It’s been a dark few months. My time with you … it was a light.”

Nahri looked away; she had to, she could not bear the sincerity in his face. She caught sight of his bloody wrists still bound in iron. He survives this, she swore to herself. No matter what.

Even if it meant running off with Dara.

They kept walking, Ali throwing the occasional hostile glance at Dara’s back. “Perhaps now it’s your turn.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rather adept at picking locks and negotiating contracts for a maidservant, aren’t you?”

She kicked at the ground, sending a few pebbles flying. “I’m not sure you’d still think of me as a light if I told you about my background.”

“Nahri,” Dara called out, interrupting their quiet conversation.

The cavern had ended. They joined Dara at a rocky ledge overlooking a low drop to a narrow sandy beach that surrounded a still lagoon. In the distance, she could see stars through a slice of sky. The lagoon was strangely luminous, the water a coppery blue that shimmered as if under a tropical sun.

Dara helped her onto the beach and handed her his knife as he dragged Ali down to join them. “I’ll need your blood,” he said, sounding apologetic. “Just a bit on the blade.”

Nahri ran the knife over her palm, getting only a few drops before her skin stitched together. Dara took the knife back and whispered a prayer under his breath. The crimson blood burst into flames as it dripped off the blade.

The lagoon began to churn, a great sucking sound coming from its pit as the water rushed away, and something metallic rose in its center. As Nahri watched, an elegant copper boat burst from the pool’s surface, beads of water skittering off its glimmering hull. It was fairly small, probably built to hold no more than a dozen passengers. There was no sail to be seen, but it looked fast, its stern tapering to a sharp point.

Nahri stepped forward, transfixed by the beautiful boat. “Has this been here all this time?”

Dara nodded. “Since before the city fell. The Qahtani siege was so brutal that no one had a chance to escape.” He shoved Ali into the shallows. “Climb aboard, sand fly.”

Nahri went to follow, but Dara caught her wrist. “I’ll let him go,” he said quietly in Divasti. “I promise. There are supplies waiting for us on the other side of the lake, a carpet, provisions, weapons. I’ll leave him on the beach unharmed, and we’ll fly away.”

His words only worsened her feeling of betrayal. “I’m glad to know we’ll be well-provisioned when the ifrit murder us.”

She tried to pull away, but Dara held her tight. “The ifrit aren’t going to murder us, Nahri,” he assured her. “Things are different now. You’ll be safe.”

Nahri frowned. “What do you mean?”

In the distance, there came the sound of a shout, followed by an inaudible command. The voices were far, belonging to men still unseen, but Nahri knew how quickly the djinn could move.

Dara released her wrist. “I’ll tell you when we’re out of the city. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I should have before.” He touched her cheek. “We’ll get past this.”

I don’t know about that. But she let him help her onto the boat. Dara retrieved a copper pole that ran down the center of the deck. He jabbed it into the sandy bank, and they were off.

The boat slipped past the cavern’s edge with a sizzle. When she glanced back, the rocky face appeared smooth and unblemished. She spotted the docks in the distance, swarmed by tiny figures with flickering torches and gleaming blades.

Ali gazed at the soldiers as the boat raced through the still water toward the dark mountains.

Nahri edged closer to him. “What you told me about your agreement with your father—do you think he’ll punish you if I leave?”

Ali dropped his gaze. “It doesn’t matter.” She watched him tick off his knuckles—praying, counting, maybe just a nervous gesture. He looked miserable.

The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them. “Come with us.”

Ali stilled.

Stupidly, Nahri pressed on, keeping her voice low. “You might as well escape what comes next. Cross the Gozan with us and then go see that human world you’re so fascinated with. Go pray in Mecca, study with the scholars of Timbuktu …” She swallowed, emotion stealing into her voice. “I have an old friend in Cairo. He could probably use a new business partner.”

Ali kept his gaze on his hands. “You really mean that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice oddly hollow.

“I do.”

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, Nahri … I’m so sorry.” He turned to look at her, guilt radiating from every line in his face.

Nahri backed away. “No,” she whispered. “What have you—” The air flashed around her, and the words caught in her throat. She clutched the ship’s railing and held her breath through the smothering embrace of the lake’s veil. As with her first crossing, it lasted only a moment, and then the world readjusted. The dark mountains, the star-dappled sky …

The dozen or so warships loaded with soldiers.

