The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,227

move so fast. They were gone in an instant, clattering down the steps.

Ali pressed closer. “Nahri, who is that?” he whispered.

“I … I don’t know,” she managed. She also didn’t know why every Cairo-honed instinct in her was screaming at her to get away.

The woman watched the warriors leave with the sharpness of a general. She shut the door behind them and then pricked her finger on the sharp metal screen.

It surged together, instantly locking.

Nahri gasped. “You’re a Nahid.”

“I am,” the woman replied. A soft, sad smile came to her lips. “You’re beautiful,” she added, seeming to take Nahri in again. “Marid curse be damned—you still have his eyes. I wondered if you would.” Grief filled her face. “Do you … do you remember me?”

Nahri wasn’t sure what she remembered. “I don’t think so. I don’t know.” She knew she shouldn’t be confessing anything to the woman who claimed to be in command of the forces attacking the palace, but the fact that she claimed to be a Nahid wasn’t doing much for Nahri’s wits. “Who are you?”

The same broken smile, the look of someone who’d been through far too much. “My name is Manizheh.”

The name, both unbelievable and obvious, punched through her. Manizheh.

Ali gasped. “Manizheh?” he repeated. “Your mother?”

“Yes,” Manizheh said in Djinnistani. She only now seemed to realize Ali was there, her gaze leaving Nahri’s for the first time. Her dark eyes scanned him, lingering on his zulfiqar. She blinked, looking taken aback. “Is this Hatset’s son?” she asked Nahri, returning to Divasti. “The prince they call Alizayd?” She frowned. “You were to be in the infirmary with Nisreen. What are you doing with him?”

Nahri opened her mouth, still reeling. Manizheh. My mother. It seemed even more impossible than Dara rising from the dead.

She fought for words. “He … he’s my friend.” It was a ridiculous answer and yet it was the first that came to her. It also seemed wiser than admitting they were here stealing Suleiman’s seal. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, feeling a little of her sharpness return. “I was told you were dead. Kaveh told me he found your murdered body decades ago!”

Manizheh’s expression turned solemn. “A necessary deception and one I pray you can eventually forgive. You were taken from me as a child by the marid, and I feared I’d lost you forever. When I learned you’d fallen into Ghassan’s hands … the things I’m sure he has subjected you to … I am so sorry, Nahri.” She stepped forward as if she wanted to take Nahri’s hand and then stopped as Nahri cringed. “But I promise you—you’re safe now.”

Safe. The word echoed inside her head. My mother. My brother. Dara. In the space of a few hours, Nahri had gone from being the only living Nahid to having a whole family of relatives to form a council again, with a damned Afshin to boot.

Her eyes were wet, the constant loneliness she carried in her chest expanding to the point where it was difficult to breathe. This couldn’t be possible.

But the brutal evidence was before her. Who else but a Nahid would be capable of creating the poison dealing death to the Geziri tribe? Who else but the Banu Nahida rumored to be the most powerful in centuries would be able to bring Dara back from the dead, to make him obey completely?

Suleiman’s seal ring burned in her pocket. It was the only ace Nahri had. Because no matter what this woman said, Nahri did not feel like they were on the same side. She had meant what she said to Muntadhir: she wasn’t on the side of anyone who’d arranged for the deaths of so many innocents.

Manizheh raised her hands. “I mean you no harm,” she said carefully. She switched to Djinnistani, her voice cooling as she addressed Ali. “Put down your weapons. Surrender yourself to my men, and you won’t be hurt.”

That had the predicted response, Ali’s eyes flashing as he raised his zulfiqar. “I won’t surrender to the person who orchestrated the slaughter of my people.”

“Then you will die,” Manizheh said simply. “You have lost, al Qahtani. Do what you can to save those Geziris left.” Her voice turned persuasive. “You have a sister in the palace, and a mother I once knew in Ta Ntry, do you not? Believe me when I say I would rather not inform another woman of her children’s deaths.”

Ali scoffed. “You mean to make us into pawns.” He raised his chin