al Qahtani himself tremble. Returned to us, freed of Suleiman’s curse, as mighty as our legendary forbearers. My people, if you are looking for proof of the Creator’s favor, it is here in Dara. We have difficult days ahead. We may be forced to acts in ways that seem brutal. But I assure you … it is all necessary.”
Manizheh fell momentarily silent, perhaps gauging the impact of her words. Dara saw some of the faces before him shining with wonder, but not all. Many looked uncertain, anxious.
He could help her with that.
He took a deep breath. The pragmatic thing would have been to leave his favored form, but the thought of doing so before their entire camp shamed him, and so instead he raised his hands, letting the heat dance from them in smoky golden waves.
They touched the fire altar first and the jumbled rocks melted together into a shining marble base, the battered bowl shifting into a proper silver vessel, glimmering as it formed from the dying sunlight. The smoke swirled around Manizheh, turning her plain garments into the delicate blue-and-white silks of ceremonial dress before cresting over the rest of their followers.
Dara closed his eyes. In the blackness of his mind, he dreamed of his lost city. Sharing meals and laughter with his Afshin cousins between training sessions. Holidays spent with his sister, sneaking tastes of their favorite dishes while his mother and aunts cooked. Racing his horse across the plains outside the Gozan River with his closest companions, the wind whistling past them. Not a single person in those memories had survived the sack of Daevabad. He gave magic to the yearning in his heart, to the ache he expected would always be there.
There were gasps. Dara opened his eyes, fighting a swoon as the magic drained him.
The Daevas were now seated upon the finest of carpets, spun from green wool the color of spring grass, tiny living flowers woven into the shimmering threads. The men wore matching uniforms, the patterned gray-and-black coats and striped leggings the same ones his Afshin cousins had donned. A feast was spread on white linen behind them, and Dara could tell from a single sniff of the air that the dishes were his family’s recipes. The plain felt tents had been replaced by a ring of silk structures that billowed in the air like smoke, and in a marble-screened corral, dozens of ebony horses with flashing golden eyes pranced and snorted.
No, not just pranced. Dara’s gaze locked on the horses. They had wings—four undulating wings each, darker than night and moving like shadows. The Afshin in him saw the immediate benefit in the marvelous creatures: they would speed his soldiers more swiftly to the palace. But in his heart, oh, the traitorous part of his heart … how he suddenly wished to steal one and flee this madness.
Manizheh gripped his shoulder, seizing upon her followers’ visible awe. “Look,” she urged, her voice carrying on the still air. “Look at this wonder, this sign of the Creator’s blessing! We are going to Daevabad. We are taking it back.” Her voice rang out, echoing against the growing dark. “We will rip the Citadel from its moorings and the Qahtanis from their beds. I will not rest until those who have hurt us, those who threaten our women and children in the city that is ours—by the Creator’s decree!—have been thrown in the lake, their bodies swallowed by its waters.” Smoke was curling from her collar. “We will greet the next generation as leaders of all djinn, as Suleiman intended!”
A youth near the front stepped forward, throwing himself into prostration before Manizheh.
“For the Nahids!” he cried. “For the Lady!”
Those nearest followed suit, falling in a wave before Manizheh. Dara tried to picture Nahri and Jamshid at her side, the young Nahids not only safe but wrapped in the glorious heritage they’d been too long denied.
But the sick burning was already sweeping through him. He choked it down as Manizheh’s gaze lit on him, expectation—and a slight challenge—in her eyes.
He fell to his knees in obedience. “For the Nahids,” he murmured.
Satisfied triumph filled her voice. “Come, my people. We will take our blessings and then enjoy the feast our Afshin has conjured. Be merry! Celebrate what we are about to do!”
Dara stepped back, fighting to keep from stumbling and struggling for a lie that would allow him to escape before his weakness was noticed. “The horses …,” he blurted out, aware that it was a