The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,152

Had she and Dara been alone, she might have been tempted to take advantage of such information. But for now, she simply beckoned him up. “You know you don’t have to do that.”

He climbed back to his feet. “It’s my pleasure.” He brought his hands together. “Welcome, my lady.”

Two men had separated from the crowd to join them: the grand wazir, Kaveh e-Pramukh, and his son Jamshid. Kaveh looked like he was fighting back tears—Nisreen had told Nahri that he’d been very close to both Manizheh and Rustam.

Kaveh’s fingers trembled as he brought them together. “May the fires burn brightly for you, Banu Nahida.”

Jamshid gave her a warm smile. The captain was out of his Royal Guard uniform and dressed in Daeva fashion today, a dark jade coat trimmed in velvet and striped pants. He bowed. “An honor to see you again, my lady.”

“Thank you.” Avoiding the curious eyes of the crowd, Nahri glanced up as a small flock of sparrows flew past the smoking tower, their wings dark against the bright noon sky. “So this is the Grand Temple?”

“Still standing.” Dara shook his head. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure it would be.”

“Our people don’t give up that easily,” Nisreen replied, a note of pride in her voice. “We’ve always fought back.”

“But only when necessary,” Jamshid reminded her. “We have a good king in Ghassan.”

An amused look crossed Dara’s face. “Ever the loyal one, aren’t you, Captain?” He nodded in Nahri’s direction. “Why don’t you escort the Banu Nahida inside? I need to speak with your father and Lady Nisreen a moment.”

Jamshid looked a little surprised—no, he looked a little concerned, his eyes darting between his father and Dara with a trace of worry—but he acquiesced with a small bow. “Of course.” He glanced at her, motioning toward the wide pathway that led to the Grand Temple. “Banu Nahida?”

Nahri threw Dara an irked look. She’d been looking forward to seeing him all morning. But she held her tongue, not intending to embarrass herself before the large Daeva crowd. Instead, she followed Jamshid down the path.

The Daeva captain waited and then matched his pace to hers. He walked with an unhurried air, his hands clasped behind his back. He was a little on the pale side, but he had a handsome face with an elegant, aquiline nose and winged black brows.

“So how are you finding life in Daevabad?” he asked politely.

Nahri considered the question. As she’d barely seen any of the city, she wasn’t sure what sort of answer she could give. “Busy,” she finally said. “Very beautiful, very bizarre, and very, very busy.”

He laughed. “I can’t begin to imagine what a shock this must be. Though from all sources, you are handling it with grace.”

I suspect your sources are being diplomatic. But Nahri said nothing, and they kept walking. There was a deep, almost solemn, stillness to the garden air. Something strange, like an absence of . . .

“Magic,” she said, realizing it aloud. When Jamshid gave her a confused frown, she explained, “There’s no magic here.” She made a sweeping gesture over the rather unassuming plant life surrounding her. There were no fiery floating globes, no jeweled flowers or fairy-tale creatures peering through the leaves. “Not that I can see anyway,” Nahri clarified.

Jamshid nodded. “No magic, no weapons, no jewelry; the Grand Temple’s meant to be a place of contemplation and prayer—no distractions allowed.” He gestured to the serene surroundings. “We design our gardens as a reflection of Paradise.”

“You mean Paradise isn’t filled with treasure and forbidden delights?”

He laughed. “I suppose everyone would have their own definition of such a place.”

Nahri kicked at the gravel path. It wasn’t quite gravel, but rather flat, perfectly polished stones the size of marbles, in a vast array of colors. Some were speckled with flecks of what looked like precious metals while others were streaked with quartz and topaz.

“From the lake,” Jamshid explained, following the direction of her gaze. “Brought up by the marids themselves as tribute.”

“Tribute?”

“If you believe the legends. Daevabad was once theirs.”

“Really?” Nahri asked, surprised. Though she supposed she shouldn’t be. Misty Daevabad—ringed by fog-shrouded mountains and a fathomless magical lake—certainly seemed a place more suited for water beings than those created from fire. “So where did the marids go?”

“No one really knows,” Jamshid replied. “They were said to be allied with your earliest ancestors; they helped Anahid build the city.” He shrugged. “But considering the curse they placed on the lake before they disappeared, they must have