Nahri

This scene takes place about a year and a half after The Empire of Gold. Spoilers for all three books.

Finished with her day, Nahri pushed back from the desk.

“And check on Yusef, the surgical patient from this morning. I extracted the wing fragments from his back, but they were close enough to the spine that I want to take extra care infection doesn’t set in. Have one of the students examine his bandages and apply an anti-scaling solution.” She handed the patient’s scroll to Jamshid. “That should be it.”

Across from her, Jamshid, his arms already piled with other such scrolls, looked skeptical. “Are you sure that’s something a student can do?”

“Jamshid, our students have been here nearly a year. Yes, I think them all capable of looking underneath a bandage and spraying an otherwise harmless solution.” Nahri rose to her feet. The late afternoon sun streamed through the wooden screens covering the window, the air in her office sweet and fragrant with the rich earthy aroma of the papyrus and Egyptian water lilies growing in the fountain. She retrieved a small velvet bag from one of the desk drawers. “Let them help you when I’m not working. And don’t you dare bother Subha. It’s her day off.”

Jamshid shot her a wounded look. “I would never bother Subha. You, however, are family, and thus I feel far more comfortable accusing you of abandoning me with the children. Students. Whatever.”

“You know many of those ‘children’ are older than you, right?” Nahri came around the desk and stood on her toes to kiss his forehead. “Learn to delegate, brother. It’s a critical part of being a doctor.”

Jamshid made a noncommittal grunt. “What’s that?” he asked, gesturing to her bag.

“A gift.”

“A gift?” He tilted his head, a little mirth stealing into his expression. “One that can’t be given later? In front of everyone else?”

“One that is very much not your business,” she replied tartly. “Now . . . anything else hospital-related before I leave?”

Jamshid eyed the bag a moment longer with a trace of amused curiosity. “No. But you’ll be back in time for the party?”

“Along with the unsuspecting guest of honor.” Nahri wrapped a hand-knit shawl a patient had given her around her shoulders and headed for the door.

The library next to her office was mostly empty this afternoon, with only a few students buried in books. Nahri nodded to the ones who noticed her but didn’t interrupt—she knew well the dazed look of people who’d been studying for so long they would have struggled to recognize their own faces. She made her way to Mishmish, who was in his nest on the sun-drenched balcony, a nest he’d made by shredding a priceless antique rug that had been on loan from the Temple.

Nahri knelt and buried her hands in her shedu’s thick mane, scratching behind his ears. “Hello, my brave little rainbow kitty,” she crooned in Arabic, keeping her voice low to maintain a semblance of dignity in front of her students. Mishmish purred in response, loud enough to make the floor vibrate. He stretched out his massive wings and rolled so she could rub his belly. Nahri obliged for a moment, then said, “Want to go for a ride?”

 

Nahri suspected she would always have the soul of a city dweller. From Cairo’s constant hustle to wandering the seemingly never-ending streets of Daevabad, Nahri delighted in the ceaseless energy of her urban homes. There was always someone new to meet or someplace new to discover. No longer Ghassan’s prisoner, Nahri had thrown herself into exploring the city she had shoved an ice dagger into her heart to save, and it had repaid her with more joy than she could have imagined. She took Ali and Fiza to iftars held in the crowded apartments of her grandfather’s garrulous community of Egyptian shafit to experience the food and traditions of her childhood, and she went with Subha for puja at her temple, meeting a people and faith she had barely known existed. On rare evenings off, she let Jamshid and Muntadhir drag her to the homes of nobles in various tribal quarters for recitals and poetry readings.

That didn’t mean, however, that she didn’t enjoy the occasional escape to the wilderness beyond Daevabad’s walls.

Mishmish soared over the emerald expanse of mountains. Sitting on his back, Nahri closed her eyes, enjoying the fresh spring air and the sound of nothing but wind. Although several sections of the city’s brass walls had been opened up, the parks and homes being built outside still clung close to Daevabad proper. The majority of djinn and Daevas were wary of the dripping forests and overgrown ruins that covered the former island—to say nothing of the mysterious new river that divided them from the mist-shrouded marid lake. By the time Nahri had urged her shedu to land in a patch of deep woods, any sign of the city was long gone. Ahead, the bare lines of a sandy path glowed faintly as it wound through the dark trees.

They walked, the sound of their padding footsteps melding with the twittering birds. Nahri wasn’t sure what Daevabad’s woods had looked like before she’d taken Suleiman’s ring into her heart and rearranged the landscape, but between the curious mix of trees—like frost-limned pines sharing space with banana palms—and bizarre animals, such as tiny winged serpents and jewel-teethed mongooses, everything about this wilderness felt steeped in magic. Years ago, that might have alarmed her. Now it was like walking through her own soul. The vines parted to let her pass, and even the shyest of smoky-eyed gazelles didn’t dart away. Her people might be forming a political system where everyone was equal, but it seemed the island itself remained a traditionalist, holding tight to its Nahid.

