The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,203

“Oh God … please don’t tell me Ali—”

“Kaveh.” Muntadhir reached for his sister’s relic, carefully removing it from her ear. “He unleashed some sort of magical vapor that targets these.” He held up the relic before hurling it away into the depths of the garden. “It’s bad, Zaynab. I watched it kill four guards in a matter of seconds.”

At that, Aqisa ripped out her own relic, sending it flying into the night.

Zaynab had started to cry. “Are you sure? Are you sure he’s really dead?”

Muntadhir hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, ukhti.”

Not wanting to intrude on the grieving siblings, Nahri edged closer to Aqisa. “You came from the Citadel? Is Ali all right?”

“He has an army and isn’t trapped in a palace with some murderous mist,” Aqisa replied. “I’d say he’s doing better than we are.”

Nahri looked out at the dark garden, her thoughts roiling. The king was dead, the grand wazir was a traitor, the Qaid was gone, and Ali—the only one of them with military experience—was involved in a mutiny across the city.

She took a deep breath. “I … I think that leaves us in charge.”

The night sky abruptly darkened further—which Nahri thought a rather apt response. But when she glanced up, her mouth went dry. A half-dozen smoky, equine shapes with wings of flashing fire were racing toward the palace.

Aqisa followed her gaze and then grabbed her, pulling her swiftly inside the apartment. Zaynab and Muntadhir were right behind them. As they bolted the door, they heard several thudding crashes and the distant echo of screams.

“I don’t think Kaveh is working alone,” Muntadhir whispered, his face ashen.

Three pairs of gray-toned eyes settled on her. “I have nothing to do with this,” Nahri protested. “My God, do you really think I’d be in your company if I did? Surely you both know me better than that.”

“I believe that,” Zaynab muttered.

Muntadhir sank to the floor. “Then who could he be working with? I’ve never seen magic like this.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s most important right now,” Zaynab said softly. There were more shouts from somewhere deep in the palace, and they all went quiet for a moment listening before Zaynab continued. “Nahri … could the poison spread to the rest of the city?”

Nahri recalled the wild energy of the vapor that had chased them and nodded slowly. “The Geziri Quarter,” she whispered, voicing the fear she could see in Zaynab’s eyes. “My God, if it reaches there …”

“They need to be warned at once,” Aqisa said. “I will go.”

“As will I,” Zaynab declared.

“Oh no, you won’t,” Muntadhir replied. “If you think I’m about to let my little sister go dashing off while the city is under attack—”

“Your little sister isn’t asking permission, and there are people who will believe my word more readily than Aqisa’s. And you’re needed here. Both of you,” Zaynab added, nodding at Nahri. “Dhiru, if Abba is dead, you need to retrieve the seal. Before Kaveh or whoever he’s working with figures out how to do so.”

“Suleiman’s seal?” Nahri repeated. She hadn’t even given a thought to that—the king’s succession seemed a world away. “Is it with your father?”

Muntadhir looked like he was about to be sick. “Something like that. We’d need to get back to him. To his body.”

Aqisa locked eyes with Zaynab. “The chest,” she said simply.

Zaynab nodded and beckoned them farther into her apartment. It was as rich and finely appointed as Muntadhir’s, though not as cluttered with artwork. Or wine cups.

The princess knelt beside a large, elaborate wooden chest and whispered an unlocking charm over it. As the lid sprang open Nahri peered inside.

It was entirely filled with weapons. Sheathed daggers and scimitars wrapped in silk rested beside an oddly lovely mace, a crossbow, and some sort of barbed, jeweled chain.

Nahri didn’t know whose expression was more shocked, hers or Muntadhir’s. “My God,” she said. “You really are Ali’s sister.”

“What … where did you …,” Muntadhir began weakly.

Zaynab looked slightly flustered. “She’s been teaching me,” she explained, nodding to Aqisa.

The warrior woman was already selecting blades, looking unbothered by Nahri and Muntadhir’s reactions. “A Geziri woman her age should have mastered at least three weapons. I have been making up for an abominable lapse in her education.” She pressed a sword and the crossbow into Zaynab’s hands and then clucked her tongue. “Stop trembling, sister. You’ll do fine.”

Nahri shook her head, and then considered the chest, knowing well her limitations. Quickly, she pulled out a pair of small daggers, the heft reminding