The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,7

and picked up the incense brazier, hoping the musky fragrance would relax the girl. Maybe it was time to wrap things up. “Oh, warrior,” she sang more softly, returning to Arabic. “Is it you who sleeps in the mind of our gentle Baseema?”

Baseema twitched; sweat poured down her face. Closer now, Nahri could see that the blank expression in the girl’s eyes had been replaced by something that looked a lot more like fear. A bit unsettled, she reached for the girl’s hand.

Baseema blinked, and her eyes narrowed, focusing on Nahri with an almost feral curiosity.

WHO ARE YOU?

Nahri blanched and dropped her hand. Baseema’s lips hadn’t moved, yet she heard the question as though it had been shouted in her ear.

Then the moment was gone. Baseema shook her head, the blank look reappearing as she began to dance again. Startled, Nahri took a few steps back. A cold sweat erupted across her skin.

Rana was at her shoulder. “Ya, Nahri?”

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

Rana raised her brows. “Hear what?”

Don’t be a fool. Nahri shook her head, feeling ridiculous. “Nothing.” Raising her voice, she faced the crowd. “All praise is due to the Almighty,” she declared, trying not to stammer. “Oh, warrior, we thank you.” She beckoned for the girl holding the chicken. “Please accept our offering and make peace with dear Baseema.” Her hands shaking, Nahri held the chicken over a battered stone bowl and whispered a prayer before cutting its throat. Blood spurted into the bowl, spattering her feet.

Baseema’s aunt took the chicken away to be cooked, but Nahri’s job was far from over. “Tamarind juice for our guest,” she requested. “The djinn like their sours.” She forced a smile and tried to relax.

Shams brought over a small glass of the dark juice. “Are you well, kodia?”

“God be praised,” Nahri said. “Just tired. Can you and Rana distribute the food?”

“Of course.”

Baseema was still swaying, her eyes half closed, a dreamy smile on her face. Nahri took her hands and gently pulled her to the ground, aware that much of the group was watching. “Drink, child,” she said, offering the cup. “It will please your djinn.”

The girl clutched the glass, spilling nearly half the juice down her face. She gestured at her mother, making a low noise in the back of her throat.

“Yes, habibti.” Nahri stroked her hair, willing her to be calm. The child was still unbalanced, but her mind didn’t feel as frantic. God only knew how long it would last. She beckoned Baseema’s mother over and joined their hands.

There were tears in the older woman’s eyes. “Is she cured? Will the djinn leave her in peace?”

Nahri hesitated. “I have made them both content, but the djinn is a strong one and has likely been with her since birth. For such a tender thing . . .” She squeezed Baseema’s hand. “It was probably easier for her to submit to his wishes.”

“What does that mean?” the other woman asked, her voice breaking.

“Your daughter’s state is the will of God. The djinn will keep her safe, provide her with a rich inner life,” she lied, hoping it would give the woman some comfort. “Keep them both content. Let her stay with you and your husband, give her things to do with her hands.”

“Will . . . will she ever speak?”

Nahri looked away. “God willing.”

The older woman swallowed, obviously picking up on Nahri’s discomfort. “And the djinn?”

She tried to think of something easy. “Have her drink tamarind juice every morning—it will please him. And take her to the river to bathe on the first jumu’ah, the first Friday, of every month.”

Baseema’s mother took a deep breath. “God knows best,” she said softly, seemingly more to herself than to Nahri. But there were no more tears. Instead, as Nahri watched, the older woman took her daughter’s hand, looking more at peace already. Baseema smiled.

Yaqub’s words stole into Nahri’s heart at the tender sight. You’ve no family, no husband to stand up for you, to protect you . . .

Nahri stood up. “You’ll excuse me.”

As kodia, she had no choice but to stay until the meal was served, nodding politely at the women’s gossip and trying to avoid an elderly cousin whom she sensed had a mass spreading in both breasts. Nahri had never tried to heal anything like that and didn’t think it was a good night to experiment—though that didn’t make the woman’s smiling face easier to stomach.

The ceremony finally drew to a close. Her basket was flush, filled with