The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,221

still see him. His haunted green eyes above her, the swirl of smoky magic and the defiant set of his features right before she brought the ceiling down on him.

Dara.

No, not Dara. Nahri could not think of the Afshin she’d known and the fiery-visaged monster who’d struck down Muntadhir and arrived in Daevabad on a wave of death as the same man.

And Muntadhir … Nahri pressed a fist to her mouth, choking back a sob.

You can’t do this right now. Her husband had put himself before the deadly Afshin to buy his wife and brother time. Nahri would honor that sacrifice. She had to.

At her side, Ali had fallen to his knees. A glimmer of copper caught her eye.

“Oh my God, Ali, give me that.” Nahri lunged for the relic in his ear, pulling it out and flinging it at the trees. She shuddered, horrified to realize he’d had it in the entire time they were running. Had they come upon the vapor …

Pull yourself together. Neither she nor Ali could afford another mistake.

She laid her hands lightly on his brow and left shoulder. “I’m going to heal you.”

Ali didn’t respond. He wasn’t even looking at her. His expression was dazed and vacant, his entire body shivering.

Nahri shut her eyes. Her magic felt closer than usual, and the veil between them, the odd cloak of salty darkness that the marid possession had drawn over him, immediately dropped. Underneath, he was a mess: his nose shattered, a shoulder sprained and badly punctured, and two ribs broken between the innumerable gashes and bites. Nahri commanded them to heal, and Ali caught his breath, grunting as his nose cracked into place. Her power, the healing ability that had denied her twice today, swept out bright and alive.

She let go of him, fighting a wave of exhaustion. “Nice to know I can still do that.”

Ali finally stirred. “Thank you,” he whispered. He turned to her, tears glistening in his lashes. “My brother …”

Nahri violently shook her head. “No. Ali, we don’t have time for this … we don’t have time for this,” she repeated when he turned away to bury his face in his hands. “Daevabad is under attack. Your people are under attack. You need to pull yourself together and fight.” She touched his cheek, turning him back to face her. “Please,” she begged. “I can’t do this alone.”

He took one shuddering breath, and then another, briefly squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, there was a touch more resolve in their depths. “Tell me what you know.”

“Kaveh unleashed some sort of poisonous vapor similar to what nearly killed you at the feast. It’s spreading fast and targets Geziri relics.” She lowered her voice. “It’s what killed your father.”

Ali flinched. “And it’s spreading?”

“Fast. We came upon at least three dozen dead so far.”

At that, Ali jerked upright. “Zaynab—”

“She’s fine,” Nahri assured him. “She and Aqisa both. They left to warn the Geziri Quarter and alert the Citadel.”

“The Citadel …” Ali leaned against the wall. “Nahri, the Citadel is gone.”

“What do you mean, it’s gone?”

“We were attacked first. The lake … it rose up like some sort of beast—like what you said happened to you at the Gozan when you first came to Daevabad. It pulled down the Citadel’s tower and ripped through the complex. The majority of the Guard is dead.” He shivered, silvery drops of liquid beading on his brow. “I woke up in the lake.”

“The lake?” Nahri repeated. “Do you think the marid are involved?”

“I think the marid are gone. Their … presence … feels absent,” he clarified, tapping his head. “And the lake’s curse was broken. Not that it mattered. The few of us who didn’t drown were set upon by ghouls and archers. We were taking the beach when that ifrit grabbed me, but there were fewer than two dozen of us left.” Grief swept his face, tears again brimming in his eyes. “The ifrit killed Lubayd.”

Nahri swayed. Two dozen survivors. There had to have been hundreds—thousands of soldiers in the Citadel. Scores of Geziris in the palace. All dead in a matter of moments.

It’s true what they say about you, isn’t it? About Qui-zi? About the war? Nahri closed her eyes.

But it wasn’t heartbreak coursing through her right now. It was determination. Clearly, the man Nahri knew as Dara was gone—if he’d ever truly existed in the first place. This Dara was the Afshin first, the Scourge. He’d brought a war to Daevabad’s doorstep and declared