The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,92

longer make out the lines of the eight-pointed star that had been carved there—a version of Suleiman’s seal, apparently by way of the marid—but she hadn’t forgotten the sight of it flashing on his face that night.

She stared at him. What did they do to you? And perhaps a question that burned even more—why? Why had the marid been so determined to come after Dara?

Movement near her hand caught her eye. Nahri started. The potion in the cup was moving, the liquid’s surface rippling like it was being struck by invisible drops.

Ali’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze dazed and feverish. He tried to draw a breath and then coughed, pain twisting his face.

Nahri reacted immediately. “Drink this,” she commanded, sliding her hand under his head to raise him up. “No, don’t try to talk,” she added as he moved his lips. “Your throat was shredded. Even you can hold your tongue for a moment.”

She helped him finish the contents of the cup. Ali was shivering violently, and she eased him back onto the pillow when he was done. “Does anything feel sharp in your body?” she asked. “Anything like a buzzing beneath your skin?”

“No,” he croaked. “What-what happened?”

“Someone tried to poison you. Obviously.”

Despair swept his face. “Oh,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Even in Daevabad then,” he added with a soft bitterness that took her aback. The tonic was clearly doing its job, his voice smoother though filled with misery. “I thought they might stop.”

Nahri frowned. “Who might stop?”

Ali shook his head stiffly. “It doesn’t matter.” He glanced up, worry flashing in his eyes. “Was anyone else hurt? My mother—”

“Your mother is fine.” That was a lie, of course. Hatset had watched her son almost die in her arms. “No one else was hurt, but your cupbearer was killed trying to escape.”

Ali looked pained. “I wish they had not done that. He was only a boy.” He covered his mouth as he began to cough again, his hand coming away flecked with blood.

Nahri refilled the cup with water from her pitcher. “Drink,” she said, pressing it into his hands. “I suspect your throat will be raw for the next few days. I’ve done what I could, but the poison was a powerful one.”

He took a sip, but his eyes didn’t leave her face. “I thought you had done it,” he said quietly.

She drew back, annoyed that the accusation hurt. “Yes, I know. You and everyone else. Your people don’t make secret what they think of me.”

Guilt blossomed in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He lowered the cup, running his thumb against the edge. “I only meant that I wouldn’t have blamed you if you wanted me dead.”

“Wanting you dead and actually killing you are very different things,” she said sharply. “And I’m no murderer.”

“No, you’re not,” Ali said. “You’re a healer.” He met her eyes again. “Thank you for saving my life.” He bit his lip, a little desperate humor creeping across his face. “I think this is the fourth time.”

Nahri struggled to remain expressionless, cursing the part of her heart that wanted to soften at his words. His breathing ragged and his eyes bright with pain, Ali didn’t look the “Afshin-slayer” right now; he looked sick and weak—a patient who needed her. An old friend who missed her.

A weakness. Not trusting her emotions, Nahri abruptly stood up. “It’s my duty,” she said brusquely. “Nothing more.” She turned for the door. “A servant will bring you fresh clothing. I have other patients.”

“Nahri, wait,” he rasped. “Please.”

Hating herself, she stopped. “I’m not doing this with you, Ali.”

“What if I told you that you were right?”

Nahri glanced back at him. “What?”

Ali stared her, his expression beseeching. “You were right. About that night, about the boat.” Shame filled his face. “I did know the Royal Guard would be waiting for us.”

She shook her head. “Glad to know you’re just as brutal when being honest as you are when lying.”

He tried to push up, wincing in pain. “I didn’t know what else to do, Nahri. I’d never fought someone who could use magic the way Darayavahoush did. I’d never heard of someone who could use magic the way he did. But I knew … so much else about him.” Sick regret crossed his face. “All those books I didn’t want you to read. If he had taken you, if he had killed me—our people would have gone to war.” Ali shuddered. “And I knew all too well the