The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,168

bottom. But there is something new, something dead and oppressive, in the heart of their sacred lake.

An island, growing to dwarf the woman who stands on a rocky precipice. Anahita closes her eyes, her fingers spinning a hot wind into a smoky boat that she blows back to her followers. She makes her way down to the new shore and then sits, lifting her face to the sun—now bright as it has never been before. She trails one hand through the water. A shining black-and-gold pearl winks from a brass ring upon her finger, and a searing pain tears through him when it dips beneath the lake’s surface.

Anahita must see their helpless rage, for she speaks again. “You are being called to account as my people were by Suleiman. You will aid in the construction of my city, let my people sail unimpeded, and in return we shall have peace.”

The lake sparks with heat, a crackle of lightning splitting the blue sky. It strikes the beach, consuming the daeva they killed in a blast of sacred fire.

“But know this.” The flames reflect in Anahita’s black eyes. “If you take another daeva life, I will destroy you.”

Dead fish dot the lake. Horror is rising through his people. He senses lesser marid hurrying to the bottom, spring sprites and pond guardians desperate to escape into the streams that run far below the earth, below mountains and plains, and deserts and seas.

Streams that are steadily closing up, trapping them here with this daeva demon.

But he is no spring sprite. His is the river of salt and gold and he will not see his people subjugated. He calls to the lake, urging it to fight, to swallow these invaders whole.

Scaled hands grab him, tentacles wrapping his limbs. NO. It is a command, the voices of the lake’s elders weaving together into a collective. GO. BEFORE SHE SEES YOU.

He tries to wrestle free, but it is useless. They are dragging him down, using the dying shreds of their magic to wrench open one last portal. He is shoved through.

FIND A WAY TO SAVE US. He gets a final glimpse of the dark lake, the pleading eyes of his people. THEY ARE COMING BACK.

“Ali, wake up. Wake up!”

Ali howled in rage, lashing out at the creatures holding him. “Get off me!” he hissed, his voice coming out in a breathless, slippery tongue. “GET OFF ME.”

“Lubayd, shut him up.” It was Aqisa, barring the door, her dagger drawn.

“Prince Alizayd!” There was knocking on the door. “Is everything all right?”

Aqisa swore out loud and then yanked her turban away, her black braids spilling to her shoulders. Concealing the dagger behind her back, she pulled open the door just enough to reveal her face. “We do not wish to be interrupted,” she said brusquely and then slammed it shut.

Ali writhed against the hand Lubayd had clamped over his mouth. Water was pouring from his skin, tears streaming down his face.

“Ali, brother.” Lubayd was trembling as he held Ali down. A gash marred his cheek, four straight lines as though claws had swept across his face. “Stop.”

Still shaking, Ali managed a nod and Lubayd dropped his hand. “They were burning the lake,” Ali wept, the marid’s raw grief still roiling within him.

Lubayd looked bewildered and afraid. “What?”

“The lake. The marid. They were in my head and—”

Lubayd’s hand instantly went back to Ali’s mouth. “I didn’t hear that.”

Ali pulled free. “You don’t understand …”

“No, you don’t understand.” Lubayd jerked his head toward the rest of the room.

His small bedroom was in chaos. It looked like a tropical storm had blown through, leaving the curtains in wet tatters and a pool of glimmering water on the floor. Most of his belongings were soaked, and a foggy mist clung to the bed.

Ali’s hand went to his mouth in shock and then he recoiled, smelling blood on his fingertips.

Horrified, Ali looked again at Lubayd’s face. “Did I …”

Lubayd nodded. “You … you were screaming in your sleep. Shouting in some language I’ve never—”

“No, he wasn’t.” Aqisa’s voice was sharp. Intent. “You had a nightmare, understand?” She headed for the windows, tugging down the ruined curtains and letting them drop to the floor. “Lubayd, help me clean this up.”

Nausea rose swift and punishing in Ali’s stomach. The air smelled of salt, and a cold sweat broke out across his brow. The nightmare was growing murkier by the minute, but he could still feel the marid’s despair, its ache to get back to its people.

They are