The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,36

No. It wasn’t worth the risk. She gave the daeva one last glance as she left. She could not help but feel a pang of regret; she knew Dara represented the best chance to learn about her origins, about her family and her abilities. About, well . . . everything. But it wasn’t worth her freedom.

Nahri returned to the theater. She dropped the kindling on the carpet. Years in a tomb and a week in the desert air had sucked out every drop of moisture from the old wool. It burst into flames like it had been doused in oil. She coughed, waving smoke away from her face. By the time Dara woke, it would be nothing but ash. He’d have to go after her on foot, and she’d have a half day’s start.

“Just make it to the river,” she whispered to herself. She picked up her bag and started climbing the stairs that led out of the theater.

The bag was pathetically light, a physical reminder of how dire her circumstances were. I’m going to be nothing. People will laugh when I say I can heal. Yaqub’s willingness to partner with her was rare, and that was after she’d already established a reputation as a healer, a reputation that had taken years of careful cultivation.

But she wouldn’t have to worry if she had that ring. She could sell it, rent a place so she wouldn’t have to sleep on the street. Buy medicines to use in her work, materials with which to make amulets. She slowed, not even halfway up the steps. I’m a good thief. I’ve stolen far more challenging things. And Dara slept like the dead; he hadn’t even awakened when Khayzur nearly landed on him.

“I’m a fool,” she whispered, but she was already turning around, running lightly down the steps and past the blazing carpet. She crept back into the temple, winding her way around the collapsed columns and smashed statues.

Dara was still fast asleep. Nahri carefully put down her bag and freed the waterskin. She sprinkled a few drops on his finger, her heart racing as she watched for any reaction. Nothing. Moving cautiously, she gently pinched the ring between her thumb and index finger. She pulled.

The ring pulsed and grew hot. A sudden pain blossomed in her head. She panicked and tried to let go, but her fingers wouldn’t budge. It was as if someone had seized control of her mind. The temple vanished, and her vision blurred, replaced by a series of smoky shapes that quickly solidified into something entirely new. A parched plain under a blinding white sun . . .

I study the dead land with a practiced eye. This place had once been grassy and green, rich with irrigated fields and orchards, but my master’s army trampled all signs of fertility, leaving nothing but mud and dust. The orchards are stripped and burned, the river poisoned a week ago, in hopes that it would drive the city to surrender.

Unseen by the humans around me, I rise in the air like smoke to better survey our forces. My master has a formidable army: thousands of men in chain and leather, dozens of elephants, and hundreds of horses. His archers are the best in the human world, honed by my careful instruction. But the walled city remains insurmountable.

I stare at the ancient blocks, wondering at how thick they are, how many other armies they have repulsed. No battering ram will bring them down. I sniff carefully; the stench of famine scents the wind.

I turn to my master. He is one of the largest humans I’ve ever encountered; the top of my head barely comes to his shoulders. Unable to deal with the heat of the plains, he is constantly pink and wet and utterly disagreeable. Even his ruddy beard is damp with sweat, and his ornately filigreed tunic stinks. I wrinkle my nose; such a garment is frivolous in a time of war.

I settle to the ground next to his horse and look up at him. “Another two to three days,” I say, tripping over the sounds. Although I’ve belonged to him for a year, his language is still strange to me, full of harsh consonants and snarls. “They cannot hold out much longer.”

He scowls and caresses the hilt of his sword. “That is too long. You said they’d be ready to surrender last week.”

I pause, the impatience in his voice causing a small knot of dread to grow in my stomach. I do