Nahri swore under her breath, cursing herself for her misstep. That it was Qandisha who’d caught them made it worse. Nahri still remembered how easily Qandisha had overpowered Dara at the Gozan, nearly drowning him before the marid made the river rise. She and Ali might have been safe with the thick band of the Nile separating them from the ifrit, but Nahri didn’t like their odds should a mob of ghouls swarm the boat.
And they weren’t just ghouls. They were her countrymen. Innocent humans, Egyptians who shared her tongue and her land, killed to slake an ifrit’s curiosity.
Hatred rushed through her. “I take it Aeshma left you out of his plan if you’re out here murdering defenseless humans. Was your company so unbearable?”
The ifrit shrugged. “A concession to your Afshin. It’s a shame he’s so disinterested in recovering his memories of our time together. He was glorious.” Cruelty flickered in her eyes. “He must be crushed to have lost you again. You were the first one he begged for, you know. No sooner dragged back to life than he was weeping, ‘Nahri! Where’s Nahri?’”
The words had been meant to cut deep, and they did, memories of Dara’s pleas tumbling through her. Nahri fought for a response, angry denial coming first. “Dara serves my mother now. He’s a murderer. They both are.”
The ifrit laughed, but there was a new coldness in it. “So are you, but no matter. Darayavahoush clearly meant just as little to your ancestors. A shame, truly, to waste such loyalty … and talent.”
Qandisha licked her lips as she said it, but Nahri refused to indulge that line of provocation. “I’m no murderer,” she said instead.
“No? You killed Sakhr in cold blood.” When Nahri frowned, the name confusing her, genuine anger flashed in Qandisha’s eyes. “You don’t even remember his name, do you? A man you blood-poisoned and left for his brother to find.”
Blood-poisoned. Sakhr, the ifrit who’d attacked her at the Gozan, of course—years ago.
Nahri shook her head, still defiant. “He was no man, he was an ifrit. A monster.”
Qandisha growled. “Who are you to decide who is a monster? You are a slip of time, a little mortal girl foul with the taint of humanity and descended from a traitor. Sakhr was worshipped as a god. He battled with prophets and roamed the northern winds. He was my friend,” she snapped, all trace of humor gone. “A companion during these long centuries.”
“Nahri …” Ali moved toward her, a warning in his voice.
“Interrupt again, djinn, and I will have you dragged beneath the waves.” Qandisha’s gaze was for Nahri alone. “How very Nahid of you to flit between djinn and Daeva, disregarding your allies and friends however the winds blow. A shame your poor Dara had to learn that lesson again.”
Nahri picked up the remaining oar. She was not going to wait around and let this creature bait her. For all they knew, Qandisha was stalling while she worked some unseen magic to call the other ifrit. “Get us out of here, Ali,” Nahri said, hefting the oar like a baton. “I’d rather take my chances with ghouls than listen to her lies.”
“No lies, Nahid. I had hoped to take a djinn soul for company tonight, but I don’t go near Nahid blood, and I suspect Suleiman’s accursed seal will make any efforts toward your newest consort useless.
“So it will be vengeance for Sakhr instead.”
Qandisha had no sooner spoken than a boulder rose in the air, dripping with mud. She threw out her hand, and it flew toward them.
And then, even faster, a glistening wave erupted from the Nile like a wet shield. The momentum of the water was enough to slow the boulder, and it landed in the river before it could smash their boat, the splash drenching them.
Ali.
The djinn prince held out his hands. He was gasping, his face pained with the effort the marid magic must have cost him.
“You talk too much,” he grunted, and then, sweating and shivering, he jerked his hands down. The water around the ifrit’s ankles dashed up, pulling her into the shallows. Ali hissed, clutching his chest, but their boat was already moving.
Qandisha recovered more quickly than Nahri would have expected, however, climbing back to her feet and looking as angry as a wet cat.
“Another time that might’ve intrigued me,” the ifrit said, fire rasping in her mouth. “But I did warn you not to interfere.”
Qandisha snapped her fingers, and the sail burst into flames, fire rushing down the mast with malicious speed.
