The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,165

you think my wife—” He let out a hacking, smoky cough.

Nisreen squeezed his hand. “We’ll give you as much time as we can.”

Nahri chewed the inside of her cheek, unnerved by the man’s emotional state. She was used to looking for weakness in fear, for gullibility in grief. She had no idea how to make small talk with someone about to die. But still she stepped closer, forcing what she hoped was a confident smile.

The sheikh’s eyes flickered to her. His mouth twitched, as if he might be trying to return her smile, and then he gasped, dropping Nisreen’s hand.

Her assistant was on her feet in a flash. She pulled apart the man’s robe to reveal a blackened chest, the skin smoldering. A sharp, septic odor filled the air as Nisreen’s precise fingers ran up his sternum and then slightly to the left.

She seemed unbothered by the sight. “Bring the tray over here and hand me a scalpel.”

Nahri did so, and Nisreen sank the scalpel into the man’s chest, ignoring his gasp as she cut away a section of burning skin. She clamped the flesh open and beckoned Nahri closer. “Come here.”

Nahri leaned over the bed. Just below the rush of foamy black blood was a billowing mass of glimmering gold tissue. It fluttered softly, slowing as it took on an ashen hue. “My God,” she marveled. “Are those his lungs?”

Nisreen nodded. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” She picked up the tweezers holding the copper tube and held it out to Nahri. “Aim for the center and gently insert. Don’t go deeper than a hair or two.”

Her brief sense of wonderment vanished. Nahri looked between the tube and the man’s fading lungs. She swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe herself.

“Banu Nahida,” Nisreen prompted, her voice urgent.

Nahri took the tweezers and held the tube over the delicate tissue. “I-I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m going to hurt him.”

His skin suddenly flared, the lungs crumpling into powdery ash as the burning embers swept toward his neck. Nisreen quickly pushed aside his long beard, exposing his neck.

“The throat then, it’s his only chance.” When she hesitated, Nisreen glared. “Nahri!”

Nahri moved, bringing the tube swiftly down to where Nisreen pointed. It went in as easily as a hot knife through butter. She felt a moment of relief.

And then it sank deep.

“No, don’t!” Nisreen grabbed for the tweezers as Nahri tried to pull the tube back up. A terrible sucking sound came from the sheikh’s throat. Blood bubbled and simmered over her hands, and his entire body seized.

Nahri panicked. She held her hands against his throat, desperately willing the blood to stop. His terrified eyes locked on hers. “Nisreen, what do I do?” she cried. The man seized again, more violently.

And then he was gone.

She knew it immediately; the weak beat of his heart shuddered to a stop, and the intelligent spark flickered out of his gray gaze. His chest sank, and the tube whistled, the air finally escaping.

Nahri didn’t move, unable to look away from the man’s tortured face. A tear trailed from his sparse lashes.

Nisreen closed his eyes. “He’s gone, Banu Nahida,” she said softly. “You tried.”

I tried. Nahri had made this man’s last moments a living hell. His body was a wreck, his lower half burned away, his bloody throat torn open.

She took a shaky step away, catching sight of her own singed clothes. Her hands and wrists were coated in blood and ash. Without another word, she crossed to the washbasin and started fiercely scrubbing her hands. She could feel Nisreen’s eyes on her back.

“We should clean him up before his wife gets here,” her assistant said. “Try to—”

“Make it look like I didn’t kill him?” Nahri cut in. She didn’t turn around; the skin on her hands smarted as she scoured them.

“You didn’t kill him, Banu Nahri.” Nisreen joined her at the sink. “He was going to die. It was only a matter of time.” She went to lay a hand on Nahri’s shoulder, and Nahri jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.” She could feel herself losing control. “This is your fault. I told you I couldn’t use that instrument. I’ve been telling you since I arrived that I wasn’t ready to treat patients. And you didn’t care. You just keep pushing me!”

Nahri saw something crack in the older woman’s face. “Do you think I want to?” she asked, her voice oddly desperate. “Do you think I would be pushing you if I had any other choice?”

Nahri was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Nisreen