The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,38

shaking. “What did you do?” he shrieked, holding his hand out like he expected the ring to explode.

Dara. The man in her vision had been Dara. And what she had seen . . . were those his memories? They seemed too real to have been his dreams.

Nahri forced herself to meet his gaze. “Dara . . .” She tried to keep her voice gentle. The daeva was pale with fright, his eyes wild. “Please, just calm down.” He’d backed away without any of his weapons. She resisted the urge to look at them, fearing he would notice. “I didn’t—”

The daeva seemed to read her mind, lunging for his weapons at the same time she did. He was faster, but Nahri was closer. She grabbed his sword and jumped back as he lunged at her with the dagger.

“Don’t!” She raised the sword, her hands trembling as she gripped it tight. Dara drew back with a hiss that bared his teeth. Nahri panicked. There was no way she could outrun him, no way she could outfight him. The daeva looked like he’d gone mad; she half-expected him to start frothing at the mouth. The visions flashed through her mind again: bodies ripped apart, men burned to death. And Dara had done it all.

No. There had to be some explanation. And then she remembered. Master, he had called that man his master.

He’s a slave. All the stories Nahri had heard about the djinn raced through her mind, and her mouth fell open in shock. A wish-granting djinn slave.

The realization didn’t improve her situation. “Dara, please . . . I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear!”

His left hand was pressed to his chest, the ring next to his heart—if daevas had hearts. He held the dagger out with his right, circling her like a cat. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, some of the wildness had dissipated. “No . . . I—” He swallowed, looking close to tears. “I’m still here.” He took a shaky breath, relief flooding into his face. “I’m still free.” He leaned heavily against one of the marble columns. “But that city . . . ,” he choked out. “Those people . . .” He slid to the floor, dropping his head into his hands.

Nahri didn’t lower the sword. She had no idea what to say, torn between guilt and fear. “I . . . I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I just wanted the ring. I had no idea . . .”

“You wanted the ring?” He glanced up sharply, a hint of suspicion stealing back into his voice. “Why?”

Telling the truth seemed safer than his assuming some type of magical malice on her part. “I was trying to steal it,” she confessed. “I am—I was,” she corrected, realizing there was no way she was getting free now, “trying to escape.”

“Escape?” He narrowed his eyes. “And you needed my ring for that?”

“Have you seen the size of it?” She let out a nervous laugh. “That emerald could get me back to Cairo with money to spare.”

He gave her an incredulous look and then shook his head. “And the glory of the Nahids continues.” He climbed to his feet, seemingly unaware of how quickly she backed away. “Why would you even want to escape? Your human life sounds dreadful.”

“What?” she asked, offended enough to momentarily forget her fear. “Why would you say that?”

“Why?” He picked up his robe and whirled it around his shoulders. “Where do I even start? If simply being human isn’t wretched enough, you had to lie and steal constantly to survive. You lived alone, with no family and no friends, in unceasing fear you’d be arrested and executed for sorcery.” He blanched. “And you’d return to that? Over Daevabad?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she insisted, taken aback by his answer. All those questions he’d asked about her life in Cairo—he really had been listening to her answers. “My abilities gave me a lot of independence. And I had a friend,” she added, though she wasn’t certain Yaqub would agree with that definition of their relationship. “Besides, you act as if I’m facing something better. Aren’t you turning me over to some djinn king who murdered my family?”

“No,” Dara said, adding somewhat more hesitantly, “it was not . . . technically him. Your ancestors were enemies, but Khayzur spoke correctly.” He sighed. “It was a long time ago,” he added lamely, as if that explained everything.

Nahri stared.