nothing else to say. There was no cutting remark now, no sarcastic refrain. It was a perversion of their family’s role, of the relationship between the Nahids and the Afshins, deeper than anything Nahri had imagined possible.
“He betrayed his vows,” Manizheh said. “He was straying from the path of loyalty. I set him back upon it in a way that empowers us both.”
“In a way that empowers you both,” Nahri repeated weakly. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“In this—form”—Nahri didn’t miss how Manizheh avoided the word “slave”—“Dara is even more powerful than he was before. He can level cities and take on entire armies.” She smiled at Dara, still weeping into Nahri’s hands. “And it’s easier for him this way. He’s already been through so much; his heart can’t take what this last war requires. When we’ve finally won and enjoy peace, I will release him. He’ll understand.”
Nahri stared at her traumatized Afshin. So this was why the peris had sent her to kill him—the final act that had pushed them over the edge. Manizheh’s act, for which Dara would suffer.
But the reminder of her bargain sent Nahri’s mind spinning in a different direction. “And what kind of deal did you cut with the ifrit for this assistance?” she demanded. “Was it the souls of the Daevas you executed? Something else?”
Her mother’s gaze dimmed. “A price I’d rather not pay. And one I won’t need to, not if you stand at my side.”
“Surrender.” Dara said the word with defeat, with aching regret, but he said it. “Nahri, please, you don’t want this.” He pressed her fingers to the jagged line of fiery light cracking over his temple. “Surrender. You cannot defeat her. It will be easier.”
Nahri briefly let herself cradle Dara’s face in her hands, stroking back a lock of his hair. Not in a thousand years, even in the depths of her worst anger, had she wanted this for him.
“Oh, Afshin,” she murmured. “You always did underestimate me.”
“Nahri …”
But she’d already stepped away. This was between Nahri and her mother now.
“You remember those things you said to me on the roof?” Nahri asked. “About knowing how Ghassan had controlled me? About how much you were like me?” Manizheh gave her a wary look, and Nahri continued. “You were right, you know. You were exactly right. And for that I’m sorry. I’m sorry you and I didn’t grow up in a time of peace, where we could have lived happily together. Where you could have raised Jamshid and me and taught us the Nahid sciences. I mourn, truly, the kind of relationship we could have had.”
Manizheh’s expression grew guarded. “Please think very carefully about what you’re getting ready to say, daughter. There will not be another chance.”
Nahri steeled herself, reaching for her magic. “Ghassan didn’t break me.” Like he clearly cracked you, she was tempted to add. “You won’t either. I will never surrender to you. I would rather die than see you possess Suleiman’s seal.”
Genuine sorrow swept over Manizheh’s face. “You have your father’s spirit,” she said softly. “It got him killed too.” She turned to Dara. “Rip that ring off her finger right now.”
Nahri didn’t even have a chance to react to the words about her father before Dara rose shakily to his feet, taking a stunted step forward.
She backed away, quickly appraising her situation. Nahri had the seal ring and the palace magic, but Mishmish was badly injured, and Manizheh had the peri’s blade. If she was smart, she’d use the palace magic to try and take Dara out, but watching him even now visibly fight the slave curse, ash beading off his skin …
“Afshin,” Manizheh warned as Dara grunted. “I can alter the wish to have you remove her entire hand if the ring alone is too much trouble.”
With a groan, Dara lunged for Nahri.
An arrow went straight through his wrist.
Dara gasped as it was followed by two more, arrows punching into his arm and chest and knocking him back.
“You were wrong, Mother,” Nahri said. “I’m not alone.”
Jamshid came soaring over the garden wall.
An enormous bow in hand, her brother made for an alarming sight on the ghoulish flying simurgh, but Nahri had never been so happy to see him.
She also didn’t waste a moment—taking advantage of Manizheh and Dara’s shock to dart past the wounded Afshin and through the burning trees to Mishmish’s side. One of his wings was tattered, a gash across his flank deep enough to reveal bone. Nahri laid her