The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,154

a magical flying lion into submission?”

“Several.”

Nahri glanced at the next shrine. This one featured a woman dressed in plated armor, one hand clutching a spear. Her stone face was fierce—but it was the fact that it was tucked under her own arm that really drew Nahri’s attention.

“Irtemiz e-Nahid,” Jamshid remarked. “One of the bravest of your ancestors. She held off a Qahtani assault on the temple about six hundred years ago.” He pointed to a line of scorch marks Nahri hadn’t noticed high up on the wall. “They tried to burn it down with as many Daevas stuffed inside as possible. Irtemiz used her abilities to quell the flames. Then she put a spear through the eye of the Qahtani prince leading the charge.”

Nahri reeled. “Through his eye?”

Jamshid shrugged, not looking particularly fazed by this bloody bit of information. “We have a complicated history with the djinn. It cost her in the end. They cut off her head and threw her body in the lake.” He shook his head sadly, pressing his fingers together. “May she find peace in the Creator’s shade.”

Nahri gulped. That was enough family history for the day. She moved away from the shrines, but despite her best effort to ignore them, one more caught her eye. Draped in rose garlands and smelling of fresh incense, the shrine was crowned by the figure of an archer on horseback. He stood up tall and proud in his stirrups, facing backward with his bow drawn to aim an arrow at his pursuers.

Nahri frowned. “Is that supposed to be—”

“Me?” Nahri jumped at the sound of Dara’s voice, the Afshin appearing behind them like a ghost. “Apparently so.” He leaned past her shoulder to better examine the shrine, the smoky scent of his hair tickling her nostrils. “Are those sand flies my horse is stomping?” He cackled, his eyes bright with amusement as he studied the cloud of insects around the horse’s hooves. “Oh, that’s clever. I would have liked to meet whoever had the nerve to slip that in.”

Jamshid studied the statue with an air of wistfulness. “I wish I could ride and shoot like that. There’s no place in the city to practice.”

“You should have said something sooner,” Dara replied. “I’ll take you out to the plains just past the Gozan. We used to train there all the time when I was young.”

Jamshid shook his head. “My father doesn’t want me passing the veil.”

“Nonsense.” Dara clapped him on the back. “I’ll convince Kaveh.” He glanced at the priests. “Come, we’ve made them wait long enough.”

The priests were bent in low bows by the time Nahri approached—or truthfully, they might have just been standing that way. All were elderly, not a black hair left in sight.

Dara brought his fingers together. “I present Banu Nahri e-Nahid.” He beamed back at her. “The grand priests of Daevabad, my lady.”

The one in the tall peaked cap stepped forward. He had kind eyes crowned by the longest, wildest gray eyebrows Nahri had ever seen, a charcoal mark splitting his forehead. “May the fires burn brightly for you, Banu Nahri,” he greeted her warmly. “My name is Kartir e-Mennushur. Welcome to the temple. I pray this is only the first of many visits.”

Nahri cleared her throat. “I pray for that as well,” she replied awkwardly, growing more uncomfortable by the second. Nahri had never gotten on well with clerics. Being a con artist tended to put her at odds with most of them.

At a loss for anything else to say, she nodded to the massive fire altar. “Is that Anahid’s altar?”

“Indeed.” Kartir stepped back. “Would you like to see it?”

“I . . . all right,” she agreed, desperately hoping she wouldn’t be expected to perform any of the rituals associated with it; everything Nisreen had attempted to teach Nahri about their faith seemed to have flown from her head.

Dara followed at her heels, and Nahri fought the temptation to reach for his hand. She could have used a little reassurance.

Anahid’s altar was even more impressive up close. The base alone was big enough for a half-dozen people to bathe in comfortably. Glass oil lamps shaped like boats floated within, bobbing across the simmering water. The silver cupola towered overhead, a veritable bonfire of incense burning behind the gleaming metal. Its heat scalded her face.

“I took my vows in this very spot,” Dara said softly. He touched the tattoo on his temple. “Received my mark and my bow and swore to protect your family no matter