The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,226

but his heart was already ash.

And clenched in her hand was something hard and hot. Nahri uncurled her fingers, her own heart racing.

The seal ring of the Prophet Suleiman—the ring whose power had reshaped their world and set their people at war—glistened in her bloody palm.

Ali gasped. “My God. Is that really it?”

Nahri let out a shaky breath. “Considering the circumstances …” She stared at the ring. As far as jewels went, Nahri wouldn’t have necessarily been impressed by this one. There were no fancy gems or worked gold; instead a single battered black pearl crowned a thick dull gold band. The pearl had been carefully carved, something she didn’t think possible, the eight-pointed star of Suleiman’s seal gleaming from its surface. Etched around it were minuscule characters she couldn’t read.

She trembled and she’d swear the ring vibrated in return, pulsing in time with her heart.

She wanted nothing to do with it. She shoved it at Ali. “Take it.”

He leapt back. “Absolutely not. That belongs to you.”

“But you … you’re next in line for the throne!”

“And you’re Anahid’s descendant!” Ali pushed her fingers back over it, though she saw the flash of longing and regret in his eyes. “Suleiman gave it to your family, not mine.”

A denial so strong it neared revulsion ran through her. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m not Anahid, Ali, I’m a con artist from Cairo!” And Cairo … Muntadhir’s warning flashed through her mind. He said the ring couldn’t leave Daevabad. “I have no business touching something that belonged to a prophet.”

“Yes, you do.” His expression turned fervent. “I believe in you.”

“Have you met you?” she burst out. “Your belief is not a mark in my favor! I don’t want this,” she rushed on, and suddenly it was damnably clear. “If I take that ring, I’ll be trapped here. I’ll never see my home again!”

Ali looked incredulous. “This is your home!”

The door crashed open. Nahri had been so focused on her warring heart that she hadn’t heard anyone approaching. Ali yanked his father’s robe over the ghastly hole in his chest, and Nahri stumbled back, slipping Suleiman’s ring into her pocket just before a group of Daeva warriors burst in.

They abruptly stopped, one holding up a fist as he took in the sight before him: the dead king and the very bloody young people at his feet. “He’s up here!” he shouted in Divasti, directing his words to the staircase. “Along with a couple of djinn!”

A couple of djinn … no, Nahri supposed right now there was little to mark her out. She rose to her feet, her legs wobbly beneath her. “I am no djinn,” she declared as another pair of warriors emerged. “I’m Banu Nahri e-Nahid, and you’ll put your weapons down right now.”

The man didn’t get to respond. Her name was no sooner uttered than a slight figure pushed through the door. It was a Daeva woman, her eyes locked on Nahri. Dressed in a dark uniform, she made for an arresting sight, a silky black chador wrapping her head underneath a silver helmet. A steel sword, its edge bloodied, was tucked into her wide black belt.

She pulled the cloth away from her face, and Nahri nearly crumpled to the ground. It was a face that could be her own in another few decades.

“Nahri …,” the woman whispered, black eyes seeming to drink her in. She brought her fingers together. “Oh, child, it has been too long since I’ve looked upon your face.”

THE DAEVA WOMAN CAME CLOSER, HER GAZE NOT leaving Nahri’s. Nahri’s heart was racing, her head spinning …

The smell of burning papyrus and cries in Arabic. Soft arms pulling her into a tight embrace and water closing over her face. Memories that didn’t make sense. Nahri found herself fighting for air, tears that she didn’t understand brimming in her eyes.

She raised her dagger. “Don’t come any closer!”

She immediately had four bows trained on her. She stepped back, stumbling against the stone parapet, and Ali grabbed her wrist before she lost her balance. The parapet was low here, the knee-high stone wall all that kept her from plunging into the lake.

“Stop!” The woman’s curt command snapped like a whip, belying the softness in her voice when she’d spoken to Nahri. “Stand down. You’re frightening her.” She glared at the warriors and then jerked her head toward the door. “Leave us.”

“But, my lady, the Afshin won’t be happy to learn—”

“It is I you take orders from, not Darayavahoush.”

Nahri did not know men could