The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,172

imagine being home. Could imagine hearing men joking in Cairo’s distinctive cadence and smelling the spices and herbs of Yaqub’s apothecary.

Homesickness rose inside her, sharp and fast. “I miss it so much,” she confessed. “I keep thinking I’ll stop, that I feel more settled here …” She leaned against the desk. “But there are days I’d do almost anything to go home. Even if it was just for an afternoon. A few hours of joking with people in my language and sitting next to the Nile. Of being anonymous in the streets and bartering for oranges. We had the best fruit, you know,” she added, her throat catching. “Nothing in Daevabad tastes as sweet.”

Ali was looking at her with open sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, embarrassed to find herself fighting tears. “Forget it,” she said, roughly wiping her eyes. “By God, you must think I’m mad, pining for human citrus when I’m surrounded by every luxury the magical world contains.”

“I don’t think you’re mad.” Ali assured her, crossing to join her at the desk. “They’re your roots. They’re what make you who you are. That isn’t something you should have to cut away.”

Nahri tipped the flames in her hand into a lamp on the desk. How much easier things would be if that were true here. Struggling to tamp down her emotions, she glanced around her office again. It really was lovely, the tapestries glowing in the light of the flickering lamp. A fresco had been painted on the opposite wall, a replica of a scene she might have seen in one of Egypt’s ancient temples.

It touched her more than she thought possible. “Thank you,” she finally said. “This … this was incredibly kind of of you.”

Ali shrugged. “I was happy to do it.” He smiled again, the shadows in his tired face lessening slightly. “As you are fond of pointing out—I do owe you.”

“You’ll always owe me,” she said, pushing up to sit on the desk. “I have a talent for extending the debts of powerful people indefinitely.”

His grin widened. “That I believe.” But then his smile faded. “I’m happy to finally see you again. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Nahri said, forcing indifference into her voice. She’d already been emotional enough in discussing her nostalgia for Egypt. “Besides, I’m not the one falling asleep in empty offices. How have you been? Your mother …”

Pain flashed in his eyes. “We’re both still alive,” he replied. “Which is more than I can say for a lot of people here.”

If that wasn’t the bitter truth. Nahri sighed. “For what it’s worth, I think we were right to intervene. A lot more people would have died if you hadn’t brought me to the camp when you did.”

“I know. I just hate that choosing to do the right thing in Daevabad always seems to come with a steep price.” His face fell. “Zaynab … she decided not to come tonight. I don’t think she’ll forgive me for our mother’s banishment.”

Genuine sympathy swept through her. “Oh, Ali, I’m sure that’s not true.” Nahri reached out to touch the sleeve of his dishdasha; it was an elegant pale silver, chased through with midnight-colored stripes and belted with a teal sash. “After all, she was clearly the one who picked this out.”

Ali groaned. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes. The only time you’re not wearing something stark and streaked with dirt, it’s because someone else has dressed you.” Embarrassment colored his face again, and she laughed. “It’s a compliment, Ali. You look nice.”

“You look incredible.” The words seemed to slip unthinkingly from his mouth, and when she met his gaze, a little startled by the emotion in his voice, he looked away. “Your garments, I mean,” he explained quickly. “The headdress. It’s very … intricate.”

“It’s very heavy,” Nahri complained, reaching up to touch the gold diadem holding her shimmering black chador in place. The smoky fabric was enchanted to appear as though it were smoldering, the ruby and diamond ornaments glittering like fire. She lifted the diadem free, placing it beside her on the desk, and then slid her fingers under the chador to rub the aching spot where the metal had pressed. Catching sight of Ali watching her, she scolded him. “Oh, don’t you judge. Your turbans are probably light as a feather in comparison to this thing.”

“I … I’m not judging.” He stepped back from the desk, clearing his throat. “Though while you’re here, do you mind telling me what’s being done to protect