The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,202

head. “I have no idea.”

Tears were running down his face. “My father … Kaveh. I’ll kill him.” He staggered to his feet and turned back toward the way they had come, one hand braced on the wall.

Nahri moved to block him. “That’s not what’s important right now.”

He glared at her, suspicion crossing his face. “Did you—”

“No!” she snapped. “Really, Muntadhir? I just threw myself down a stairwell to save you.”

He flushed. “I’m sorry. I just … he …” His voice cracked, and he wiped his eyes roughly.

The grief laced in his words dulled her temper. “I know.” She cleared her throat, holding her bound wrists out. “Would you get this off me?”

He pulled free his khanjar, quickly slicing through the cloth binds and helping her out of the iron cuffs. She inhaled, relieved as her powers burned through her veins, her blistered skin and dark bruises instantly healing.

Muntadhir had opened his mouth to speak again when a voice echoed down the hall. “Banu Nahida!”

It was Kaveh.

Nahri clapped a hand over her husband’s lips, dragging him into the shadows. “Let’s not find out if he has any other tricks up his sleeve,” she whispered. “We need to warn the rest of the Geziris in the palace.”

Even in the shadows, she could see his face pale. “You think it will spread that far?”

“Did it look like it was stopping?”

“Fuck.” It seemed an appropriate answer. “My God, Nahri … do you know how many Geziris are in the palace?”

She nodded grimly.

There was a sudden rumble, the floor shuddering beneath their feet. It lasted only a second, and then was gone.

Nahri braced herself. “What was that?”

Muntadhir shuddered. “I don’t know. It feels like the entire island just shook.” He ran a hand nervously over his beard. “That vapor … do you have any idea what it might be?”

Nahri shook her head. “No. It looked somewhat similar to the poison used on your brother, though, didn’t it?”

“My brother.” Her husband’s expression darkened and then panic swept his face. “My sister.”

“Muntadhir, wait!” Nahri cried.

But he was already running.

ZAYNAB’S APARTMENTS WEREN’T CLOSE, AND BY THE time they made it to the harem garden, Muntadhir and Nahri were both thoroughly out of breath. The scarf she’d tied around her head in the hospital was long gone, her curls plastered to her damp skin.

“Jamshid was always telling me I should exercise more,” Muntadhir panted. “I should have listened.”

Jamshid. His name was like a knife to her heart.

She darted a look at Muntadhir. Well, there was one situation that had just grown more complicated. “Your father had him arrested,” she said.

“I know,” Muntadhir replied. “Why do you think I was banging down the door? I heard Wajed took him out of the city. Did my father tell Kaveh where?”

“Out of the city? No, your father said nothing about that.”

Muntadhir groaned in frustration. “I should have stopped all this sooner. When I heard he had you as well …” He trailed off, sounding angry with himself. “Did he at least tell you what he wanted with Jamshid?”

Nahri hesitated. Ghassan might have been a monster, but he was still Muntadhir’s father, and Nahri didn’t need to add to her husband’s grief right now. “Ask me later.”

“If we’re alive later,” Muntadhir muttered. “Ali finally lost his mind, by the way. He seized the Citadel.”

“It would seem an excellent night to be in the Citadel instead of the palace.”

“Fair point.” They crossed under the delicate archway leading to the pavilion that fronted Zaynab’s apartment. A rich teak platform floated over the canal, framed by the wispy fronds of slender palm trees.

Zaynab was there, perched on a striped linen couch and examining a scroll. Relief coursed through Nahri, followed swiftly by confusion when she saw who was seated with the princess.

“Aqisa?”

Muntadhir marched across the platform. “Of course you’re here. Doing my brother’s dirty work, I assume?”

Aqisa leaned back, a move that revealed the sword and the khanjar belted at her waist. Looking unbothered, she took a leisurely sip of coffee from the paper-thin porcelain cup in her hand before responding. “He asked me to convey a message.”

Zaynab deftly rolled the scroll back up, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “It seems Ali was quite inspired by our last conversation,” she said, tripping over the last words. “He wants us to remove Abba.”

Muntadhir’s face crumpled. “We’re beyond that, Zaynab.” He sank into the couch beside his sister, gently taking her hand. “Abba is dead.”

Zaynab jerked back. “What?” When he didn’t say anything further, her hand flew to her mouth.