The Empire of Gold

by S. A. Chakraborty

  “You’re not marked by the curse,” she said, realizing it aloud. “By Suleiman’s curse, I mean.”

  An expression Nahri couldn’t read swept Dara’s face. “No, I suppose I am not. I feel restored to what I was when Manizheh resurrected me in the desert.” He raised his hand, and it briefly shifted, his skin turning fiery and his fingers ending in claws before turning back. “An original daeva.”

  “With powers Suleiman considered too dangerous to allow to persist,” Nahri added. “And I must say, I agree.”

  “Then I suppose it is only right you now bear his ring.” Dara stepped closer, his emerald eyes trailing over her face. “How are you feeling?”

  Like I’m being stabbed by an ice dagger again. “Fine,” she lied. “Powerful.” That wasn’t a lie. “Capable of taking down an original daeva.”

  Dara blinked in surprise, and one corner of his mouth turned up in the bare lines of a smile. “Six years in Daevabad, and your tongue is no less sharp than when I found you scheming in a Cairo cemetery.”

  Nahri’s heart shot into her throat. “You were the most infuriating, arrogant creature I’d ever encountered. You deserved every cutting remark.”

  “Fair.” He took another step nearer, drinking her in. “But I hope you will not feel it is necessary to ‘take me down.’ At least not yet. I wished to speak with you.”

  “In the forest alone?”

  “I thought it might be better if you were not seen with me. And it did not feel right to return to the hospital again. Not after …”

  “I heard.” Nahri knew all about Dara’s attack on the hospital and the path of death he’d carved while trying to escape. She knew because she’d heard it from his victims themselves, many still in the hospital, including soldiers and civilians left crippled and children left without parents.

  And that didn’t even touch on the Geziris who’d died at the hands of Manizheh’s poison. The soldiers and young cadets of the Royal Guard who’d been drowned, crushed, or devoured by ghouls the night of the attack. The thousands of innocent civilians who’d been killed when Manizheh had him pulverize the city.

  Nahri glanced up at Dara’s face—his earnest, uncertain, mesmerizingly beautiful face—and asked a question she hoped against hope had a different answer from the one she suspected.

  “Were you … have you been under her control this whole time?”

  “No,” Dara answered simply.

  She gazed at him. Alone in the forest, Dara seemed so much like the daeva who’d plucked her from Egypt. The exasperating, brooding warrior who had wanted so much for his people. For her. For both of them.

  But he wasn’t only that. He never would be. Nahri couldn’t look at Dara and not see death and devastation. His anguished explanation about the women of Qui-zi … that would live in her forever.

  “You rip me apart,” she blurted out, the words slipping from the battle she was waging with her heart. “I’ve spent every day since the attack replaying your words in my head and trying to reconcile the man I knew with the merciless weapon you claimed to be. I was ready to kill you. And then you had to go and do the right thing.”

  Dara bit his lip, looking like he was close to both tears and a smile. “I am sorry. It does seem our time together has always been a source of much frustration for you.”

  “Not always, Dara. Not always.”

  He exhaled noisily and then looked away. They were both staying out of arm’s reach as if by silent agreement, the shared fear that getting any closer would be to invite more pain.

  After a moment, he gestured to a narrow path that wound through the tall grass. “Would you … would you walk with me?”

  Nahri nodded silently, and they set off. Dara set the pace, seeming to glide gracefully over the uneven ground. It reminded her of their original journey, of passing through deserts and frozen plains, the long days upon their horses and barbed conversations under the stars. She’d always thought herself clever and experienced, but Nahri looked back now and realized how young she’d been. How naive about how haunted her companion truly had been.

  So they walked. Through fields of pink clover and over rocky hills, along a meandering brook, and underneath the canopy of massive old cedar trees whose gnarled trunks would have taken five men to encircle. Nahri suspected much of this wilderness had originally overlooked the lake, but was hidden now by a belt of thickly forested mountains and Ali’s new river, the boundary the marid wanted between their sacred waters and the djinn city. Either way, it was lovely, healthy and healed, and Nahri thought it might be time to pull down the city walls. The quiet peace and natural beauty of Shefala had impressed her, and it would be nice to let her people breathe fresh air and wander beneath the trees.

