The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,224

crashed to the floor, rushing in a turbulent whirlpool of broken furniture and cresting whitecaps.

The spray caught the zahhak as it flew too close. It screeched, aiming a torrent of flames at the thundering water. Ali gasped, lurching back as if the fire caused him physical pain.

His movement attracted the zahhak’s attention. The creature abruptly spun in the air and flew straight for them.

“Move!” Nahri grabbed Ali, pulling him out of the way just as the zahhak vaporized the shelves they’d taken shelter behind. “Jump!”

They jumped. The water was cold and swiftly rising, and Nahri was still struggling to her feet, hampered by her wet gown, when Ali shoved her head back under the water just as another fiery plume shot at them.

She emerged, gasping for breath and ducking a broken wooden beam that rushed by. “Damn it, Ali, you made me break my library. Do something!”

He rose to face the zahhak, moving with a deadly grace, drops of water clinging to his skin like honey. He raised his hands, fixing his gaze on the zahhak as it came flying back at them. With a thunderous crack, the waterfall spun out like a whip across the air and cut the zahhak in two.

Their relief was short-lived. Ali swayed, sagging against her. “The door,” he managed as she sent another burst of her own healing magic through him. “The door!”

They hurried on, wading as fast as they could through the makeshift river. Nahri lunged for the handle as the door came into reach.

A spray of arrows thudded into it, narrowly missing her hand.

“Suleiman’s eye!” She whirled around. A half-dozen riders on smoky steeds were coming through the library’s main entrance, silver bows drawn and ready in their hands.

“Just go!” Ali wrenched open the door and shoved her through. He slammed it shut behind them, piling various pieces of furniture to block it as Nahri caught her breath.

They’d entered a small, perfectly circular chamber. It resembled a well, the ceiling disappearing into the distant gloom. A rickety metal staircase climbed in a spiral around two softly glowing columns of amber light. Baskets overflowing with books and scrolls drifted in their midst, one column taking the baskets up while the other brought them down.

Ali nodded to the steps. “That goes straight to the pavilion.” He unsheathed his zulfiqar. “Ready?”

Nahri took a deep breath, and they started climbing. Her heart raced with every shuddering groan of the staircase.

After what seemed like hours but was surely only minutes, they drew to a stop in front of a small wooden portal. “I hear voices,” she whispered. “It sounds like Divasti.”

He pressed an ear to the door. “At least three men,” he agreed softly. “And trust me when I say the Afshin trained his soldiers well.”

Nahri quickly considered their options. “Take me captive.”

Ali looked at her as though she’d gone mad. “Excuse me?”

She shoved herself into his arms, bringing his khanjar to her throat. “Just play along,” she hissed. “Give them a rant about fire worshippers and sin. Your reputation precedes you with my people.” She kicked open the door before he could protest, dragging him with her. “Help me!” she cried pitifully in Divasti.

The Daeva warriors whirled around to stare at them. There were three, dressed in the same dark uniforms and armed to the teeth. They certainly looked like men Dara might have trained; one had an arrow aimed at them in a second flat.

Thankfully, Kaveh was nowhere to be seen. “Drop your weapons!” she begged, writhing against Ali’s arm. “He’ll kill me!”

Ali reacted a bit more smoothly than Nahri found comfortable, pressing the blade closer to her throat with a snarl. “Do it, fire worshippers!” he commanded. “Now! Or I’ll gut your precious Banu Nahida!”

The closest Daeva gasped. “Banu Nahri?” he asked, his black eyes going wide. “Is that really you?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Now put down your weapons!”

They glanced at each other uncertainly until the archer swiftly lowered his bow. “Do it,” he ordered. “That’s Banu Manizheh’s daughter.”

The other two instantly complied.

“Where is my father?” Ali demanded. “What have you done with him?”

“Nothing, sand fly,” one of the Daevas spat. “Why don’t you let go of the girl and face us like a man? We threw the bodies of your father’s men in the lake, but you still have time to join your Abba.”

He stepped aside to reveal the dead king, and Nahri recoiled in horror. Ghassan’s body had been abused, bloody boot marks staining his clothes, his jewelry and royal turban stripped away.