The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,71

book she’d been studying before Alizayd had interrupted her. It was a Nahid text on curses that were said to prevent healing. One of the novitiates at the Grand Temple had found it while sorting their old archives, and Nahri had it brought immediately to her. But the Divasti was so confusing and archaic, she feared she was going to have to send it right back for translation.

Not that Jamshid would wait. He’d been pleading with her for weeks to try healing him again, his desperation mirroring Muntadhir’s spiral. Nahri didn’t have to ask why. She knew not being able to personally protect Muntadhir as the captain of his guard was killing Jamshid.

She took a deep breath. “I’ll be right there.” She set the book aside—on top of an Arabic volume about hospitals. Or at least Nahri thought it was about hospitals; she hadn’t actually had time to read it. Muntadhir might have shot down her nascent dreams of restoring her ancestors’ hospital, but Nahri wasn’t ready to give up.

She rose to her feet, slipping the dagger’s sheath in her waistband, beneath her gown. She forced herself to put Ali out of mind. To put Dara out of mind. Her first responsibility was to her patients, and right now it might be a relief to let work swallow her.

THE INFIRMARY WAS ITS USUAL LIVELY SELF, CROWDED and smelling of sulfur. She passed through the patient area and behind the curtain that sectioned off her private work space. The curtain was slippery in her hands, its silk enchanted to dampen noise on both sides. She could step back here and talk frankly with Nisreen about a poor diagnosis without someone overhearing them.

The curtain could also hide the sounds of a man screaming in pain.

Jamshid and Nisreen were waiting for her, Jamshid lying on a pallet, looking pale but determined.

“May the fires burn brightly for you, Banu Nahida,” he greeted her.

“And for you,” Nahri returned, bringing her fingertips together. She tied her scarf back to hold her braids and washed her hands in the basin, splashing some cold water on her face.

Nisreen frowned. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Your eyes …”

“I’m fine,” Nahri lied. “Frustrated.” She crossed her arms, deciding to throw the emotions Ali had upset in a different direction. “That book is written in some blasted ancient script I can’t decipher. I’ll have to send it back to the Grand Temple for a translation.”

Jamshid glanced up, his panic clear. “But surely that doesn’t mean we can’t have a session today?”

Nahri paused. “Nisreen, would you leave us for a moment?”

Nisreen bowed. “Of course, Banu Nahida.”

Nahri waited until she was gone to kneel at Jamshid’s side. “You’re rushing this,” she said, as gently as she could. “You shouldn’t be. Your body is recovering. It just needs time.”

“I don’t have time,” Jamshid replied. “Not anymore.”

“You do,” Nahri argued. “You’re young, Jamshid. You have decades, centuries before you.” She took his hand. “I know you want to be at his side again. Capable of jumping on a horse and firing a dozen arrows. And you will be.” She met his gaze. “But you need to accept that it might take years. These sessions … I know how badly they hurt you, the toll they take on your body …”

“I want to do this,” he said stubbornly. “The last time you said you’d gotten close to fixing the damaged nerves you believe are causing most of the weakness in my leg.”

God, how Nahri suddenly wished she had another decade in the infirmary behind her, or a senior healer at her side to guide her through this conversation. The look in her patients’ eyes when they begged her for certainty was difficult enough when they weren’t friends.

She tried another tactic. “Where is Muntadhir? He usually comes with you.”

“I told him I changed my mind. He has enough to worry about without seeing me in pain.”

By the Creator, he really wasn’t making this any easier. “Jamshid—”

“Please.” The word cut through her. “I can handle the pain, Nahri. I can handle being bedridden for a few days. If you think it’s going to do worse than that, we can stop.”

She sighed. “Let me examine you first.” She helped him out of the shawl wrapping his shoulders. “Lie back.” They had done this so many times, the steps came automatically to them both. She took a blunt brass rod from the tray Nisreen had laid out, running it down his left leg. “Same numb burning?”

Jamshid nodded. “But it’s