as possible on an island of debris and splashing into the water. “Where is the Banu—”
He didn’t get to finish the question.
A tremor tore through the palace, the ground beneath him shaking so violently he stumbled. The entire library shuddered, piles of debris collapsing and several of the massive shelves breaking free of the walls.
“Watch out!” Dara cried as a cascade of books and scrolls rained down upon them. Another tremor followed, and a crack ripped across the opposite wall with such force that the floor split.
The quake was over in seconds, an eerie hush hanging over them. The water drained away, surging toward the rent in the floor like an animal fleeing. And then … as though someone had blown out a lamp he couldn’t see, Dara felt a shift in the air.
With a bone-jarring popping sound, the globes of conjured fire that floated near the ceiling abruptly went out, crashing to the ground. The fluttering black al Qahtani banners grew still, and the door ahead of him flew open. All the doors did, whatever locking enchantments had been set seemingly broken.
A chill went down his spine at the silence, at the odd, empty coldness that had stolen through the room. Dara conjured a handful of flames, the firelight dancing along the scorched and water-stained walls. Ahead, his men appeared to be struggling to do the same, gesturing wildly at the dark.
“Can you conjure flames?” he heard one ask.
“I can’t conjure anything!”
A far more shocked cry caught his ear. Dara whirled around. Muntadhir had staggered to his feet, swaying as he held out his arms to gape at his body.
In the dim light of the ruined library, the deadly dark lines of the magical poison that marked the emir’s skin were retreating.
Dara’s mouth fell open as he watched the utterly impossible sight before him. Like a spider curling in on itself, the poison was leaching away, creeping back from Muntadhir’s shoulders and down past his chest. Muntadhir ripped away the cloth binding his stomach just in time to reveal the dark green hue lifting from the wound altogether. And then—with the barest hint of smoke—it vanished entirely.
The emir dropped to his knees with a choked sob. He touched his bloody stomach, weeping with relief.
Dread rose in Dara’s heart. Something had just gone very wrong. “Bind that man!” he managed to snap at his soldiers. Dara didn’t need any more surprises when it came to Muntadhir and weapons. “Now. And where is the Banu Nahida?”
One of his men raised a finger toward a darkened set of stairs. “I’m sorry, Afshin,” he said, his arm trembling wildly. “She ordered us away when we found Banu Nahri.”
Nahri. Muntadhir instantly forgotten, Dara raced through the door and then ducked as the remains of an enchanted pulley system came crashing down around him. Heedless of the destruction, he took the steps two at a time, arriving at another door.
“Banu Nahida!” he called loudly. When there was no response, he kicked the door in.
Manizheh stood alone and very still, her back to him, among a tangle of bodies. Fear clawed up in his throat as Dara forced himself to examine their faces. No, Creator, no. I beg you.
But Nahri wasn’t among the dead. Instead, they were his own men. They’d been slaughtered, still-smoldering slashes rending their bodies.
A zulfiqar. Alizayd. Dara knew it in his bones. And it was entirely his fault. He should have killed the prince the second he had him, instead of letting Vizaresh delay him with fantasies of vengeance.
Mardoniye. His warriors on the beach. Now these three. Dara clenched his fists, fighting the heat aching to burst free. This had all gone so wrong—and not just because of the ifrit.
It had gone wrong because in his heart, Dara had known this invasion was a mistake. It was too rushed and too brutal. They’d allied with creatures he didn’t trust and used magic he didn’t understand. And he had gone along, had bowed his head in submission to a Nahid again and dismissed the disquiet in his soul. Now it had blown up in his face.
It wasn’t even the first time. His own history had taught him nothing.
Manizheh had yet to move. She just stood there, staring at the dark lake. “Banu Manizheh?” he spoke again.
“It’s gone.” Her voice was an uncharacteristic whisper. “They’re gone. She gave the seal to that sand fly.”
Dara staggered back. “What? You can’t mean …”
“I mean exactly as I say.” There was an edge in Manizheh’s voice. “I