The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,199

of our own. Daeva men are being dragged from their homes, interrogated and tortured. We’ve been stripped of royal protection, our quarter left undefended—half our shops in the Grand Bazaar have already been looted.” Her voice broke. “Just this morning, I heard word a Daeva girl was snatched from her palanquin and raped by a mob of shafit men while the Royal Guard stood by.”

The blood left Nahri’s face. “I . . . I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

Nisreen sat on the bench opposite her. “Then listen to me. Nahri, the Qahtanis are not your friends. This is how it always happens with them. One of us steps out of line—one of us thinks about stepping out of line—and hundreds pay the price.”

The door to the hammam swung open. A Geziri soldier barged in.

Nisreen jumped to her feet, blocking Nahri from sight. “Have you no decency?”

He rested his hand on his zulfiqar. “Not for the Scourge’s whore.”

The Scourge’s whore? His words sent a rush of fear through Nahri. Her hands were shaking so badly that Nisreen had to help her dress, pulling a loose linen gown over Nahri’s head and tying her shalvar pants.

Nisreen draped her own black chador over Nahri’s wet hair. “Please,” she begged in Divasti. “You’re the only one left. Forget your grief. Forget our words here. Tell the king whatever he needs to hear to grant you mercy.”

The impatient soldier seized her wrist and pulled her toward the door. Nisreen followed. “Please, Banu Nahri! You must know he loved you; he wouldn’t want you to throw away—”

The soldier shut the door in Nisreen’s face.

He dragged Nahri along the garden path. It was an ugly day; gray clouds bruised the sky, and an icy wind brought a smattering of rain against her face. She pulled the chador tight around her and shivered, wishing she could disappear into it.

They crossed the rain-slick pavilion toward a small wooden gazebo nestled between a wild herb garden and an ancient, sprawling neem tree. The king was alone and looked as composed as ever, his black robes and brilliant turban not the slightest bit damp.

Despite Nisreen’s warning, Nahri didn’t bow. She squared her shoulders, looking him dead in the eye.

He dismissed the soldier. “Banu Nahida,” he greeted her. His expression was calm. He motioned to the opposite bench. “Why don’t you sit?”

She sat, ignoring the urge to slide to the side of the bench farthest from him. His eyes hadn’t left her face.

“You look better than when I saw you last,” he commented lightly.

Nahri flinched. She only vaguely recalled the king’s arrival on the boat. The way Suleiman’s seal had crashed down a second time while soldiers dragged her, thrashing and screaming, from Dara’s ashes.

She wanted to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible—to get away from him as quickly as possible. “I know nothing,” she said, rushing. “I don’t know who helped him, I don’t know what—”

“I believe you,” Ghassan interrupted. Nahri gave him a surprised look, and he continued. “I mean, I don’t particularly care, but for what it’s worth, I do believe you.”

Nahri fidgeted with the hem of her chador. “Then what do you want?”

“To know where you stand now.” Ghassan spread his hands. “Twenty-one men are dead and my streets aflame. All because that damnable Afshin decided—in what I imagine was a hotheaded moment of the deepest stupidity—to kidnap you and my son and flee Daevabad. I’ve heard strikingly different accounts of how this happened,” he continued. “And I’ve decided on one.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’ve decided on one?”

“I have,” he replied. “I think two drunk men got in an idiotic brawl over a woman. I think one of those men—still bitter about losing a war, driven half mad by slavery—snapped. I think he decided to take what belonged to him by force.” He gave her an intent look. “And I think you’re very fortunate that my younger son, injured in the brawl earlier, was in the infirmary to hear your screams.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nahri said heatedly. “Dara would never—”

The king waved her off. “He was a volatile man from an ancient and savage world. Who can really understand why he chose to lash out the way he did? To steal you from your bed like some uncivilized brute from the wilds of Daevastana. Of course you went along; you were terrified, a young girl under his sway for months.”

Nahri was normally good at checking her emotions, but if Ghassan thought she was going to