The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,48

what Yaqub taught me relevant.”

Muntadhir seemed even more confused. “Yaqub?”

Her stomach tightened. Nahri wasn’t used to talking about her passions, the ones closest to her heart, and Muntadhir’s bewilderment wasn’t making it easier. “The pharmacist I worked with back in Cairo, Muntadhir. The old man. My friend. I know I’ve mentioned him to you before.”

Muntadhir frowned. “So, you want to find some shafit doctor because you once had a pharmacist friend in the human world?”

Nahri took a deep breath, seeing her opening. Maybe it wasn’t the best time, but Muntadhir had said he wanted her to talk to him more freely, and right now, her heart was bursting. “Because I want to see if there’s a way we can work together … Muntadhir, it’s so hard being the only healer here,” she confessed. “It’s lonely. The responsibility is crushing. There are times I barely sleep, I barely eat …” She checked the emotion growing in her voice. “I thought … the old Nahid hospital …” She stumbled over her words, trying to explain the dreams that had been spinning in her head since her visit to those ruins. “I wonder if maybe we could rebuild it. Bring in a shafit physician to share the patient load and …”

Muntadhir’s eyes went wide. “You want to rebuild that place?”

Nahri tried not to shrink back at the horrified disbelief in his expression. “You … you told me that I could come to you, talk to you—”

“Yes—but about plausible things. If you want to bring another Daeva to court or take part in the preparations for Navasatem. What you’re suggesting …” He sounded shocked. “Zaynab said the building was in a shambles. Do you have any idea of the effort and expense it would take to restore?”

“I know, but I thought—”

Muntadhir stood, pacing in agitation. “And to work alongside shafit?” He said the word with thinly veiled disdain. “Absolutely not. My father would never allow it. You shouldn’t even be looking for this doctor. You must realize that what he’s doing is illegal.”

“Illegal? How is helping people illegal?”

“The shafit …” Muntadhir rubbed the back of his neck, shame creeping across his face. “I mean … they’re not—we’re not—supposed to act in a manner that … encourages their population to increase.”

Nahri was silent for a moment, shock freezing her tongue. “Tell me you don’t really believe that,” she said, praying he’d misspoken, that she’d imagined the distaste in his voice. “You’re a Qahtani. Your ancestors overthrew mine—slaughtered mine—to protect the shafit.”

“That was a long time ago.” Muntadhir looked beseechingly at her. “And the shafit are not the innocents you might imagine. They hate the Daevas, they hate you.”

She bristled. “Why should they hate me? I was raised in the human world!”

“And then you came back here at the side of a man famous for using a scourge to determine the color of someone’s blood,” Muntadhir pointed out. “You have a reputation with them, Nahri, like it or not.”

Nahri flinched, but let the charges slide past her. This conversation had taken enough of a horrifying turn without bringing her broken Afshin and his bloody crimes into it. “I had nothing to do with Qui-zi,” she said, defending herself. “None of us alive today did.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Muntadhir’s eyes filled with warning. “Nahri, there’s too much history between the Daevas and the shafit. Between most of the purebloods and the shafit. You don’t understand the hatred they feel for us.”

“And you do? You’ve probably never spoken to a shafit in your life!”

“No, but I’ve seen the human weapons they’ve smuggled here in hopes of sparking unrest. I’ve listened to their preachers spout poisonous lies and aim threats toward your people just before being executed.” A look she couldn’t decipher crossed his face. “And believe me when I say I know all too well how clever they are in recruiting others to their cause.”

Nahri said nothing. She felt sick—and not because of the reminder that she and the Daevas were in danger.

It was because she suddenly realized her husband—the Qahtani she’d assumed cared little about blood purity—might share the worst prejudices of her tribe. Nahri still didn’t know what about her appearance made Ghassan so certain she was both Nahid and shafit, but he’d made it clear it was the possession of Suleiman’s seal that brought him such insight.

And one day Muntadhir would have it. Would take it and see truly the woman he’d married.

Her heart stuttered. “None of what you’re suggesting sounds politically stable, Muntadhir,” she said,