  Dara spoke again, pulling Nahri from her thoughts. “When I was very young, we used to play with the Nahid children in these woods and scare ourselves silly with stories of ifrit and ghouls and all sort of beasts that would gobble us up. My cousins and I would gather fighting sticks while the Nahids healed our scrapes.” His tone grew wistful. “It did not last, of course. I grew up hearing whispers from my father and uncles about the ways the Nahid Council was changing, but it took me centuries to understand.”

  “I suppose that’s what happens when you’re taught to worship your rulers.”

  “You were willing to sacrifice your life for Daevabad. You hold the power of a prophet in your heart, power you used to reshape the land itself and restore magic to hundreds of thousands across the world. Do you not think yourself worthy of worship?”

  “I think worship sounds exhausting. I’ve got enough responsibilities—I don’t need expectations of perfection and divinity on top of them.”

  Dara regarded her, the light filtering through the canopy dappling his black hair. “Then what do you want, Nahri?”

  What do you want? How many times now had Nahri been asked versions of that question? How many times had she demurred, fearing that to voice her dreams would be to destroy them?

  So instead she envisioned them. She saw Daevabad rebuilt and thriving, the walls surrounding the city and dividing the tribal quarters tumbling down. The hospital filled with eager, brilliant students from all over the magical world, Subha’s daughter grown enough to be doing schoolwork in the garden and quizzing Kartir and Razu on history. She saw Jamshid working hand in hand with a shafit surgeon, magic and human techniques complimenting each other in a perfected dance.

  Nahri saw herself happy. Sitting in the Temple garden with chattering Daeva children and playing backgammon in a shafit café with Fiza. Ali grinning at her from across an unreasonable number of scrolls as, together, they rewrote the rules of their world.

  “What I’ve always wanted,” she finally answered. “I want to be a doctor. I want to fix people and fill my head with knowledge. And maybe find some riches and happiness along the way.”

  “You’re beaming,” Dara said. “I do not think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

  Heat filled her cheeks, and Nahri tried to reach for aloofness again. “I’m sure you disagree. You probably think I should take the throne and make everyone bow down before me.”

  “It does not matter what I think. It is your life.” Dara’s voice grew more halting. “I wish I had realized that earlier. I am sorry, sorrier than I can ever say, Nahri, that I tried to rob you of that choice. If I could go back … it breaks my heart to think of the different path we might have taken.”

  Nahri’s throat constricted. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was not in a place where she could look back and wonder what might have been—Nahri suspected she had as many years of healing to get through as Daevabad itself did. She had simply spent too much of her life being a survivor, picking up the pieces and moving steadily forward.

  Maybe it was good the djinn lived longer than humans; Nahri had a feeling she would need those centuries.

  They kept walking, still on opposite sides of the path but now not so far apart. The forest grew sparser, op
ening onto a lovely, flower-filled glen. Dragonflies zipped over the waist-high grass, bees dipping between the blossoms. A hoopoe bird hopped along a knobby tree branch at the edge of the woods, its black-and-orange crest catching her eye.

  It wasn’t the only thing that caught her eye. Nahri squinted, frowning as she studied the eastern corner of the glen. Though it was a clear, sun-drenched day, an odd haze—like the yellowed air after a sandstorm—hung over that part of the landscape, curtaining it off.

  Dara must have noticed her staring. “The veil,” he explained. “I discovered it earlier. The new threshold of your realm.”

  Nahri shivered. “I don’t think I’ll be crossing that anytime soon. Or possibly ever,” she added, fighting a little grief at the realization. It meant she might never see Egypt again. Would almost certainly never see Yaqub again. “Not after the last time Suleiman’s seal left the city.”

  “No,” Dara agreed, his voice toneless. “I do not imagine you will.”

  Despite everything, Nahri could still read Dara well enough that apprehension swept her. “Dara, why did you bring me here?”

