The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,106

ring on his pinkie. A prince.

A younger man stood directly behind the prince, dressed in similar fashion to the soldiers, though his turban was a dark crimson instead of gray. He was tall, with a scruffy beard and a severe expression on his narrow face. Though he shared the same luminous skin and peaked ears as purebloods, she had trouble identifying his tribe. He was nearly as dark as the Ayaanle salt traders, but his eyes were the steely gray of the Geziri.

No one appeared to notice them. The king’s attention was focused on a pair of bickering men below. He sighed and snapped his fingers; a barefoot servant greeted his outstretched hand with a goblet of wine.

“—it’s a monopoly. I know more than one Tukharistani family weaves jade thread. They shouldn’t be allowed to band together whenever they sell to an Agnivanshi merchant.” A well-dressed man with long black hair crossed his arms. A line of pearls draped his neck and two more encircled his right wrist. A heavy gold ring sparkled on one hand.

“And how do you know that?” the other man accused him. He was taller and looked a bit like the Chinese scholars she’d seen in Cairo. Nahri edged past Dara, curious to get a better look at the men. “Admit it: you’re sending spies to Tukharistan!”

The king raised a hand, interrupting them. “Didn’t I just deal with the two of you? By the Most High, why are you still doing business with each other? Surely there are other . . .” He trailed off.

The goblet fell from his hand as he stood, shattering on the marble floor, spatters of wine staining his robe. The hall fell silent, but he didn’t seem to notice.

His eyes had locked on hers. Then a single word rushed from his mouth like a whispered prayer.

“Manizheh?”

16

Nahri

Every head in the massive audience hall turned to stare at her. In the metal-toned eyes of the djinn—dark steel and copper, gold and tin—she saw a mix of confusion and amusement, as if she were the target of a joke yet to be revealed to her. A few tittering laughs rose from among the crowd. The king took a step away from his throne, and the noise abruptly stopped.

“You’re alive,” he whispered. The chamber was now so still she could hear him take a deep breath. The few remaining courtiers between her and the throne quickly backed away.

The man she assumed was a prince gave the king a bewildered look and then glanced back at Nahri, squinting to study her like she was some strange sort of insect. “That girl’s not Manizheh, Abba. She looks so human she shouldn’t have even passed the veil.”

“Human?” The king stepped to the lower platform, and as he drew closer, a beam of sunlight from the screened windows caught his face. Like Dara, he was marked on one temple with a black tattoo; in his case, an eight-pointed star. The tattoo’s edge had a smoky glow that seemed to wink at her.

Something in his face crumpled. “No . . . she is not Manizheh.” He stared at her another moment and frowned. “But why would you think she’s human? Her appearance is that of a Daeva pureblood.”

It is? Nahri clearly wasn’t the only one confused by the king’s conviction. The whispers started back up, and the young soldier with the crimson turban crossed the platform to join the king.

He laid a hand on the king’s shoulder, visibly concerned. “Abba . . .” The rest of his words followed in a hiss of incomprehensible Geziriyya, taking Nahri aback.

Abba? Could the soldier be another son?

“I see her ears!” The king shot back in annoyed Djinnistani. “How can you possibly think she’s shafit?”

Nahri hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed. Were you allowed to just start talking to the king? Maybe she had to bow or . . .

The king suddenly made an impatient noise. He raised his hand, and the sigil on his temple flared to life.

It was as if someone had sucked the air from the room. The torches on the wall went out, the fountains ceased their gentle gurgle, and the black flags hanging behind the king stopped fluttering. A wave of weakness and nausea passed over Nahri, and pain flared in the various parts of her body she’d battered in the past day.

Beside her, Dara let out a strangled cry. He fell to his knees, ash beading off his skin.

Nahri dropped to his side. “Dara!” She laid a hand