The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,156

need, we are at your disposal.” He bowed again and left.

Nahri emerged from the archway into a small pavilion. High on the third level of the ziggurat, it was little more than a nook hidden behind a stone wall and a screen of potted date palms. Kartir was probably right about the view, but Nahri had no desire to peek at the crowd again. She collapsed into one of the low cane chairs, trying to collect herself.

She let her right hand fall to her lap. “Naar,” she whispered, watching as a single flame swirled to life in her palm. She’d taken to conjuring it up more frequently, clinging to the reminder that she was capable of learning something in Daevabad.

“May I join you?” a soft voice asked.

Nahri closed her palm, extinguishing the flame. She turned around. Dara stood at the archway, looking uncharacteristically abashed.

She waved at the other chair. “All yours.”

He took the seat across from her, leaning forward on his knees. “I’m sorry,” he started. “I truly thought this was a good idea.”

“I’m sure you did.” Nahri sighed and then removed her veil, pulling off the heavy diadem holding her chador in place. She didn’t miss the way Dara’s gaze drifted to her face, nor did she care. He could deal with some distress—he certainly gave her enough.

He dropped his gaze. “You’ve an admirer in Kartir . . . aye, the tongue-lashing I just received.”

“Thoroughly deserved.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Nahri glanced at him. He seemed nervous, rubbing his palms on his knees.

She frowned. “Are you all right?”

He stilled. “I’m fine.” She saw him swallow. “So, what do you think of Jamshid?”

The question took her aback. “I . . . he’s very nice.” It was the truth, after all. “If his father’s anything like him, it’s hardly surprising he’s risen so high in Ghassan’s court. He seems very diplomatic.”

“They are both that.” Dara hesitated. “The Pramukhs are a respectable family, one with a long record of devotion to your own. I was a bit surprised to see them serving the Qahtanis, and Jamshid seems to have a regrettably sincere affection for Muntadhir, but . . . he’s a good man. Bright, kindhearted. A talented warrior.”

Nahri narrowed her eyes; Dara had never been subtle and he was speaking of Jamshid with far too much feigned indifference. “What are you trying not to say, Dara?”

He blushed. “Only that you seem well matched.”

“Well matched?”

“Yes.” She heard something catch in his throat. “He . . . he would be a good Daeva alternative if Ghassan presses on with his idiotic scheme to marry you to his son. You’re near in age, his family has loyalty to both yours and the Qahtanis—”

Nahri straightened up, indignant with rage. “And Jamshid e-Pramukh is the first name that comes to mind when you think of Daeva husbands for me?”

He had the decency to look ashamed. “Nahri—”

“No,” she cut in, her voice rising in anger. “How dare you? You think to introduce me as some wise Banu Nahida one moment and attempt to trick me into marriage with another man in the next? After what happened that night in the cave?”

He shook his head, a faint flush stealing over his face. “That should never have happened. You were a woman under my protection. I had no right to touch you that way.”

“I remember it as being mutual.” But as the words left her lips, Nahri recalled that she had kissed him first—twice—and the realization twisted her stomach into a knot of insecurity. “I . . . was I wrong?” she asked, mortification rising in her voice. “Did you not feel the same way?”

“No!” Dara fell to his knees before her, closing the space between them. “Please don’t think that.” He reached for one of her hands, holding fast when she tried to jerk away. “Just because I shouldn’t have done it doesn’t mean . . .” He swallowed. “It doesn’t mean I didn’t want to, Nahri.”

“Then what’s the problem? You’re unmarried, I’m unmarried. We’re both Daeva . . .”

“I’m not alive,” Dara cut in. He dropped her hand with a sigh, rising to his feet. “Nahri, I don’t know who freed my soul from slavery. I don’t know how. But I know that I died: I drowned, just like you saw. By now, my body is likely nothing but ash on the bottom of some ancient well.”

A fierce denial rose in Nahri’s chest, foolish and impractical. “I don’t care,” she insisted. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

He shook his head. “It matters to me.”