They nearly crashed right into the closest one, a hulking wooden trireme that sat heavy in the water. The small copper boat slid by and smashed a few oars, but the men onboard were ready. The deck was loaded with archers, their bows drawn, while other soldiers threw down chains of spiked anchors to snag their vessel. One of the archers let loose a single flaming arrow high in the sky. A signal.

Ali climbed awkwardly to his feet. “My ancestors found the copper boat shortly after the revolution,” he explained. “No one could raise it, so it stayed. And we learned how to conceal things on the other side of the veil centuries ago.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Nahri, I really am.”

She heard Dara snarl. He was on the other end of the boat but drew his bow in the blink of an eye, aiming an arrow at Ali’s throat. Nahri couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. They were completely outnumbered.

“Afshin!” Jamshid appeared at the warship’s edge. “Don’t be a fool. Lower your weapon.”

Dara didn’t move, and the soldiers fanned out as if preparing to board. Nahri raised her hands.

“Zaydi!” There was a shout from the ship as Muntadhir pushed through the line of soldiers. He took in the sight of his bloodied brother in irons, an arrow aimed at his throat. Hatred twisted his handsome face, and he lunged forward. “You bastard!”

Jamshid grabbed him. “Muntadhir, don’t!”

Dara gave Muntadhir an incredulous look. “What are you doing aboard a warship? Are the ballasts filled with wine?”

Muntadhir let out an angry hiss. “Wait until my father arrives. We’ll see how bravely you talk then.”

Dara laughed. “Wait for my baba. The anthem of every Geziri hero.”

Muntadhir’s eyes flashed. He glanced back, seeming to judge how far the other ships were and then gestured angrily at the archers. “Why are your arrows pointed at him? Target the girl and see how fast the great Scourge surrenders.”

The smile vanished from Dara’s face. “Do that, and I will kill every last one of you.”

Ali immediately stepped in front of her. “She’s as innocent as I am, Dhiru.” She saw him glance at the other ships as well, seeming to make the same calculation as his brother.

And then it hit her. Of course they wanted to wait for Ghassan; Dara was completely defenseless in the face of Suleiman’s seal. If they delayed until the king arrived, he was doomed.

He did this to himself. Nahri knew that. But her mind flashed back to their journey, to the sorrow that constantly haunted him, his anguish when he talked about his family’s fate, the bloody memories of his time as a slave. He’d spent his life fighting for the Daevas against the Qahtanis. It was no small wonder he was desperate to save her from what must seem the worst possible fate.

And God, the thought of him in irons, dragged before the king, executed in front of a jeering crowd of djinn …

No. Never. She turned, a sudden heat in her chest. “Let him go,” she begged. “Please. Let him leave, and I’ll stay here. I’ll marry your brother. I’ll do whatever your family wants.”

Ali hesitated. “Nahri …”

“Please.” She grabbed his hand, willing the reluctance in his eyes to vanish. She couldn’t let Dara die. The thought alone broke her heart. “I beg you. That’s all I want,” she added, and at the moment, it was true, her only desire in the world. “I only wish for him to live.”

There was a moment of strange stillness on the ship. The air grew uncomfortably hot, the way it might at an approaching monsoon.

Dara let out a choked gasp. Nahri whirled around in time to see him stumble. His bow dipped in his hands as he frantically tried to catch his breath.

Horrified, she lurched toward him. Ali grabbed her arm as Dara’s ring suddenly blazed.

When he looked up, Nahri stifled a cry. Though Dara’s gaze was focused on her, there was no recognition in his bright eyes. There was nothing familiar in his face: his expression was wilder than it had been at Hierapolis, the look of something hunted and hurt.

He whirled on the soldiers. He snarled, and his bow doubled in size. The quiver transformed as well, growing flush with a variety of arrows that vied to outdo each other in savagery. The one he held notched ended in an iron crescent, its shaft studded with barbs.

Nahri went cold. She remembered her last words. The intent behind them. She couldn’t have truly—could she? “Dara, wait! Don’t!”

“Shoot him!” Muntadhir screamed.

Ali shoved her down. They hit the deck hard, but nothing whizzed over their heads. She looked up.

The soldiers’ arrows had frozen in midair.

Nahri strongly suspected King Ghassan was going to be too late.

