The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,143

hothead. I don’t want you caught up in any political feuds if Alizayd al Qahtani ends up with a silk cord around his neck.”

That image bothered her more than she cared to admit. He’s not my friend, she reminded herself. He’s a mark. “I can take care of myself.”

“But you don’t need to,” Dara replied, sounding annoyed. “Nahri, did you not hear what I just said? Let others play politics. Stay away from these princes. They are beneath you anyway.”

Says the one whose political knowledge is a millennium outdated. “Fine,” she lied; she had no intention of turning away her best source of information, but she didn’t feel like fighting. She dropped a final shard in the pan. “That’s the last of the glass.”

He offered a wry smile. “I’ll find a less destructive way to see you next time.” He tried to pull his hand away.

She held firm. It was his left hand, the same hand marked by what she now knew was a record of his time as a slave. The tiny black rungs spiraled out from his palm like a snail, twisting around his wrist and vanishing underneath his sleeve. She rubbed her thumb against the one at the base of his hand.

Dara’s face darkened. “I take it your new friend told you what they mean?”

Nahri nodded, keeping her expression neutral. “How many . . . how far do they go?”

For once he gave up an answer without fighting. “Up my arm and all over my back. I stopped counting after about eight hundred.”

She squeezed his hand and then let go. “There’s so much you didn’t tell me, Dara,” she said softly. “About slavery, about the war . . .” She met his gaze. “About leading a rebellion against Zaydi al Qahtani.”

“I know.” He dropped his gaze, twisting his ring. “But I spoke truthfully to the king . . . well, about slavery, anyway. Save what you and I saw together, I remember nothing of my time as a slave.” Dara cleared his throat. “What we saw was enough for me.”

She had to agree. To her, it seemed a mercy that Dara couldn’t remember his time in captivity—but it didn’t answer the rest. “And the war, Dara? The rebellion?”

He looked up, apprehension in his bright eyes. “Did the brat tell you anything?”

“No.” Nahri had been avoiding the darker rumors of Dara’s past. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

He nodded. “All right,” he said, soft resignation in his voice. “Kaveh is trying to arrange a reception for you at the Grand Temple. Ghassan is being resistant . . .” His tone made it clear he didn’t think much of the king’s opinion. “But it would be a good place to talk without interruption. The rebellion . . . what happened before the war, it . . . it’s a long story.” Dara swallowed, visibly nervous. “You’ll have questions, and I want to have time to explain, to make you understand why I did the things I did.”

The birdman let out another screech, and Dara made a face. “But not today. You should check on him before he flies away. And I need to go. Nisreen is right about us being alone together. The sand fly knows you are here with me, and I would not wish to harm your reputation.”

“Don’t worry about my reputation,” she said lightly. “I do enough damage on my own.”

A wry smile played at the corner of his lips, but he said nothing, simply staring at her as if he was drinking her in. In the infirmary’s soft light, Nahri found it difficult not to do the same, to not memorize the way the sunlight played in his wavy black hair, the jewel-like gleam in his emerald eyes.

“You look beautiful in our clothes,” he said softly, running a finger lightly along the embroidered hem of her sleeve. “It’s hard to believe you’re the same ragged girl I pulled from a ghoul’s jaws, the one who left a trail of stolen belongings from Cairo to Constantinople.” He shook his head. “And to learn you’re actually the daughter of one of our greatest healers.” A note of reverence crept into his voice. “I should be burning cedar oil in your honor.”

“I’m sure enough has already been wasted over me.”

He smiled, but the expression didn’t meet his eyes. He dropped his hand from hers, something like regret seeming to pass across his face. “Nahri, there is something we should . . .” He suddenly frowned, his head