edge. All were Daeva, many still wearing ash marks, their glassy black eyes opened to the sky. Some had their throats slashed, but more had puncture wounds to their hearts, their clothes soaked in blood that ran out into the sand, as thick and copious as the Geziri blood that had flowed across the palace gardens not long ago.
But Daeva blood wasn’t supposed to spill like this again. That had been the focus, the entire point, of their war. Dara wavered on his knees, gazing across the sand.
Just in time to witness the woman kneeling at Manizheh’s feet plunge a dagger into her own chest.
Dara let out a soundless cry, aghast and not understanding. The royal viewing platform had been stripped to its marble surface, and Manizheh, her head bare and her hair in loose, tangled waves, stood in the ceremonial gown he’d seen her in the day of the failed meeting with the djinn envoys. It was now entirely black with blood. She watched dispassionately as the woman crumpled to the ground.
From the shadows behind Manizheh, Aeshma emerged. The ifrit pulled the blade from the dead woman and kicked her with his foot off the platform and onto the tangle of bodies splayed across the sand. As he straightened up, his gaze met Dara’s.
A look Dara had never seen from the mocking, haughty ifrit leader crossed Aeshma’s face. It was … hunger. The anticipation of something more ancient and longed for than Dara could even imagine. As if Aeshma could scent the despair and horror radiating off Dara and wanted to taste it, to rip his teeth into them all.
And then it was gone. Aeshma handed the dagger back to Manizheh.
She stroked her fingers through the blood coating the blade, a twisted caress. She shivered, her lips briefly parting.
Aeshma spoke. “Your Afshin has joined us.” It sounded like a warning.
Dara rose shakily from the ground, gazing in horror at the gory sand that stretched between them. He could not bear to cross it. “What have you done?”
She wiped the flat part of the dagger on her hand. “It seems Muntadhir was right about the fickle loyalties of the Daeva noble houses.” Manizheh met his gaze, and the haunted vacantness in her eyes chilled Dara to the core. “So now there are no more Daeva noble houses.”
He swayed on his feet. “Not all these people betrayed you.”
“No, but their kin did. A lesson needed to be taught.”
Dara’s gaze fell back to the ground. A young woman lay curled on her side, a hand still pressed to her torn throat. She looked younger than Nahri had been when Dara found her in Egypt.
“Don’t.” Manizheh’s voice was brittle. “You did worse at Qui-zi. You did worse during your rebellion against Zaydi al Qahtani. They wanted to put Muntadhir on the throne. He would have killed every Daeva who even thought about giving us support.” She gestured wildly with the knife. “We tried another way. We tried mercy and kindness and were betrayed in return. This is all anyone understands.”
Dara stared at her, but he could not summon the rage of their earlier fights. Because even as his faith in the Nahids finally, fully shattered, his heart broke for her. For the brilliant healer who should have been making advances in her field and saving lives instead of becoming a ruthless killer. For the woman who was clever and brave and who might have been a good leader in another world. Who should have seen her children grow up in safety and taken pride in the people they’d become.
He wanted to weep for her, for all of them. “My lady …”
“They killed Kaveh. Our people, Dara. They tore him apart in the street like animals.” Her voice broke in raw grief, her bloodshot eyes wet.
Kaveh. Dara felt like his legs had been cut out from underneath him. He and the grand wazir had argued plenty, but Kaveh had been Jamshid’s father and a determined, ruthless advocate for their tribe.
And the Daevas had killed him for it. Dara could not imagine a more destabilizing loss for Manizheh.
She shook her head. “The men put their hands on me, thought to bind me, saying surely I understood. That no one wanted to hurt me—I was their blessed Nahid, but it was time for men who knew better to step in. For a Qahtani to step in,” she said, spitting the name. “They would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Aeshma.”
“I am sorry.” Dara didn’t know