The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,171

so her footsteps wouldn’t be heard and had no sooner pressed a bare sole to the cool marble floor than the pale walls lit up, glowing softly in the dark as if to lead the way.

She grinned. Wouldn’t that be convenient when she had a patient emergency in the middle of the night? She traced her hands along the wall, the rosy hue brightening where her fingers made contact. Her hospital—her ancestors’ hospital—was restored. A dream she’d been almost too nervous to voice six months ago had been realized and now stood gleaming in the moonlight, Daevabad’s most powerful citizens laughing within its rooms. It all seemed so outrageous, so audaciously hopeful, that it scared her.

Stop. Nisreen’s calm words came back to her. Nahri could enjoy a night of happiness. Her many problems would still be there in the morning, whether or not she took a few hours to savor this rare success.

She wandered on, following a twisting staircase she was fairly certain led to the hospital’s library. The sounds of celebration faded behind her; she was obviously the only fool creeping through empty hallways instead of enjoying the party.

She emerged in the library, a wide, airy room with lecture space for dozens of students. A wall of shelves had been built into the opposite side, and Nahri went to them, curious to see what volumes had been collected.

Then she stopped. Across the library was a small archway, tiled in a black-and-white pattern reminiscent of Cairo’s buildings. Odd. She didn’t remember seeing this room on any of the plans. Intrigued, she crossed to investigate.

Her breath caught the moment she stepped over the threshold. It wasn’t just the archway that was reminiscent of Egypt.

It was everything.

A mashrabiya that might have been plucked from Cairo’s heart overlooked the street, the cozy window seat covered in red and gold cushions, its intricate wooden screens hiding a private nook. Brightly embroidered tapestries—identical to the ones she’d seen in the markets back home—adorned the walls, and a stunning teak desk inlaid with glinting vines of mother-of-pearl anchored the room. Miniature reeds and bright purple-blue Nile lotus blooms grew lush within a raised marble fountain that lined the wall, the clear water inside passing over warm brown stones.

A glimmer of silver moved in the shadows of the mashrabiya. “Nahri?” a sleepy voice asked.

She jumped in surprise. “Ali?” She shivered. Restored or not, the dark, empty hospital was still an eerie place to stumble upon someone unexpectedly.

She opened her palm, conjuring a handful of flames. Small wonder she hadn’t seen Ali: he was seated deep in the window box, pressed against the wooden screen as though he’d been gazing out at the street. Nahri frowned. Though he was dressed in a formal dishdasha, his head was uncovered and he looked … well, terrible. His face was gray, his eyes almost feverish.

She stepped closer. “Are you all right?”

Ali sat up. His movements were slow, bone-weary exhaustion written into every line of his body. “I’m fine,” he murmured. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come up here.”

“Well, you picked a poor time for a nap,” she said lightly. “You might remember there’s a party going on downstairs.”

He blinked, still looking dazed. “Of course. The opening celebration.”

Nahri studied him again. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure,” he replied quickly. “I just haven’t been sleeping well. Nightmares.” He rose to his feet, stepping into the light. “But I’m glad you found me. I was actually hoping to …” His gray eyes went wide, tracing over her. “Oh,” he whispered. “You … you look—” He abruptly shut his mouth, averting his gaze. “Sorry … so, ah, how do you like your office?”

She stared at him in confusion. “My office?”

He inclined his head. “Your office. I thought you might like somewhere private to steal away between patients. Like the orange grove you have at the palace infirmary. The one I, er, intruded upon,” he added, embarrassment in his voice.

Nahri’s mouth fell open. “You built this place? For me?”

“I’d say the entire hospital is for you, but yes.” Ali drifted closer, running his hands through the water in the fountain. “I came across a few shafit artisans from Egypt and told them to let their imaginations run wild.” He glanced back with a small smile. “You always did seem so fond of your old land.”

My old land. Nahri gazed at the mashrabiya again; in that moment, if she squinted just the right way, she could almost