  He swallowed, his bright eyes averted. “Shortly after dawn tomorrow, a Daeva warrior is going to call upon you. Her name is Irtemiz. She is—she is like a little sister to me,” he said, tripping over his words. “She will have a story for you, a story I’ve asked her to spread.”

  Nahri stilled, not liking the sound of any of this. “What story?”

  Dara glanced back at her, and the heartbreak in his eyes sent fear spiking through her before he even opened his mouth. “She is going to tell you that last night I got very drunk and even more brooding than usual. That in a fit of guilt, I swore to go after Vizaresh and the enslaved djinn and then crossed this veil before anyone could stop me.”

  Nahri blinked. Of all the things she’d thought Dara might say, that was not one of them. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m going after Vizaresh,” he repeated. “I am going to hunt down the enslaved djinn he has stolen and return them to be freed. But I do not intend to stop there. I intend to hunt down all the enslaved djinn and Daevas in the human world. The ones who were lost and forgotten like I was. The ones we know about and the ones with no hope. I’m going to find their vessels and bring them home.”

  She fought for a response. “But how? The way people talk—that’s impossible. Most of the vessels are rings; they’re tiny. They could be anywhere in the world, and there’s no way to track them.”

  “Then how fortunate I have millennia to discover a way.”

  Millennia … Nahri had not contemplated that aspect of Dara’s new future, and the prospect tied her stomach into knots. “Dara, I know you feel guilty, but you don’t have to do this. To swear yourself to some impossible quest because—”

  “I know I do not have to. I want to.” Dara held her gaze. “Nahri, I cannot go back and undo my mistakes, but I can find a way to do penance. To actually use this second chance I’ve been granted.” He gave her a broken smile. “Or maybe at this point, my third or fourth chance.”

  “But you can’t just leave,” she objected. “The Daevas need you.”

  “The Daevas have you. They need nothing else for centuries. But they are not my only people, and there is no one better suited to go after the enslaved djinn. I have the time. I have the magic. I very much have the urge to hunt down ifrit. Vizaresh, Qandisha … they’re still out there.”

  Nahri took a deep breath, not understanding the finality in his voice. “All right. But you can still come back and forth to Daevabad. It’s not as though—”

  “I cannot. Once I am past the veil, it will be like before. I will not be able to return. As you said, I do not bear Suleiman’s curse.”

  And I cannot leave. The full weight of what Dara was trying to tell her nearly knocked Nahri off her feet.

  Tears burned in her eyes. “So I’ll never see you again.”

  “I think that likely. Nahri—” Dara closed the distance between them as Nahri promptly lost the battle with her tears, pulling her into his arms for the first time since the night they’d been ripped apart on the lake. “Nahri, please. Do not grieve,” he whispered. “You are going to build a wonderful life here, the life you always wanted. Daevabad will be glorious for it, and it will be easier if it does not have me.” Dara held her face, kissing the tears as they fell. “You have earned your happy ending, little thief. Let me do the same. Let me earn a place in the garden with my family.”

  Nahri choked back a sob. “But you’ll be alone.”

  “Oh, Nahri …” Dara shuddered, but his voice stayed steady. “I will be all right. I won’t have to hide as I once did. I can visit the places of my childhood, tell the Daevas out on the border to go pay a visit to their new Nahids.” He broke away enough to look at her; his eyes were shining with his own unshed tears. “There is a whole world to explore. Kingdoms beyond our realm and so very many ifrit and peris to frighten. I am off to have adventures.” He gave her a shattered half smile. “You’re the one who has to stay behind with bureaucrats.”

  Nahri let out a weeping laugh. “Infuriating man. You don’t get to make me laugh when you’re breaking my heart.”

  “But then how would I see you smile one last time?” Dara slipped his fingers into hers, bringing them to his lips. “I will be all right, Nahri, I promise. And if Daevabad ever truly needs me—if you need me—my other vow remains. I will find a way back. I can go bully the marid again or perhaps your weird prince can take me through his waters.”