The bodies in the river jerked back to life.
If Nahri thought Vizaresh’s control of ghouls was powerful, the other ifrit had nothing on Qandisha. The murdered human men, their eyes veiled in ashen gray, moved in fast, spasmodic motions, swarming the boat in seconds. But they didn’t go for Nahri.
They went for Ali, mobbing him so thoroughly that he’d barely managed a cry before he vanished beneath the mass of hungry dead flesh.
Nahri lunged for him, but the burning mast cracked before she could take two steps. The weight of the sail dragged it down, smashing the deck and ripping their boat open.
In an instant the water was at her chest, ropes tangling around her legs. Nahri wrenched them away, kicking madly as the felucca fell apart beneath her. Debris snagged the bottom of her dress, dragging her under the water.
She ripped it away and resurfaced. “Ali!” Nahri screamed his name, but she could see nothing except fiery debris and choking smoke. There was no response from Ali save the wet grunting of ghouls and a horrible, awful crunching.
No, Creator, no. Nahri scrambled at the remains of the boat. “Ali!”
“Oh, wouldn’t Anahid be proud of your spirit.” Qandisha laughed. “But she chose mortality for you all, and well, that only ends one way.”
From the haze obscuring the river came three murky shapes, bloated and gray.
Ghouls.
Nahri didn’t even get a last gulp of air. The ghouls seized her and pulled her down, the river closing over her head again.
NO. She fought wildly, kicking and scratching at dead flesh, writhing against their arms. It made no difference. In seconds, they were at the bottom, Nahri pinned against the murky mud and terrified out of her wits. Her chest throbbed, aching for air.
Focus, Nahri! She was the con artist of Cairo, the stealthy thief. This couldn’t be how things ended for her, drowned beneath the Nile. She had to have a plan, a quick turn of hand.
But this time, Nahri had nothing.
This is how Dara died. Dara’s memories, shared so long ago, surged back into her mind. Thrown down a well by a laughing Qandisha. His desperate struggle, the panic and despair when he realized he couldn’t escape the dark water …
She was losing her ability to fight, her strength leaving her in waves. Daevabad flashed before her eyes and, with it, all the people Nahri had failed. The hospital courtyard filled with her celebrating friends. Nisreen guiding her hands through a new procedure. Ali coaching her through reading a sentence in the magnificent palace library. Jamshid and Subha’s cautious first meeting.
A warrior pulling himself upon the stage of a crumbling amphitheater, his green eyes blazing.
Darayavahoush! Darayavahoush e-Afshin is my name.
Darkness beckoned at the edges of Nahri’s vision. My name. A sunlit room in a small mudbrick home, a name she couldn’t remember called aloud. Warm brown eyes and a blanket tucked around her shoulders. A kiss on her nose.
A boat of fishermen, pulling her aboard with strong hands. What is your name?
And then the water surged past her lips, and Nahri remembered no more.
15
ALI
Ali thrashed against the ghouls, kicking and cutting and smashing his head into the press of dead flesh and sharp nails. He gagged on the aroma of rot, desperate to free himself. To stop moving would be to die; to be still for even a second would give the ghouls that same second to tear him apart. Ali clutched his khanjar and zulfiqar so tight it hurt. If he lost his blades, he was finished.
A bony wrist shoved against his thro
at, cutting off his air and silencing his grunts. Beyond, Nahri was screaming his name.
Ali choked, trying to call out to her. There was the sound of splintering wood, crashing, the sensation of falling. The ifrit was laughing, but her words were drowned out by the blood pumping in his ears and the moans of the ghouls.
Nails ripped at his stomach, blunt teeth gnawing at his shoulder. Abruptly aware he was moments away from being eaten alive, he welcomed the cold touch of water at his ankles like the hand of a savior. To hell with this; his heart exploding would at least be a quicker way to die than being torn apart by the dead.
Ali called to the river with everything he had.