Dara snapped his fingers, and the arrows abruptly reversed direction to flit through the air and cut through their owners. His own swiftly joined them, his hands moving so fast between the quiver and bow that she couldn’t follow the motion with her eyes. When the archers fell back under the onslaught, Dara snatched up Ali’s zulfiqar.

His bright gaze locked on Muntadhir, and his mad eyes flashed with recognition. “Zaydi al Qahtani,” he declared. He spat. “Traitor. I’ve waited a long time to make you pay for what you did to my people.”

Dara had no sooner made his lunatic assertion than he charged the ship. The wooden railing burst into flames at his touch, and he vanished into the black smoke. She could hear men screaming.

“Free me,” Ali begged, thrusting his wrists into her lap. “Please!”

“I don’t know how!”

The body—sans head—of an Agnivanshi officer landed beside them with a thud, and Nahri shrieked. Ali pushed awkwardly to his feet.

She grabbed his arm. “Are you mad? What are you possibly going to do like that?” she asked, gesturing to his bound wrists.

He shook her off. “My brother’s over there!”

“Ali!” But the prince was already gone, disappearing into the same black smoke as Dara.

She recoiled. What in God’s name had just happened to Dara? Nahri had spent weeks at his side—surely she had wished for things out loud without … well, whatever it was she had just done.

He’s going to kill everyone on that boat. Ghassan would arrive to find his sons murdered, and then he’d hunt them to the ends of the earth, hang them in the midan, and their tribes would go to war for a century.

She couldn’t let that happen. “God preserve me,” she whispered, and then she did the most un-Nahri-like thing she could imagine.

She ran into danger.

Nahri boarded the ship, climbing up the broken oars and anchor chains, while trying very hard not to look at the cursed water gleaming below. She’d never forgotten what Dara told her about it shredding djinn flesh.

But the carnage on the trireme put the deadly lake out of mind. Fire licked down the wooden deck and crept up the rigging for the black sail. The line of archers lay where they’d fallen, pierced with dozens of arrows. One screamed for his mother as he clutched his ruined stomach. Nahri hesitated but knew she had no time to waste. She picked over the bodies, coughing and waving smoke away from her face as she stumbled over a stack of bloody oilcloth.

She heard screams from across the ship and spied Ali racing ahead. The smoke briefly dissipated, and then she saw him.

It was suddenly clear why—over a thousand years later—Dara’s name still provoked terror among the djinn. His bow slung on his back, he had Ali’s zulfiqar in one hand and a stolen khanjar in the other and was using them to make quick work of the soldiers remaining around Muntadhir. He moved less like a man and more like some raging war god of the long-ago era in which he’d been born. Even his body was illuminated, seemingly on fire just below the skin.

Like the ifrit, Nahri recognized in horror, suddenly unsure of just who or what Dara truly was. He shoved the zulfiqar into the throat of the last guard between him and Muntadhir and yanked it out bloody.

Not that the emir noticed. Muntadhir sat on the bloody deck with the arrow-riddled body of a soldier cradled in his arms. “Jamshid!” he screamed. “No! God, no—look at me, please!”

Dara raised the zulfiqar. Nahri drew to a stop, opening her mouth to shout.

Ali threw himself on the Afshin.

She’d barely noticed the prince, awestruck by the horrible sight of Dara doing death’s work. But he was suddenly there, taking advantage of his height to jump on Dara’s back and loop his bound wrists around the Afshin’s neck like a noose. He drew up his legs, and Dara staggered under the sudden weight. Ali kicked the zulfiqar out of his hands.

“Muntadhir!” he screamed, adding something in Geziriyya that she couldn’t understand. The zulfiqar had landed barely a body’s length away from the emir’s feet. Muntadhir didn’t look up; he didn’t even seem to have heard his brother’s cry. Nahri ran, picking over bodies as quickly as she could.

Dara let out an aggravated sound as he tried to shake the prince loose. Ali pulled up his hands, pressing the iron bindings tight against the Afshin’s throat. Dara gasped but managed to elbow the prince in the stomach and slam his back hard into the ship’s mast.

Ali didn’t let go. “Akhi!”

Muntadhir startled and looked up. In a second he had dived for the zulfiqar, at the same time Dara finally succeeded in throwing Ali over his head. He grabbed his bow.

The young prince hit the wet deck hard and slid to the boat’s edge. He scrambled to his feet. “Munta—”

Dara shot him through the throat.