The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,31

tavern door smashing open. “Anas Bhatt!” a familiar voice shouted. Wajed . . . oh, God, no . . . “We know you’re here!”

Hanno rushed back into the room. He snatched up the baby and kicked open the door. “Come on!”

The thought of Wajed—Ali’s beloved Qaid, the sly-eyed general who’d all but raised him—finding Ali standing over the bodies of two murdered purebloods snapped him to attention. He raced after Hanno, Anas at his heels.

They emerged in another trash-strewn alley. They ran until they reached its end, the towering copper wall that separated the Tukharistani and Daeva quarters. Their only escape was a narrow breach leading back to the street.

Hanno peeked out of the breach and then jerked back. “They’ve Daeva archers.”

“What?” Ali joined him, ignoring the sharp elbow to his side. At the distant end of the street was the tavern, lit up by the fiery zulfiqars of soldiers pouring through the entrance. A half-dozen Daeva archers waited on elephants, their silver bows gleaming in the starlight.

“We have a safe house in the Tukharistani Quarter,” Hanno explained. “There’s a spot we can get over the wall, but we need to cross the street first.”

Ali’s heart sank. “We’ll never make it.” The soldiers might have been focused on the tavern, but there was no way one of them wouldn’t notice three men, a girl child, and a baby dashing across the street. The fire worshippers were devilishly good archers—the Daevas as devoted to their bows as the Geziris were to their zulfiqars—and it was a wide street.

He turned to Anas. “We’ll have to find another way.”

Anas nodded. He glanced at the baby in Hanno’s arms and then at the little girl clutching his hand. “All right,” he said softly. He knelt to face the girl, untangling her fingers from his own. “My dear, I need you to go with the brother here.” He pointed at Ali. “He’s going to take you someplace safe.”

Ali stared at Anas, dumbstruck. “What? Wait . . . you don’t mean . . .”

“I’m the one they’re after.” Anas stood. “I’m not going to risk the lives of children to save my own.” He shrugged, but his voice was strained when he spoke again. “I knew this day would come . . . I-I’ll try to distract them . . . to give you as much time as possible.”

“Absolutely not,” Hanno declared. “The Tanzeem need you. I’ll go. I’ve got a better chance at taking out some of those purebloods anyway.”

Anas shook his head. “You’re better equipped than I to get the prince and the children to safety.”

“No.” The word tore from Ali’s throat, more prayer than plea. He could not lose his sheikh, not like this. “I’ll go. Surely I can negotiate some sort of—”

“You’ll negotiate nothing,” Anas cut in, his voice severe. “If you tell your father about tonight, you’re dead, do you understand? The Daevas would riot if they learned of your involvement. Your father won’t risk that.” He placed a hand on Ali’s shoulder. “And you’re too valuable to lose.”

“The hell he is,” Hanno retorted. “You’re going to get yourself killed just so some Qahtani brat can—”

Anas cut him off with a sharp motion of his hand. “Alizayd al Qahtani can do more for the shafit than a thousand groups like the Tanzeem. And he will,” he added, giving Ali an intent look. “Earn this. I don’t care if you have to dance on my grave. Save yourself, brother. Live to fight again.” He pushed the little girl toward him. “Get them out of here, Hanno.” Without another word, he turned back, heading for the tavern.

The shafit girl looked up at Ali, her brown eyes enormous with fear. He blinked back tears. Anas had sealed his fate; the least Ali could do was follow his last order. He picked up the girl, and she clung to his neck, her heart thudding against his chest.

Hanno shot him a look of pure venom. “You and I, al Qahtani, are going to have a long chat when this is over.” He snatched the turban from Ali’s head, quickly fashioning it into a sling for the baby.

Ali immediately felt more exposed. “Was there something wrong with yours?”

“You’ll run faster if you’re worried about being recognized.” He nodded at Ali’s zulfiqar. “Put that away.”

Ali shoved the zulfiqar under his robe, shifting the girl to his back as they waited. There was a shout from the tavern, followed by a second, more exultant cry. God protect you, Anas.

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