The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,115

at Nahri. A warning tried to break through the fog of her thoughts, raise her from the creeping exhaustion.

It failed. Her head fell back, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Nahri shivered awake, something cold and wet pressed against her forehead. She opened her eyes, blinking in the dim light. She was in a dark room, lying on an unfamiliar couch, a light quilt drawn up to her chest.

The palace, she remembered, the feast. The goblets Zaynab kept pressing on her . . . the odd heaviness that overtook her body . . .

She immediately drew up. Her head was not pleased at the swiftness of the movement and promptly protested with a pounding ache at the base of her skull. Nahri winced.

“Shhh, it’s all right.” A shadow separated itself from a murky corner. A woman, Nahri realized. A Daeva woman, her eyes as dark as Nahri’s and an ash mark upon her brow. Her black hair was pulled into a severe bun, and her face was lined with what looked like equal measures of hard work and age. She approached with a steaming metal cup. “Drink this. It will help.”

“I don’t understand,” Nahri muttered, rubbing her aching head. “I was eating and then . . .”

“I believe the hope was that you would pass out drunk among a pile of meat dishes and embarrass yourself,” the woman said lightly. “But you needn’t worry. I arrived before any real damage was done.”

What? Nahri pushed the cup away, suddenly less inclined to accept unknown drinks from strangers. “Why would she . . . who are you?” she demanded, bewildered.

A gentle smile lit the woman’s face. “Nisreen e-Kinshur. I was the senior aide to your mother and uncle. I came as soon as I received word—though it took me some time to make my way through the crowds celebrating in the streets.” She pressed her fingers together, inclining her brow. “It is an honor to meet you, my lady.”

Her head still spinning, Nahri wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. “Okay,” she finally managed.

Nisreen motioned to the steaming cup. Whatever it was smelled bitter and a bit like pickled ginger. “That will help, I promise. Your uncle Rustam’s recipe, one that won him many fans among Daevabad’s merrymakers. And as for the first part of your question . . .” Nisreen lowered her voice. “You would be wise not to trust the princess; her mother Hatset never had much love for your family.”

And what does that have to do with me? Nahri wanted to protest. She’d been in Daevabad barely a day; could she really have already earned herself an adversary at the palace?

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Nahri looked up as a very familiar—and very welcome—face peeked in.

“You’re awake.” Dara smiled, looking relieved. “Finally. Feeling any better?”

“Not really,” Nahri grumbled. She took a sip of the tea and then made a face, setting it down on a low mirrored table beside her. She swiped at a few of the wild strands of hair sticking to her face as Dara approached. She could only imagine what she looked like. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Since yesterday.” He sat down beside her. Dara certainly looked well rested. He’d bathed and shaved and was dressed in a long pine green coat that set off his bright eyes. He wore new boots, and as he moved she caught sight of the saddlebag he placed on the ground.

The coat and shoes took on a new meaning. Nahri narrowed her eyes. “Are you going somewhere?”

His smile faded. “Lady Nisreen,” he asked, turning to the older woman. “Forgive me . . . but would you mind perhaps giving us a moment alone?”

Nisreen arched one black eyebrow. “Were things so different in your time, Afshin, that you’d be left alone with an unmarried Daeva girl?”

He pressed a hand against his heart. “I promise I mean nothing scandalous.” He smiled again, a slightly rakish grin that made Nahri’s heart skip a beat. “Please.”

Nisreen apparently wasn’t immune to the handsome warrior’s charms either. Something in her face collapsed even as her cheeks grew a bit pink. She sighed. “One moment, Afshin.” She rose to her feet. “I should probably go check on the workers restoring the infirmary. We’ll want to begin training as soon as possible.”

Training? Nahri’s head pounded harder. She’d hoped to have at least a brief respite in Daevabad after their exhausting journey. Overwhelmed, she merely nodded.

“But, Banu Nahida . . .” Nisreen paused at the door