of the seabed, blasting it into glass to create homes along the cliffs. If you pulled up the rugs, you could watch fish swim beneath your feet, and the way the glass glittered in the sun when we first arrived …” Wistfulness filled his eyes. “We destroyed them all, of course. Burned their ships, threw their bound leaders into the sea, and took back the boys for the Guard. Khader was a hard man.”
“You were following orders.”
“I suppose,” Abu Sayf said quietly. “Never seemed right, though. It took us months to get out there, and I never really understood what kind of threat some little villages on the edge of the world could present to Daevabad. Why they had anything to do with Daevabad.”
Dara shifted, not liking the fact that he’d essentially been backed into defending a Qahtani. “Surely if you wonder why Daevabad rules a distant Sahrayn village you should wonder why a Geziri family commands a Daeva city?”
“I suppose I never really thought of Daevabad as a Daeva city.” Abu Sayf looked almost surprised. “Feels like the center of our world should belong to us all.”
Before Dara could respond, there was the sound of running outside his tent. He shot to his feet.
Mardoniye appeared at the entrance the next instant, out of breath. “Come quickly, Afshin. There has been a letter from home.”
“Okay, we’re here,” Ali said, throwing out his arm to prevent Nahri from slipping past. “Now will you tell me why you had to visit Sukariyya Street?”
Nahri was the very image of calmness at his side, her dark eyes studying the bustling shafit neighborhood like a hunter might survey its prey. “The house with the red door,” she remarked softly under her breath.
Perplexed, Ali followed her gaze to a narrow, three-story wooden house that looked like it had been crammed between the two larger stone buildings on either side of it. A small open porch fronted the house, surrounding a red door painted with orange flowers. It was a cloudy afternoon, and shadows swallowed the building, obscuring it in gloom.
His unease instantly grew. The windows were boarded over, but with enough cracks that one could easily spy on the street from the inside, and a man sat on the steps of the neighboring building, reading a pamphlet with a bit too much studied disinterest. At a café across the street, two others sat ostensibly playing backgammon, their gazes occasionally flitting over to the red door.
Ali wasn’t Citadel-trained for nothing. “It’s being watched.”
“Why do you think I brought you?” Nahri asked. A strangled sound of disbelief left his mouth, and she threw him a scornful look. “By the Most High, could you stop acting so jumpy?”
He stared at her. “Someone tried to murder me a week ago.”
Nahri rolled her eyes. “Let’s go.” She was off without another word.
Aghast, Ali watched as she strode purposefully towards the guarded house. Admittedly, there was little to give her away. Dressed in a rough-spun abaya and shawl, Nahri blended into the crowd of gossiping shafit shoppers and arguing laborers with ease.
Certainly a different look from the gold dress she wore to the feast. Ali’s face abruptly filled with heat. No, he was not thinking about that dress. Not again. Instead, he hurried after her, cursing himself for getting dragged into whatever mysterious business Nahri claimed to have in the shafit district. He still wasn’t sure what foolishness had made him agree to this; the days since he’d been poisoned were nothing but a pain-wracked blur of his mother’s hovering, endless questions from the Royal Guard’s investigators, and increasingly foul-tasting potions from the Banu Nahida.
She probably hexed you into agreeing. The Nahids could do that, couldn’t they? Because surely not even Ali was reckless enough to sneak his sister-in-law out of the palace—and to agree to take the blame if they were found out—without being hexed.
By the time he caught up, Nahri was walking with a hand on her lower belly. There was suddenly a bump there, and her bag was gone from her shoulder. When she’d slipped it under her abaya, God only knew, but she was sniffling by the time they neared the house. She wiped her eyes, a feigned limp affecting her walk.
The man next door dropped his pamphlet and rose to his feet, stepping in her path. “Can I help you, sister?”
Nahri nodded. “Peace be upon you,” she greeted him. “I …” She sucked in her breath, clutching her exaggerated belly. “I’m sorry. My cousin said there was