  “He would hate that.”

  “All the more appealing.”

  Nahri shut her eyes, grief charging over her. Falling back into their teasing—to his hands on her face and his lips on her fingers—only made this so much worse. There had to be a way around it.

  You told him to choose. Back on the roof, Nahri had given Dara his freedom. She’d promised to honor his choice. Now he had made it.

  Let me earn a place in the garden with my family. Nahri had no right to take that away from him. No one did.

  She pulled Dara back into her arms, burying her head into his shoulder. She breathed in the smoky citrus of his skin and summoned every bit of strength she could. Another time Nahri would let herself grieve. She’d let herself mourn everything they could have become.

  But right now, she would be the Banu Nahida he deserved. “I’ll learn how to free them,” she whispered in his ear, running her fingers through his hair a final time. “I swear to you, Afshin. Find our people, get them home, and I will free them.”

  Then Nahri forced herself to let him go. To unclench her fingers, untangle her arms, and stand tall.

  Dara brushed the edge of her chador and then slowly, purposefully released it. “The cave alongside the Gozan. The cave where we …” His voice hitched. “It is well-protected from the elements. I will leave the vessels there as I find them. Send people to check every few years.” He hesitated, looking like he didn’t want to continue, and when he did, Nahri knew why. “Teach your children to do the same. Tell them to teach their children and the generations that come after.”

  Nahri swayed on her feet, seeing the centuries spill out before him. The millennia in which she would no longer be there. “I will. I swear.”

  Dara stepped back toward the veil, and Nahri instantly moved for him, realizing he meant to leave now.

  “You don’t have any supplies,” she protested. “No weapons. How will you protect yourself?”

  The half smile he gave her, amused and brokenhearted, would follow her to the end of her days. “I can become the wind. I think I can manage.”

  She wiped her eyes. “Still so arrogant.”

  “Still so rude.” Dara’s smile vanished. “May I ask you something?”

  You can ask me anything if it means you stay another moment. But Nahri only nodded.

  Fear lit his expression. “Back at the Euphrates, when I asked if you wanted to continue, and you took my hand … would you do it again? Should
I have stopped, returned you to Cairo—”

  Nahri instantly reached for his hand. “I would do it again, Dara. I would take your hand a thousand times over.”

  Dara brought her hand to his lips one last time, kissing her knuckles again. “Find your happiness, little thief. Steal it and do not ever let it go.”

  I won’t. Nahri plucked a twig from the nearest tree and burned it in her hand. Dara wordlessly bowed, and she marked his brow with ash, fighting to keep her voice steady.

  “May the fires burn brightly for you, Afshin.”

  Dara straightened up, holding her gaze another moment. She drank him in, memorizing his brilliant eyes and wine-dark hair. This was the man she would remember.

  Then her Afshin stepped back and was gone.

  Nahri waited a long moment, the noise of the forest—the hoopoe’s song and rustle of leaves the only sounds.

  There was a tickle at her wrist. A delicate vine, green with new growth, teased her fingers. As she watched, a jewel-bright purple flower unfurled its petals.

  Nahri brought it to her face and burst into tears.

  But she wasn’t alone. Not in Daevabad. And she hadn’t been weeping long when there was the heavy pad of a large beast, then a brilliant rainbow wing curling around her.

  Nahri pressed her wet face into her shedu’s silky mane. “Let’s go home, Mishmish. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

  47

  ALI

  The lake was still once again.

  Ali sat in the shallows of his river delta, submerged to his waist, his toes digging in the mud. The air was thick with fog, so moist it was hard to tell where the lake ended and the sky began. Sheets of misty rain drifted overhead. Though it was midday, the sun shining brightly overhead on the other side of the green mountains, here the light was muted to a pale glow.

  He didn’t mind. It was overwhelmingly peaceful, and Ali closed his eyes as he leaned against the boulder upon which Sobek lounged. The creatures of Ali’s new domain, the minnows nibbling at his shins and the water snake twining around his waist, seemed to embrace him, the cool rush of mountain springs cascading over his lap.