The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,14

hand he held the mace, covered in viscera, and in the other the sword, dark fluid dripping from the gleaming steel. His shoulders were slumped, his head lowered in defeat. Down the lane, she could see more ghouls still coming. By God, did everyone buried here owe a debt to a demon?

He tossed his weapons to the ground. “What are you doing?” she cried as he slowly raised his empty hands as if in prayer. “There are more . . .” Her warning trailed off.

Every particle of sand, every mote of dust in sight, rushed to meet the motion of his hands, condensing and swirling into a twisting funnel in the center of the lane. He took a deep breath and flung his hands outward.

The funnel exploded toward the rushing ghouls, a snap breaking across the air. Nahri felt a wave of pressure rock the wall, sand blasting her from the open screen.

And they shall control the winds and be lords of the deserts. And any traveler who strays across their land shall be doomed . . .

The line came unbidden to her, something she’d heard during her years of pretending to be wise about the supernatural. There was only one creature that line ever referred to, only one being that struck terror in hardened warriors and savvy merchants from the Maghrib to the Hind. An ancient being said to live for deceiving and terrorizing mankind. A djinn.

Afshin was a djinn. An honest-to-goodness djinn.

It was a distracting realization, one that made her momentarily forget where she was. So when a bony hand yanked her back and teeth sank into her shoulder, she was understandably caught off guard.

Nahri shouted, more in surprise than pain as the bite wasn’t deep. She struggled to get the ghoul off her back, but it wrapped its legs around her and knocked her to the ground, clinging to her body like a crab.

Managing to wrench an elbow free, she shoved it hard. The ghoul fell away but took a good piece of her shoulder with it. Nahri gasped; the burn of exposed flesh sent spots blossoming across her vision.

The ghoul snapped at her neck, and she scrambled away. Its body wasn’t too old; swollen flesh and a tattered burial shroud still covered its limbs. But its eyes were a horrifying, pestilent wreck of writhing maggots.

Nahri sensed movement behind her too late. A second ghoul yanked her close, pinning her arms.

She screamed, “Afshin!”

The ghouls dragged her to the ground. The first ripped a gash in her abaya, raking sharp nails across her stomach. It sighed with contentment as it ran a rough tongue over her bloodied skin, and her entire body shuddered in response, revulsion coursing in her blood. She thrashed against them, finally succeeding in smashing her fist into the second ghoul’s face as it leaned in toward her neck. “Get off me!” she screamed. She tried to hit it again, but it grabbed her fist, wrenching her arm away. Something popped in her elbow, but the pain barely registered.

Because at the same time, it tore into her throat.

Blood filled her mouth. Her eyes rolled back. The pain was receding, her sight dimming, so she didn’t see the djinn approach, only heard an enraged roar, the swoosh of a blade, and two thuds. One of the ghouls collapsed onto her.

Sticky, warm blood pooled on the floor beneath her body. “No . . . no, don’t,” she murmured as she was picked up off the floor and carried out of the tomb. The night air chilled her skin.

She was on something soft and then suddenly weightless. There was the faint sensation of movement.

“Sorry, girl,” a voice whispered, in a language that until today, Nahri had never heard another speak. “But you and I are not done.”

3

Nahri

Nahri knew something was wrong before she opened her eyes.

The sun was bright—too bright—against her still-closed lids, and her abaya clung wetly to her stomach. A gentle breeze played across her face. She groaned and rolled over, trying to take refuge in her blanket.

Instead, she got a faceful of sand. Sputtering, she sat up and wiped her eyes. She blinked.

She was definitely not in Cairo.

A shady grove of date palms and scrubby brush surrounded her; rocky cliffs blocked part of the bright blue sky. Through the trees, there was nothing but desert, gleaming golden sand in every direction.

And across from her was the djinn.

Crouched like a cat over the smoldering remains of a small fire—the sharp smell of burnt green wood filling