delay. They’d slaughter you and be on the rest of us before we got far.”
“What about ghouls?” another man suggested. “The ifrit are our allies now, are they not? One of them was boasting about how he could summon an entire army of ghouls. The skinny one.”
Dara’s face twisted in disgust at the mention of the ifrit, whom he hated in particular, escalating ways. The remark about them being allies and the memory of their ghouls only fueled his revulsion. Not to mention that Vizaresh—the ifrit they were speaking of now—had once threatened Nahri. Threatened “to grind her soul into dust” for blood-poisoning his brother … a threat Dara wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. “I do not wish to see those foul things in our city,” he said shortly.
Irtemiz grinned. “The ghouls or the ifrit?”
Dara snorted. His soldiers were all like family to him, but he had a particular fondness for Irtemiz, whose innate talent with a bow had come a long way under Dara’s careful hand and who’d managed to keep her good humor even during the hardest of training sessions.
“Both,” he replied. Then he gestured back at the map. “I want you to think about this and discuss solutions with each other while I’m away.” Dara didn’t quite share Manizheh’s confidence that some mysterious meeting with Aeshma and the marid would result in his being able to cross the magical threshold protecting Daevabad, but on the off chance it did, he wanted to be prepared.
“Should we keep practicing with Abu Sayf?”
Dara considered that. He’d managed to convince Abu Sayf to spar with his soldiers … well, no, perhaps convince wasn’t the right term. He’d threatened to scourge the younger, more irritating Geziri scout to death if the older man didn’t comply. They were going to face zulfiqars in their fight to retake Daevabad, and they’d been handed a rare opportunity to learn to fight against them with the two Geziri scouts as their prisoners. Dara had not liked making such a ghastly threat, but there was little he was unwilling to do if it would help prepare his young warriors.
But only under his eye; he didn’t trust the Geziris not to try something in his absence. “No. I do not want either of them unchained for even a moment.” He dismissed the group. “Now go. I will join you for dinner before I leave.”
He raised a hand to sweep the map away as they left, watching the buildings tumble together in a smoky wave. The miniature palace collapsed, the Citadel’s tower dissolving over the wall.
Dara stilled. He snapped his fingers, conjuring and then crushing the tower again, letting it topple. It was tall enough that the upper half could crash through the wall, ripping a hole into the heart of the Citadel itself—and creating an entrance into the city.
That is magic beyond me. Manizheh might think him invincible, but Dara was learning that the fantastic tales told about the powers of their mighty ancestors in the time before Suleiman were best taken with a little salt. He was willing to break himself to reclaim Daevabad, but he couldn’t afford to exhaust his magic at the very beginning of the invasion.
He tucked the idea away, crossing to the large carpet rolled in one corner. Dara hadn’t flown one in years, not since journeying to Daevabad with Nahri. He ran a hand down its woolen length.
I will find a way to get back to you. I promise.
But first Dara had a meeting with the devil himself.
HE AND MANIZHEH FLEW EAST, TRAVELING ACROSS A stunning landscape that spread before them like crumpled silk, emerald hills and dusty plains blending into each other, marked by deep blue lines of twisting rivers and streams. The sight brought Dara a rare peace. Khayzur, the peri who’d once nursed him back to health, had tried to teach Dara to appreciate such moments, to let the solace and beauty of the natural world sweep him away. It had been a difficult lesson to internalize. The first time he’d been brought back, Dara had awakened to the news that his world had died fourteen centuries earlier and that he was nothing but a blood-soaked memory to his people.
Not to everyone. It was impossible to sit on this rug as it cut through the sky and not think of the first days he’d spent with Nahri—days that had driven him to drink. He’d found her very existence a scandal, physical proof one of his blessed Nahids had broken