The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,67

what to do!” She tried to pull open his robe, hoping to see some type of wound she could heal.

The hem crumbled into ash. Nahri gasped, trying not to panic as the daeva’s skin took on the same hue. Was he going to turn to dust in her arms?

His skin briefly firmed up even as his body grew light. His eyes fluttered shut, and Nahri went cold. “No,” she said, brushing the ash from his closed eyes. Not like this, not after everything we’ve been through. She wracked her memory, trying to think of anything useful he’d told her about how the Nahids healed.

He had said they could undo poisons and curses, she remembered that. But he hadn’t told her how. Did they have their own medicines, their own spells? Or did they do it by touch alone?

Well, touch was all she had. She pulled his shirt open and pressed her trembling hands against his chest. His skin was so cold it numbed her fingers. Intent, he had mentioned more than once. Intent was critical in magic.

She closed her eyes, focusing entirely on Dara.

Nothing. There was no heartbeat, no breath. She frowned, trying to sense anything wrong, trying to imagine him healthy and alert. Her fingers grew frosty, and she pressed them harder against his chest, his body twitching in response.

Something wet tickled her wrists, growing faster and thicker, like steam off a boiling pot. Nahri didn’t move, keeping the image of a healthy Dara, his smile sly as always, firmly in her mind. His skin warmed a bit. Please, let it be working, she begged. Please, Dara. Don’t leave me.

A sharp ache crept up from the base of her skull. She ignored the pain. Warm blood dripped from her nose, and she fought a wave of dizziness. The steam was coming more quickly. She felt his skin grow firm beneath her fingertips.

And then the first memory flashed before her eyes. A green plain, lush and entirely unfamiliar, sliced in half by a brilliant blue river. A young girl with eyes as black as obsidian. She held out a badly constructed wooden bow.

“Look, Daru!”

“A masterpiece!” I exclaim, and she beams. My little sister, ever the warrior. The Creator help the man she marries . . .

Nahri shook her head, dispelling the memory. She needed to remain focused. Dara’s skin was finally growing hot again, the muscles solidifying under her hands.

A dazzling court, the palace walls covered in precious metals and jewels. I breathe in the scent of sandalwood and bow. “Does this please you, my master?” I ask, my smile ingratiating as always. I snap my fingers, and a silver chalice appears in my hand. “The finest drink of the ancients as requested.” I hand the beaming human fool the chalice and wait for him to die, the drink little more than concentrated hemlock. Perhaps my next master will be more careful in the wording of his wishes.

Nahri shook free of the horrifying image. She bent down to concentrate. She just needed a little more time . . .

But it was too late. The darkness behind her closed eyes swept away again, replaced by a ruined city surrounded by rocky hills. A sliver of moon splashed dim light on broken masonry.

I thrash against the ifrit, dragging my feet on the ground as they pull me toward the sinkhole, the remains of an ancient well. Its dark water glimmers, hinting at hidden depths.

“No!” I scream, for once not caring about my honor. “Please! Don’t do this!”

The two ifrit laugh. “Come now, General Afshin!” The female offers a mock salute. “Don’t you want to live forever?”

I try to struggle, but the curse has already weakened me. They bind my wrists with rope, not bothering with iron, and then wrap the rope around one of the heavy stones lining the well.

“No!” I beg, as they haul me over the edge. “Not now! You don’t under—” The brick hits me in the stomach. Their black smiles are the last thing I see before the dark water closes over my face.

The brick plummets to the bottom of the well, dragging me along headfirst. I frantically twist my wrists, clawing and ripping at my skin. No, I can’t die like this. Not with the curse still on me!

The stone thuds against the bottom, my body bouncing against the rope. My lungs burn, the press of dark water against my skin terrifying. I follow the rope, trying desperately to find the knot tying it to the stone.