a fit outside.”
Jamshid spun on Razu. “Then tell him to wait!”
The words had no sooner left Jamshid’s lips than he gasped, clapping a hand over his mouth. Nahri’s eyes went wide. He’d just spoken in a perfect imitation of Razu’s ancient dialect of Tukharistani—a language she’d heard not a soul save Razu and herself speak.
“Jamshid, how did you—”
“Jamshid!” Kaveh came racing into the corridor. “Banu Nahida! Come, there’s no time to waste!”
Jamshid still looked too astonished to speak, so Nahri did. “What’s going on?”
Kaveh was pale. “It’s the emir.”
JAMSHID WAS IN FULL PANIC AS THEY GALLOPED TOWARD the midan, whatever he’d been trying to tell her clearly gone from his mind. “What do you mean, he collapsed?” he demanded of Kaveh again, shouting over the clatter of hooves.
“I am telling you all that I know,” Kaveh replied. “He wanted to stop and visit with survivors outside the Grand Temple, and then he passed out. We brought him inside, and I came for you as soon as I could.”
Nahri tightened her legs around her horse, clutching the reins as the Geziri Quarter passed by in a blur. “Why would you not bring him to the infirmary or the hospital?”
“I’m sorry, we weren’t thinking.”
They passed through the Geziri Gate. The midan was eerie in its emptiness, like many of the streets had been, glowing faintly in the deepening night. It should have been filled with celebrations, with Daevas who’d had a bit too much plum beer dancing on the fountains and children conjuring fireworks.
Instead it was entirely still, the smell of burned flesh and smoke hanging on the dusty air. A handcart selling delicate garlands of blown-glass flowers lay abandoned on its side. Nahri feared there was a good chance its owner lay under one of the eighty-six blood-soaked shrouds outside the Temple.
The sound of chanting suddenly drew her ear. Nahri raised a hand, slowing her horse. It was the singsong intonation of the call to prayer … except isha prayer had already been called. It wasn’t in Arabic either, she realized.
“Is that Geziriyya?” Jamshid whispered. “Why would the muezzins be calling in Geziriyya? And why now?”
Kaveh had grown paler. “I think we should get to the Temple.” He spurred his horse toward the Daeva Gate, the two shedu statues throwing bizarre shadows against the midan’s copper walls.
They hadn’t gotten halfway across when a line of horsemen moved to intercept them. “Grand Wazir!” a man called. “Stop.”
The Qaid, Nahri realized, recognizing him. Six members of the Royal Guard stood with him, armed with scythes and zulfiqars, and as Nahri watched, another four archers stepped out from the other gates. Their bows were not yet drawn, but a whisper of fear went through her anyway.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “Let us pass. I need to get to the Grand Temple and make sure my husband is still breathing!”
Wajed frowned. “Your husband is nowhere near the Grand Temple. Emir Muntadhir is at the palace. I saw him just before we left.”
Jamshid pushed forward on his horse, seemingly heedless of the way the soldiers instantly moved their hands to their blades. “Is he all right? My father said he had taken ill at the Grand Temple.”
Baffled confusion on Wajed’s face, and a flush of guilt on Kaveh’s, were all Nahri needed. “Did you lie to us?” she demanded, whirling on the grand wazir. “Why in God’s name would you do such a thing?”
Kaveh shrank back, looking ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he said hurriedly. “I needed to get you to safety, and Muntadhir was the only way I could think of to get you both to leave the hospital.”
Jamshid drew up, looking shocked and wounded. “How could you let me think he was hurt?”
“I’m sorry, my son. I had no—”
Wajed interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. None of you will be going to the Grand Temple. I have orders to have the two of you escorted to the palace,” he said with a nod to Kaveh and Nahri. He hesitated, looking weary and worn down for a minute, before he continued. “Jamshid, you’re to come with me.”
Kaveh instantly edged in front of his son and Nahri. “I beg your pardon?”
The call came again, haunting waves of Geziriyya breaking the tense silence. Wajed stiffened, a muscle working in his face, as if whatever was being said caused him pain. He wasn’t the only one. Half the men were Geziri, and they too looked visibly unsettled.
One went further, the sole Geziri archer standing in the frame of the