The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,130

her voice.

Alizayd dropped his gaze. “You should go,” he said. “Your minders are likely getting worried.”

Her minders? “I remember the way,” Nahri retorted, turning back toward the garden’s wild interior.

“Wait!” Alizayd stepped between her and the trees. There was a hint of panic in his voice. “Please . . . I’m sorry,” he rushed on. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He shifted on his feet. “It was rude . . . and it’s hardly the first time I’ve been rude to you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m getting accustomed to it.”

A wry expression crossed his face, nearly a smile. “I would beg that you not.” He touched his heart. “Please. I’ll take you back through the palace.” He nodded to the wet leaves sticking to her chador. “You needn’t go traipsing back through the jungle because I have no manners.”

Nahri considered the offer; it seemed sincere enough, and there was the slight chance she could accidentally knock his books into one of the fiery braziers of which the djinn seemed so fond. “Fine.”

He nodded in the direction of the wall. “This way. Let me just change.”

She followed him across the clearing to a stone pavilion fronting the wall and then through an open balustrade into a plain room about half the size of her bedroom. One wall was taken up by bookshelves, the rest of the room sparsely decorated with a prayer niche, a single rug, and a large ceramic tile inscribed with what looked like Arabic religious verses.

The prince went straight to the main door, an enormous antique of carved teak. He stuck his head out and made a beckoning motion. In seconds, a member of the Royal Guard appeared, silently installing himself at the open door.

Nahri gave the prince an incredulous look. “Are you afraid of me?”

He bristled. “No. But it is said that when a man and woman are alone in a closed room, their third companion is the devil.”

She raised an eyebrow, struggling to contain her mirth. “Well then, I suppose we should take precaution.” She eyed the water dripping from his waist-wrap. “Didn’t you need to . . . ?”

Ali followed her gaze, made a small, embarrassed noise, and then promptly vanished through a curtained archway—the books still in hand.

What an odd person. The room was extraordinarily plain for a prince, nothing like her lavish apartment. A thin sleeping pallet had been neatly folded and placed upon a single wooden chest. A low floor desk looked out upon the garden, its surface covered with papers and scrolls all set at disturbingly perfect right angles to one another. A stylus rested alongside an immaculate inkpot.

“Your quarters don’t look very . . . lived in,” she commented.

“I haven’t lived in the palace long,” he called from the other room.

She drifted toward the bookshelves. “Where are you from originally?”

“Here.” Nahri jumped at the close sound of his voice. Alizayd had returned without making a sound, now dressed in a long gray waist-wrap and striped linen tunic. “Daevabad, I mean. I grew up in the Citadel.”

“The Citadel?”

He nodded. “I’m training to be my brother’s Qaid.”

Nahri tucked that bit of information in her head for later, captivated by the crowded bookshelves. There were hundreds of books and scrolls there, including some half her height and a good number thicker than her head. She ran a hand along the multihued spines, overtaken by a sense of longing.

“Do you like to read?” Alizayd asked.

Nahri hesitated, embarrassed to admit her illiteracy to a man with such a large personal library. “I suppose you could say I like the idea of reading.” When his only response was a confused frown, she clarified. “I don’t know how.”

“Truly?” He seemed surprised, but at least not disgusted. “I thought all humans could read.”

“Not at all.” She was amused by the misconception—maybe humans were as much of a mystery to the djinn as the djinn were to humans. “I’ve always wanted to learn. I hoped I’d have the opportunity here, but it seems it’s not to be.” She sighed. “Nisreen says it’s a waste of time.”

“I imagine many in Daevabad feel the same way.” Even as she touched the gilded spine of one of the volumes, Nahri could tell he was studying her.

“And if you could . . . what would you read about?”

My family. The answer was immediate, but there was no way she was revealing that to Alizayd. She turned to face him. “The books you were reading outside looked interesting.”

He didn’t bat an eye. “I fear