The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,188

Dara’s face.

“No.” Nahri took his face in her hands and forced him to look in her eyes. “Come with me. We’ll leave, travel the world.” It was obvious there was no going back to what they’d had before. But she’d have said anything to get him to stop.

Dara nodded, his bright eyes wet. She tossed the whip in the lake and took his hand. She had just started to lead him away when Muntadhir stammered behind them, a strange mix of hope and alarm in his voice.

“Z-Zaydi?”

Nahri spun around. She gasped, and Dara threw a protective arm in front of her as the flicker of relief died in her chest.

Because the thing that was climbing up onto the boat was definitely not Alizayd al Qahtani.

The young prince stepped into the firelight and swayed like one not accustomed to land. He blinked, a slow reptilian movement, and she saw that his eyes had gone completely black, even the whites vanished under an oily dark cover. His face was gray, and his blue lips moved in a silent whisper.

Ali stepped forward and mechanically scanned the ship. His clothes were shredded, and water streamed from his body like a sieve, pouring from his eyes, ears, and mouth. It bubbled up from under his skin and dripped from his fingertips. He took another jerky step toward them, and in the improved light, Nahri could see his body, encrusted with all manner of lake debris. The arrows and iron shackles were gone; instead, waterweeds and disembodied tentacles tightly wrapped his limbs. Shells, shimmering scales, and razor-sharp teeth were embedded in his skin.

Muntadhir slowly stood up. The blood drained from his face. “Oh, my God. Alizayd . . .” He took a step closer.

“I wouldn’t do that, sand fly.” Dara was pale as well. He pushed Nahri behind him and reached for his bow.

Ali jerked to attention at the sound of Dara’s voice. He sniffed the air and then turned on them. Water puddled at his feet. He’d been whispering since he climbed aboard, but as he drew nearer, she suddenly understood the words, muttered in a language unlike anything she’d ever heard. A flowing language that rushed and slithered and swam over his lips.

Kill the daeva.

Except of course it wasn’t “daeva” he used, but rather a sound Nahri knew she could never reproduce, the syllables full of hate and pure . . . opposition. As if this other thing, this daeva, had no right to exist, no right to sully the waters of the world with smoke and flames and fiery death.

From behind his wet robe, Ali drew an enormous scimitar. The blade was green and mottled with rust, looking like something the lake had swallowed centuries ago. In the firelight, she saw a bloody symbol roughly carved high upon his left cheek.

“Run!” Dara cried. He shot Ali, and the arrow dissolved upon contact. He grabbed the zulfiqar and rushed the prince.

The symbol blazed bright on Ali’s cheek. A wave of pressure burst through the air, and the entire ship shook. Nahri flew back into a stack of wooden crates. A jagged piece of wood sliced deep into her shoulder. It burned as she sat up, a wave of weakness and nausea sweeping over her.

Her powers were gone. And then she realized what must have been carved into Ali’s cheek.

Suleiman’s seal.

Dara.

“No!” Nahri climbed to her feet. In the center of the ship, Dara had fallen to his knees just like he had when Ghassan used the seal to reveal her identity. He looked up to see the thing that was Ali towering over him, raising the rusted blade over his head. He attempted to defend himself with the zulfiqar, but even Nahri could see that his movements were slowed.

Ali knocked it away with enough force to send the blade flying into the lake and then raised the rusty scimitar again. He started to bring it down toward Dara’s neck, and Nahri screamed. Ali hesitated. She took a breath.

He changed direction, slashing down, cutting clean through Dara’s left wrist and severing his hand.

Separating the ring.

Dara didn’t make a sound as he fell. She could swear he seemed to look past Ali, to gaze upon her one final time, but she wasn’t certain. It was hard to see his face; he’d grown as dim as smoke, and there was some woman screaming in her ear.

But then Dara grew still—too still—and crumbled to ash before her eyes.

28

Ali

Ali knew he was dying when he crashed through the lake’s placid