The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,141

into the palace and broke his wrist . . . stop wiggling away!”

Dara held his arm above her head. “Did I really break it?” he asked with an impish grin. “I thought so. His bones made the most pleasant sound . . .” He broke away from his reverie to glance down at her. “Does he know he’s a mark?”

Nahri thought back to Ali’s comment on her lock picking. “Probably,” she admitted. “He’s not as much of a fool as I hoped.” She didn’t dare mention the fact that their “friendship” had started when she learned Ali was reading up on Dara. That was not news she expected to be well received.

“You do know he’s doing the same, yes?” There was a flicker of apprehension in Dara’s face. “You can’t trust him. I bet every other word out of his mouth is a lie meant to turn you toward their side.”

“Are you suggesting my ancestral enemy has an ulterior motive? But I’ve spilled all my deepest secrets . . . what will I do?” Nahri touched her heart in mock horror and then narrowed her eyes. “Have you forgotten who I am, Dara? I can handle Ali just fine.”

“Ali?” He scowled. “You’ve nicknamed the sand fly?”

“I call you by a nickname.”

She could not have replicated Dara’s reaction if she tried; his face twisted into a stormy mix of indignant hurt and pure outrage. “Wait.” Nahri felt herself starting to grin. “Are you jealous?” When his cheeks flushed, she laughed and clapped her hands together in delight. “By the Most High, you are!” She took in his beautiful eyes and muscular frame, awed as usual by his presence. “How does that even work for you? Have you looked in a mirror this century?”

“I’m not jealous of the brat,” Dara snapped. He rubbed his brow, and Nahri winced at the sight of the glass sticking out of his hand. “He’s not the one they want you to marry,” Dara added.

“Excuse me?” Her humor vanished.

“Did your new best friend not tell you? They want you to marry Emir Muntadhir.” Dara’s eyes flashed. “A thing which will not be happening.”

“Muntadhir?” Nahri remembered very little about Ali’s older brother except thinking that he looked like the type of man she’d easily fleece. “Where did you hear such an absurd rumor?”

“From Ali’s own mouth,” he replied, exaggerating the nickname. “Why do you think I broke his wrist?” Dara let out an annoyed huff and crossed his arms over his chest. He was dressed like a proper Daeva nobleman now, in a fitted dark gray coat that ended at his knees, wide embroidered belt, and baggy black pants. He cut a dashing figure, and as he shifted again, she caught a waft of the smoky cedar smell that always seemed to cling to his skin.

A low heat sparked in her chest even as he pressed his mouth in an irritated line. She remembered all too well the sensation of that mouth against hers and it was making her mind spin in reckless directions.

“What, nothing to say?” he challenged. “No thoughts on your impending nuptials?”

She had plenty of thoughts. Just not about Muntadhir. “You seem to object,” she said mildly.

“Of course I object! They have no right to interfere in your bloodline. Your heritage is already suspect. You should be marrying the most high-caste Daeva nobleman they can find.”

She gave him an even look. “Like you?”

“No,” he said, flustered. “I didn’t say that. I . . . it has nothing to do with me.”

She crossed her arms. “Perhaps if you felt so concerned about my future in Daevabad, you might have stayed in Daevabad instead of running after ifrit.” She threw up her hands. “So? What happened? You didn’t ride in triumphantly with their heads in a bloody bag, so I’m guessing you didn’t have much luck.”

Dara’s shoulders dropped—whether due to disappointing her or losing out on the chance to participate in the above scenario, she wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry, Nahri.” The anger had vanished from his voice. “They were long gone.”

A tiny hope Nahri hadn’t quite known she had been nursing snuffed out in her chest. But considering how dejected Dara sounded, she masked her own reaction. “It’s all right, Dara.” She reached for his good hand. “Come here.” She plucked a long pair of tweezers from the worktable that was still standing and then pulled him toward a pile of floor cushions. “Sit. We can talk while I remove the pieces of furniture stuck in your