The water leapt to his aid and then Ali howled, the scorching lash in his chest causing him to nearly black out. The river reared up like a beast, hungry devouring tongues of water ripping the ghouls from his body. Ali screamed, his body seizing …
His grip on the marid magic shattered, and then it was over. Ali lay on broken pieces of floating wood, senseless with pain. His weapons hung in his hands, his clenched fingers locked about their hilts.
Coming back to himself, Ali glanced blankly around. He could smell his blood on the wet air, a new throb coming with every beat of his heart. He rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Their boat was destroyed, nothing but fiery debris bobbing on the coursing river.
And Nahri was gone.
Panic rushed through him, and Ali pushed himself up into a sitting position. Blood filled his mouth, dripping past his lips when he spoke. “Nahri …”
A chuckle drew his attention to the riverbank, Qandisha standing in the haze of oily smoke. She inclined her head toward the dark water. “Too late.”
The meaning of her words took a moment to land.
The river. Nahri.
Ali plunged into the Nile.
The cool liquid was a balm against his skin. Ali sheathed his blades, summoning the last bit of his strength to swim, but relief vanished the moment he called on his marid powers again. The magic was so hard to hold, the very thing he needed to find Nahri sending spikes of pain stabbing through his chest.
No matter. Ali forced himself to swim deeper, his limbs protesting, blood streaming from his wounds. He expanded his powers, searching farther, but the drifting bodies of the ghouls confused his senses, and the fire burning on the surface sent jagged, unreliable light flickering through the murky water in a way that made him feel like he was trapped in a muck-covered madhouse of glass and mirrors. Then …
There!
A spark of warmth, swiftly growing colder. Ali raced along the bottom, spotting the serrated outline of the broken boat where ghouls had pinned Nahri to the riverbed. Her eyes were closed, her dress drifting around her motionless body.
Ali was there the next moment, ripping away the ghouls and pulling her into his arms. He shot to the surface, kicking hard.
“Nahri, breathe,” he gasped as they broke through into the air. “Breathe!”
Nothing. Nahri remained limp in his arms, silent and unresponsive. Frantic, Ali pushed the strands of wet hair away from her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips tinged with blue.
No. God, no. PLEASE. Hugging her to his chest, Ali staggered toward the shallows and laid her on the muddy bank.
“Nahri, please,” he begged, clapping her back. “Please!”
Qandisha strode forward. Muscles rippled below her fiery skin, light gleaming on the metal in her braids and the knifesharp gems of her chest plate.
She loomed over him. “You should have stayed in the water.” Hunger filled her eyes. “I wonder what would happen if I cut the seal from your face, if your soul would be open for me to steal.” She reached out, her claws glittering. “I think I shall try it …”
She hadn’t even grazed Ali’s cheek when everything went very, very cold.
The water lapping at his feet grew chilled, the air turning so icy that Ali’s ragged breaths became steam and goose bumps broke across Nahri’s bare arms. He whirled around, watching in bewilderment as great clouds of mist billowed from the Nile, extinguishing the fires dotting its churning surface with an angry hiss.
The unnatural darkness that had accompanied Qandisha vanished next, beams of moonlight breaking through the cloudless night and the sounds of life returning—insects and frogs and the wind through the reeds, so loud it was like a chorus.
Something moved in the black water. Ali grabbed Nahri, pulling her away as a muscled tail lashed his legs with a swipe of scaled flesh.
Then the largest crocodile he’d ever seen burst from the Nile.
The creature let out a bellow that sliced through the night, shaking the trees and silencing the frogs. Its roar cut through Ali, sending a surge of deep primal fear galloping through his body. With a wet snap, the enormous crocodile transformed, rearing up on its back legs as its reptilian form gave way to that of a man. His body was slender and wiry, his skin an unnatural dark green that spread in a pattern of leathery scales down lanky limbs. Stubby reptilian claws crowned long webbed fingers, bony ridges running down a bare scalp.
Ali did not consider himself a coward. He had dueled with the greatest warrior of his people, faced down a mob of ghouls, and had an ifrit run claws over his throat. But staring at the creature that charged out of the misty Nile, the very land and river gone still in submission, he had never felt so utterly small.
