met his gaze. “I don’t know. That’s what I’ve been working on all these months: I’ve been trying to find a way to contain its spread and the length of time that it’s potent.” Her eyes dimmed. “But I haven’t had much success, and we are out of time.”
“You’re going to let Kaveh release that in the palace,” Dara whispered. He fought for control as the implication swept through him. “Banu Manizheh … there must be hundreds of Geziris in the palace. The scholars in the library, secretaries and attendants. The women and children in the harem. Ghassan’s daughter. They all wear relics. If he lets this loose in the middle of the night … it could kill every Geziri there.”
Manizheh quietly set her cup of tea down, and her silence sent him reeling.
No. Creator, no. “Not just the palace.” A gasp left his lips. “You think this could kill every Geziri in Daevabad.”
There was no mistaking the soft edge of despair in her voice when she replied, “I think that more likely than not.” But then her black eyes hardened. “And what of it? How many Daevas died when Zaydi al Qahtani took Daevabad? How many of your friends and relatives, Afshin?” Scorn filled her voice. “The sand flies are not complete fools. At least a few will figure out what is happening and take out their relics. Which is why the timing must be perfect.”
A voice was screaming inside his head, but Dara felt no heat, no magic aching to escape his skin. He was colder than he had ever been. “Do not do this,” he said, his entire body shaking. “Do not start your reign with this much blood on your hands.”
“I have no choice.” When Dara looked away, Manizheh pressed on, her voice growing firmer. “This is how we win. And we must win. If Ghassan lives, if our victory is anything less than completely decisive, he will annihilate us. He will not rest until every trace of our people is destroyed. You are mourning Mardoniye? You must realize how many more of your warriors will survive if there are no soldiers left to fight by the time we reach the palace.”
“You will make us monsters.” The ice around his heart shattered, and Dara began to lose the fight with his emotions. “That is what we are if you let this happen … and Banu Nahida, that’s not a reputation you’ll ever lose.” He looked at her, beseeching. “I beg you, my lady. These are innocents. Children. Travelers coming to celebrate Navasatem …” His memories were stealing over him. This was all too familiar.
Merchants. Traders. Weavers whose finely embroidered silk ran with blood just a touch too crimson. Children who didn’t realize the human brown in their eyes sealed their fate. The calm commands and coldly reasoned explanations of another generation of Nahids.
The fabled city of Qui-zi reduced to smoking ruins. The screams and smell of earthy blood that would never leave his memories.
“Then we will be monsters,” Manizheh declared. “I will pay that price to end this war.”
“It won’t end it,” Dara argued, desperate. “We will have every Geziri capable of picking up a blade at the banks of the Gozan when they learn we slaughtered their kinsmen without provocation. They will fight us until the Day of Judge—”
“Then I will release this poison into their homeland.” Dara jerked back, and Manizheh continued. “Let the djinn tribes know the price for defiance. I do not want this death on my hands, but if it will stifle the rebellions of the Sahrayn and the cunning of the Ayaanle, I will take it. Let the fate of the Geziris weigh on the minds of the Tukharistanis who still curse your name and the Agnivanshis who think their wide rivers protect them.”
“You sound like Ghassan,” Dara accused her.
Her eyes flashed in anger. “Then maybe he was right to rule so,” she said bitterly. “But at least this time, it won’t be my family and tribe living in fear.”
“Until the next war,” he said, unable to check the savage resentment rising in him. “Which I assume I’ll be dragged back for, should I happen to die here.” He rose to his feet. “You were to be better than this. Better than the Qahtanis. Better than your ancestors!”
He crossed the tent, reaching for his cloak.
“Where are you going?” Manizheh demanded sharply.
Dara shoved on his boots. “To stop Kaveh.”
“Absolutely not. You are under my command, Darayavahoush.”
“I said I’d help you retake