The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,91

opium den, and just like that, we’ll be under Nahid rule again.” Warning laced into her voice. “And the Daevas will pay us back in blood for everything your family has done to them.”

Nahri stepped back, her hand going to her mouth in shock. The queen had just neatly and horribly pulled together the strands of a future Nahri hardly dared consider—and the tapestry it created when presented by the other side was awful. A calculated scheme of revenge, when Nahri only wanted justice for her tribe.

Justice was what Dara wanted too, wasn’t it? And look at the price he was willing to pay for it. Nahri swallowed, her legs feeling a bit unsteady.

Ghassan raised his voice. “And this is why Alizayd talks and acts the way he does. Why he recklessly throws himself into aiding every shafit he comes across. Because of you.”

“Because he wants to fix things, and all you’ve ever told him to do is shut his mouth and wield a weapon. I’ve heard the stories coming out of Am Gezira. He has done more good for people there in five years than you have in fifty.”

Scorn filled Ghassan’s voice. “It is not his leadership in Am Gezira that you desire, wife. Do not think I am so naive. And I will not have you interfere again. The next time you overstep, I will send you back to Ta Ntry. For good. You will never see either of your children again.”

There was a moment of silence before the queen responded. “And that, Ghassan?” Her voice was chillingly quiet. “That you would reach for such a threat with the mother of your children? That is why people hate you.” Nahri heard the door open. “And it breaks my heart when I remember the man you used to be.”

The door shut. Nahri leaned in and peered through the roses, catching sight of Ghassan staring at his unconscious son. He inhaled sharply and then was gone, sweeping out in a swirl of black robes.

Nahri was shaking as she entered her room. I should have been more aggressive in my dowry demands, she suddenly thought. Because she had not been paid enough to marry into this family.

She returned to Ali’s side. His chest was rising and falling in the light of her fireplace, reminding her of the first time she’d healed him. The quiet night she’d accidentally killed her first patient and then saved a prince, the first time she’d had to grudgingly admit to herself that the man she insisted was only a mark was becoming the closest thing she had to a friend.

Nahri squeezed her eyes shut. Ali and Nisreen. Muntadhir. Dara. Everyone she let get a glimpse past the walls Muntadhir had accused her of keeping around her heart had lied to her or used her. Nahri had once quietly feared that it was her, that growing up alone on Cairo’s streets with abilities that terrified everyone had broken her, shaped her into a person who didn’t know how to forge a genuine bond.

But it wasn’t her. Or at least not just her. It was Daevabad. Daevabad had crushed everyone in it, from its tyrant king to the shafit laborer scurrying through her garden. Fear and hate ruled the city—built up by centuries of spilled blood and the resulting grievances. It was a place where everyone was so busy trying to survive and ensure their loved ones survived that there was no room to build new trust.

She let out a breath, opening her eyes to see Ali stir in his sleep. A pained grimace creased his face, breath rasping in his throat. The sight shook away her dark thoughts and reminded her of the potion still clutched in her hand. Her work was not done.

She pulled a cushioned stool closer. Besides his scars, Ali looked like he’d lived a rougher life in Am Gezira than she would have imagined, his body lean and wiry and his nails bitten low. She frowned as she caught sight of another mark just under his jaw. Rather than the ragged imprints the marid left, this one was a clean slash.

It looks like someone tried to cut his throat. Though Nahri couldn’t imagine who would be foolish enough to attempt to assassinate a Qahtani prince in the depths of Am Gezira. She reached out and touched his chin, his skin clammy beneath her fingertips as she turned his head to examine a mottled patch of scar tissue on his temple. She could no