The marid—for Ali knew the very moment the water magic stilled in his blood what he was looking at—studied them all with the cool regard of an uncaring predator. He moved like a reptile, shoulders and neck swaying and twisting as yellow-and-blackdappled eyes shifted between Qandisha and Ali before fixing on the ghouls.
They immediately stilled. The gray veneer of magic vanished from the faces of the slain men, replaced by masks of peace. And then, with murmured sighs, they sank below the water.
The marid hissed, turning back. “Qatesh.”
Qandisha stepped away, shocked fear crossing her face. “Sobek,” she whispered.
The marid—Sobek, she had called him—took a halting step in the ifrit’s direction. “You took life in my waters,” he accused her, gesturing to where the ghouls had slipped away.
Qandisha was still backing up. Ali hadn’t known she could look so afraid. “I did not know you were here. They said you were gone. Killed by—”
“GET OUT OF MY LAND.”
Ali would have been on the other side of the continent, had the marid bellowed that at him, but Qandisha held her ground.
“The daevas are fire-born,” she argued. “You have no right to them.”
“I have every right to them. Leave.”
Flames twisted through her hands. “You cannot hurt me. I am an ally of the daeva Darayavahoush, the one who commands you.”
Sobek’s eyes flashed. “No daeva commands me, and you are alone.” Hunger laced into his voice. “It has been an age since I devoured one of your kind. You have already transgressed; declare yourself equal and I am within my rights.”
“You will regret this.”
“I will regret not tasting your heart in my teeth. LEAVE.”
She was gone the next moment in a whirl of sand and smoke, thunder breaking the air.
Ali, though, was rooted in place. There was no point in running. The river had surged behind him and Nahri, cutting through the rocky bank like a scythe.
Sobek towered over them, blocking out the rest of the world. His scaled skin glittered in the starlight, dazzling. Breathtaking. His visage flickered, a dozen forms shifting in the fog, though the yellow-black eyes stayed fixed.
Ali inhaled, fighting a tremble. The marid was so utterly beyond him, beyond anything he knew. He suddenly had no doubt Sobek was among the creatures painted and carved in the ruins he and Nahri had wandered through, a lost god from an ancient world. Unbidden, the declaration of faith rose to his lips, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he said it as a reminder or in preparation for his imminent death.
The marid. The cr
eatures who had toyed with him, changed him, ruined him, and saved him. The ones who terrorized his people in Ta Ntry and dragged the Citadel into the lake. One was now so close Ali could smell his silty breath.
Sobek studied him with an open, merciless appraisal, his eerie eyes tracing the seal marked on Ali’s cheek and the blood running down his arms. His gaze shifted to Nahri, and then Sobek tilted his head, glancing at Ali with expectation in his cold expression.
And all of Issa’s words rushed back into his head.
The marid can give you almost anything you desire. The pacts djinn and humans made with these evil creatures for power, for wealth. For love. Pacts sealed in blood and death and the damnation of their souls. Pacts Ali would never in a thousand years contemplate.
Until Nahri was lying too still in his arms.
Ali gazed up at the marid, blinking back tears. He couldn’t not know. “What is your price?” he asked hoarsely.
The marid regarded him with those unfeeling, alien eyes. “You have taken the ring of Anahid the Conqueror from the city of fire?”
Still dizzy, Ali fought for a response. “The ring of Anahid the Conqueror? You mean, Suleiman’s seal? I … yes,” he managed. “But—”
“Then the price has been paid.”
Before Ali could react, the marid was kneeling at his side. He took Nahri from Ali’s arms as though she weighed nothing and laid her on the riverbank between them.
Fresh grief stabbed through Ali at the sight of his friend so unresponsive. At any moment, Ali expected to see Nahri’s dark eyes open, rolling with sarcasm. The thought of her not waking was unbearable.
“Give me your hands,” Sobek demanded.
“My hands?”
“It is against my nature to restore a drowned one. I will need to use you.”
The Empire of Gold Page 21
