The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,180

racing heart and then opened the door.

Alizayd al Qahtani’s smiling face greeted her.

“Peace be upon you,” he said in Arabic. “I’m so sorry to . . .” He blinked, taking in the sight of her bedclothes and uncovered hair. He immediately averted his eyes. “I . . . er—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “What’s wrong?”

He’d been holding his left side but opened his black robe now, revealing the bloodstained dishdasha beneath. “I tore some of my stitches,” he said apologetically. “I wanted to wait in the infirmary overnight, but I can’t get the bleeding to stop and . . .” He frowned. “Is something wrong?” He studied her face, casting aside propriety for a moment. “You—you’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, aware of Dara watching from the other side of the door. Her mind raced. She wanted to tell Ali to run, to yell at him for daring to come to her door unaccompanied—anything to get him safely away—but he did look like he needed help.

“Are you sure?” He took a step closer.

She forced a smile. “I’m sure.” She considered the distance between the two of them and the infirmary. Dara would not dare follow her, would he? He could have no idea how many patients rested inside, how many guards waited in the outer corridor.

She nodded at Ali’s bloody dishdasha. “That looks awful.” She stepped through the door. “Let me—”

Dara called her bluff.

The door was ripped from her hand. Dara reached for her wrist, but a wide-eyed Ali grabbed her first. He pulled her into the infirmary, shoving her behind him, and she landed hard on the stone floor. His zulfiqar burst into flames.

In seconds, the infirmary was in chaos. A spray of arrows fired into the wooden balustrade, following Ali’s path as his zulfiqar lit the curtain sectioning off the patient beds on fire. Her birdman shrieked, flapping his feathered arms from atop his bed of sticks. Nahri climbed to her feet, still a little dizzy from the fall.

Ali and Dara were fighting.

No, not fighting. Fighting was two drunks brawling in the street. Ali and Dara were dancing, the two warriors spinning around each other in a wild blur of fire and metal blades.

Ali leaped onto her desk, as graceful as a cat, using its height to strike Dara from above, but the Afshin ducked away in the nick of time. He smashed his hands together, and the desk burst into flames, collapsing under Ali’s weight and tossing the prince to the burning ground. Dara aimed a kick at his head, but Ali rolled away, slashing the backs of Dara’s legs as he went.

“Stop!” she cried as Dara hurled one of the desk’s burning legs at Ali’s head. “Stop it, both of you!”

Ali ducked the chunk of flying debris and then charged the Afshin, bringing the zulfiqar down at his throat.

Nahri gasped, her fears for the men abruptly reversing. “No! Dara, watch–” The warning wasn’t out of her mouth before Dara’s ring blazed with emerald light. Ali’s zulfiqar shuddered and dimmed, the copper blade twisting and then wriggling. It let out an angry hiss, melting into the shape of a fiery viper. Ali startled, dropping the snake as it reeled back to snap at him.

Dara didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the djinn prince by the throat and slammed him into one of the marble columns. The entire room shook. Ali kicked him, and Dara smashed him into the column again. Black blood dripped down his face. Dara tightened his grip, and Ali gasped, clawing at Dara’s wrists as the Afshin strangled him.

Nahri raced across the room. “Let him go!” She grabbed Dara’s arm and tried to wrest him off, but it was like fighting a statue. “Please, Dara!” she screamed as Ali’s eyes darkened. “I beg you!”

He dropped the prince.

Ali crumpled to the ground. He was a wreck, his eyes dazed, blood dripping down his face, more blossoming through his dishdasha. For once, Nahri didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees, knocked his turban away, and ripped the neckline of his dishdasha to the waist. She pressed a hand against each wound and closed her eyes.

Heal, she commanded. The blood instantly clotted beneath her fingers, the skin smoothing into place. She hadn’t even realized how immediate, how extraordinary it was until Ali groaned and started coughing for air.

“Are you okay?” she asked urgently. From across the room, she was aware of Dara staring at them.

Ali managed a nod, spitting a stream of blood. “Did . . . did he hurt