wall. “If he breaks his neck, I am not taking responsibility.”
“You were never here.” Nahri sighed as Ali pulled himself on the roof and vanished out of sight. “Your daughter is with your husband today?” she asked, determined to continue the conversation.
“I do typically advise that infants steer clear of decaying ruins.”
Nahri had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something sarcastic in return. She was reaching the end of her diplomatic rope. “What’s her name?”
“Chandra.” Subha said, her face softening slightly.
“That’s very pretty,” Nahri replied. “She looked healthy too. Strong, mashallah. She’s doing all right?”
Subha nodded. “She was born earlier than I’d like, but she’s thriving.” Her eyes dimmed. “I’ve seen it go the other way too many times.”
Nahri had too, both in Cairo and in Daevabad. “I had one last week,” she said quietly. “A woman from out in northern Daevastana rushed here after being bitten by a basilisk. She was in her last month of pregnancy, and she and her husband had been trying for decades. I was able to save her, but the child … a basilisk bite is terribly poisonous and I had no good way to administer the antidote. He was stillborn.” Her throat tightened at the memory. “The parents … I don’t think they quite understood.”
“They never do. Not really. Grief clouds the mind, makes people say terrible things.”
Nahri paused. “Does …” She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed. “Does it get easier?”
Subha finally met her gaze, her tin-toned eyes understanding if not warm. “Yes … and no. You learn to distance yourself from it. It’s work; your feelings don’t matter. If anything, they can interfere.” She sighed. “Trust me … one day you’ll go from witnessing the worst of tragedies to smiling and playing with your child in the space of an hour, and you’ll wonder if that’s for the best.” She gazed upon the ruined hospital. “The work is what matters. You fix what you can and keep yourself whole enough to move on to the next patient.”
The words resonated through Nahri, her mind drifting to another patient: the only one she couldn’t heal. “Could I ask you something else?”
Subha nodded briefly.
“Is there anything you recommend for spinal injuries? For a man struggling to walk?”
“Is this about your friend, the grand wazir’s son?” When Nahri’s eyes widened in surprise, Subha tilted her head. “I do my research before agreeing to work with someone.”
“It’s about him,” Nahri admitted. “Actually, you’ll probably meet him soon. He’s my apprentice now. But he took several arrows to the back five years ago, and I haven’t been able to heal him. He’s getting better slowly with exercise and rest but …” She paused. “It feels like a failure on my part.”
Subha looked contemplative, perhaps the medical nature of the conversation drawing her out. “I can examine him if he’s willing. There are some therapies I know that might work.”
Before Nahri could respond, Ali leapt down to join them, landing so silently that she jumped and Subha yelped.
His expression didn’t inspire much hope. “Well … the good news is, it does indeed look like this was a surgical wing. There are even some tools scattered about.”
“What sort of tools?” Nahri asked, her curiosity kindled.
“Hard to say. Much of it is underwater. It appears that a basement collapsed.” Ali paused. “And there are snakes. Lot of them.”
Subha sighed. “This is madness. You are never going to be able to restore this place.”
Nahri hesitated, resignation beginning to seep through her. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Nonsense,” Ali declared, drawing up when Subha glared at him. “Don’t tell me the two of you are ready to give up so soon. Did you think this would be easy?”
“I didn’t think it would be impossible,” Nahri countered. “Look around, Ali. Do you have any idea how many people we would need to even get started?”
“I will by the end of the week,” he said confidently. “And lots of work is not a bad thing—it means we need lots of workers. It means new jobs and training for hundreds, people who will then have money for food and school and shelter. This project is an opportunity. One we haven’t had in generations.”
Subha made a face. “You sound like a politician.”
He grinned. “And you sound like a pessimist. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work together.”
“But the money, Ali,” Nahri replied. “And the timing …”
He made a dismissive gesture. “I can get the money.” An eager glint entered his eye. “I could have trade guilds built around