The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,120

you’re worried, Afshin, I’m sure Qandisha would be happy to join us. She misses you terribly.”

The campfire snapped loudly in response.

Kaveh glanced at him. “Who is Qandisha?”

Dara focused on his breath, staring at the flames as he tried to steady the magic surging through his limbs. “The ifrit who enslaved me.”

Vizaresh clucked his tongue. “I was very jealous,” he confessed. “I never managed to enslave someone so powerful.”

Dara cracked his knuckles loudly. “Yes, what a pity.”

Kaveh frowned. “This Qandisha is not working with Banu Manizheh?”

“She was, but then he wouldn’t allow it,” Aeshma mocked, tilting his head toward Dara. “He fell to his knees and begged his Nahid to send Qandisha away. Said it was his only condition. Though I can’t imagine why.” Aeshma licked his teeth. “After all, she’s the only one who remembers what you did as a slave. And you must be curious. Fourteen centuries’ worth of memories …” He leaned in. “Think of all the delightful desires you must have fulfilled.”

Dara’s hand dropped to his knife. “Give me a reason, Aeshma,” he seethed.

Aeshma’s eyes danced. “Only a joke, dear Afshin.”

He didn’t get a chance to respond. There was a startled cry from behind him, a thud, and the unmistakable sound of two bodies colliding.

And then the terrible hiss of a zulfiqar flaring to life.

Dara was whirling around, a conjured bow in his hands before he had taken another breath. The scene came to him in pieces. An exhausted Manizheh emerging from her tent. Abu Sayf’s two guards on the ground, the fiery zulfiqar in the Geziri man’s hands as he lunged toward her …

Dara’s arrow flew, but Abu Sayf was prepared, raising a plank of wood with a speed and skill that took Dara by surprise. This was not the man who’d been sparring with his soldiers. He shot again, a cry rising from his throat as Abu Sayf rushed forward.

Mardoniye flung himself between the Geziri scout and Manizheh, parrying the zulfiqar’s strike with his sword, the iron hissing against the conjured flames. He pushed Abu Sayf back, barely meeting the next blow as he inadvertently stepped between Dara and a clean shot.

But it was clear who was the better swordsman … and Mardoniye wasn’t able to block Abu Sayf’s next thrust.

The zulfiqar went straight through his stomach.

Dara was running for them the next moment, his magic surging, ice and snow melting beneath his feet. Abu Sayf pulled the zulfiqar out of Mardoniye and the Daeva man collapsed. He raised it over Manizheh …

She snapped her fingers.

Dara heard the bones in Abu Sayf’s hand shatter from ten paces away. Abu Sayf cried out in pain, dropping the zulfiqar as Manizheh stared down at him, cold hatred in her dark eyes. By the time Dara reached them, his soldiers had pinned the Geziri. His hand was horrifically broken, the fingers splayed and pointing in different directions.

Dara dropped to Mardoniye’s side. A sheen had swept the young man’s eyes, his face already pale. His wound was a ghastly, gaping hole, black blood spreading in a pool beneath him. Though a few tendrils of the zulfiqar’s telltale greenish-black poison were snaking across his skin, Dara knew that wouldn’t be what took him.

Manizheh had gone right to work, ripping open the young warrior’s coat. She pressed her hands against his stomach and closed her eyes.

Nothing happened. Nothing would happen, Dara knew. No one—not even a Nahid—healed from a zulfiqar blow.

Manizheh gasped, a choked sound of angry disbelief in her throat as she pressed harder.

Dara touched her hand. “My lady …” Her eyes darted to his, wilder than Dara had ever seen them, and he shook his head.

Mardoniye cried out in pain, clutching Dara’s hand. “It hurts,” he whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. “Oh, Creator, please.”

Dara took him gently into his arms. “Close your eyes,” he soothed. “The pain will be gone soon, my friend. You fought well.” His throat constricted. The words came automatically to him; he’d done this awful duty so many times.

Blood was trickling from Mardoniye’s mouth. “My mother …”

“Your mother will be brought to live at my palace, her every need seen to.” Manizheh reached out to bless Mardoniye’s brow. “I will take her myself to visit your shrine at the temple. You saved my life, child, and for that your eyes will next open in Paradise.”

Dara brought his lips to Mardoniye’s ear. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “There’s a garden, a peaceful grove of cedars where you’ll wait with your loved ones …” His voice finally