The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,12

sword. “You smell dirt born. You’re no illusion.”

She blinked, but before she could question that bizarre proclamation, the ground gave a sudden and violent rumble.

He touched the tomb beside them and then gave the trembling headstones a distinctly nervous look. “Is this a burial ground?”

Nahri thought that fairly obvious. “The largest in Cairo.”

“Then we don’t have much time.” He looked up and down the alley before turning back to her. “Answer me, and be quick and honest about it. Did you mean to call me here?”

“No.”

“Do you have any other family here?”

How could that possibly be important? “No, it’s just me.”

“And have you done anything like this before?” he demanded, his voice urgent. “Anything out of the ordinary?”

Only my whole life. Nahri hesitated. But terrified as she was, the sound of her native language was intoxicating, and she didn’t want the mysterious stranger to stop speaking.

And so the answer rushed out of her before she could think better of it. “I’ve never ‘called anyone’ before, but I heal. Like you saw.” She touched the skin on her temple.

He stared at her face, his eyes growing so bright she had to look away. “Can you heal others?” He asked the question in a strangely soft and desperate tone, as if he both knew and feared the answer.

The ground buckled, and the headstone between them crumbled into dust. Nahri gasped and looked over the buildings surrounding them, suddenly aware of just how ancient and unsteady they appeared. “An earthquake . . .”

“We should be so fortunate.” He deftly swept past the crumbled headstone and snatched her arm.

“Ya!” she protested; his hot touch burned through her thin sleeve. “Let me go!”

He gripped her tighter. “How do we get out of here?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” She tried to twist free and then froze.

Two thin, bowed figures stood at the end of one of the narrow cemetery paths. A third hung out a window, the smashed screen on the ground below. Nahri didn’t need to listen for the absence of their heartbeats to know all three were dead. The tattered remains of burial shrouds hung from their desiccated frames, the scent of rot filling the air.

“God be merciful,” she whispered, her mouth going dry. “What-what are—”

“Ghouls,” the man answered. He let go of her arm and shoved his sword in her hands. “Take this.”

Nahri could barely lift the damned thing. She held it awkwardly in both hands as the man pulled free his bow and notched an arrow.

“I see you’ve found my servants.”

The voice came from behind them, young and girlish. Nahri whirled around. Baseema stood a few paces away.

The man had an arrow aimed at the young girl in the blink of an eye. “Ifrit,” he hissed.

Baseema smiled politely. “Afshin,” she greeted. “What a pleasant surprise. Last I heard, you were dead, having gone completely insane in the service of your human masters.”

He flinched and drew the bow back farther. “Go to hell, demon.”

Baseema laughed. “Aye, there’s no need for that. We’re on the same side now, haven’t you heard?” She grinned and drew nearer. Nahri could see a malicious glint in her dark eyes. “Surely you’ll do anything to help the newest Banu Nahida.”

The newest what? But the term must have meant something to the man: his hands trembled on the bow.

“The Nahids are dead,” he said in a shaky voice. “You fiends killed them all.”

Baseema shrugged. “We tried. All in the past now, I suppose.” She winked at Nahri. “Come.” She beckoned her forth. “There’s no reason to make this difficult.”

The man—Afshin, Baseema had called him—stepped between them. “I will rip you from that poor child’s body if you come any nearer.”

Baseema gave a rude nod to the tombs. “Look around, you fool. Do you have any idea how many here owe debts to my kind? I have but to say a word and you will both be devoured.”

Devoured? Nahri immediately stepped away from Afshin. “Wait! You know what? Maybe I should just—”

Something cold and sharp grabbed her ankle. She glanced down. A bony hand, the rest of its arm still buried, held her tight. It yanked hard, and she tripped, falling just as an arrow whizzed over her head.

Nahri slashed at the skeletal hand with Afshin’s sword, trying not to accidentally amputate her own foot. “Get off, get off!” she shrieked, the sensation of bones on her skin causing every hair on her body to stand on end. From the corner of her eye, she saw Baseema collapse.

Afshin rushed