That connection faded as she got closer to the river. Though she could hear the crashing of rapids in the distance, this stretch looked calm today. But Nahri knew that didn’t mean much: Ali’s river was notoriously tumultuous, its currents changing direction from day to day. The first time she had visited, this very spot had hosted an enormous waterspout that had lifted from the surface to spin in a neat loop. Porpoises the color of dawn with spiraling horns had been leaping playfully through the loop while Ali pulled at his beard and fretted aloud over whether he was supposed to interfere. Apparently Sobek had told him that newborn rivers had their own wild youths to get through—advice that had left even Nahri lost for words.

But there was no gravity-defying enchantment now. Beyond a tangle of grasses—papyrus and cattails, lily pads and golden lotus—the river’s surface was placid. Ali was nowhere to be seen, but his sandals and a neatly folded shirt had been left on a rock near a circle of scattered bricks. As Nahri passed by, she spotted the remains of a fire alongside the flint Ali must have used to light it. Her stomach turned at the sight. She hated that he needed such a thing.

Mishmish broke away from her side to nose through Ali’s belongings.

“I don’t think he’s brought any fruit for you today, Mishmishi. We’re unexpected guests.” Nahri kicked off her shoes, slipped off her shawl and bag, and then approached the water. “Alizayd al Qahtani, you are far less sly than you think,” she called across the silent river. “You can’t get out of today by hiding here.”

There was no response. Ali might have been floating in the next bend or he could be swimming in an ocean on the other side of the world. But Nahri had learned he seemed to sense if she was in the river, so she took a step into the water, pushing through the reeds. It shivered at her touch, rippling out from her ankles. The water was so clear she could look straight down to the shimmering pebbles and mossy rocks that made up the bottom. Here and there she saw one of Tiamat’s glittering scales, dragged up from the lake. Ali threw them into the bushes when he spotted them. “Tiamat is not a river guardian,” he’d say stubbornly, sounding like Sobek. “This place is not hers.”

No, it was his, in the same way Daevabad was Nahri’s. She and Ali had tried to uncover the source of his river several times, reaching out with their magic as they hiked and explored the boundaries of their altered world to little avail. They would always find themselves returned to the same spot in the woods where they had started, as though creation itself were reminding them of the limits of their knowledge.

Nahri waded a bit deeper, startling a school of tiny silver fish with blue striped fins. She stopped when the river was at her knees and lifted her face to the sunshine filtering through the trees, enjoying the rare peace. Nahri had once loved swimming, no matter how unladylike and, later, how un-Daeva-like such a hobby might be. She had loved the feeling of weightlessness that accompanied floating, the way everything went silent under the surface. During her worst years in Daevabad, she used to lock herself in the hammam to weep and float in the bath alone, closing her eyes and imagining she was elsewhere.

But swimming was a love Qandisha had stolen from her when she tried to drown Nahri in the Nile. Nahri couldn’t even submerge her head in a tub anymore, let alone consider bathing in a river going through a “wild youth.” Her new fear of water was mortifying, a weakness she despised and couldn’t seem to get past.

And yet . . . the water was so calm today, the current barely more than a caress. Nahri was the Banu Nahida, for Creator’s sake. She’d taken on peris, ifrit, and her murderous aunt. Surely she could get over this.

She took another step and then another, until the water was at her knees. Her waist. Nahri traced patterns over the surface in an effort to stay calm. The bottom was slippery and uneven, and it was a struggle to keep her footing steady. She stopped for a moment to take a deep breath, distracting herself with the rich smell of silty air and the sweet birdsong from the nearby woods. This wasn’t so bad.

She kept going, the water soaking through her dress and then up and over her chest. It lapped at her shoulders . . . and then it was suddenly too much. Nahri quickly stepped back—too quickly. She disturbed a few of the rocks making up the riverbed, and a muscular, serpentine body shot past her legs, lashing her ankles.

It was only a water snake. She knew it; Nahri could see it swimming away. But memories were already rushing over her. Their boat burning as it sank and the Nile closing over her head. The dead fingers of ghouls dragging her down and the burning in her lungs as she fought for just one more breath, one more moment before the darkness closed in.

Nahri flailed backward, desperate to get out of the water. She slipped. The river’s surface rushed up to claim her . . .

A pair of arms caught her. “You’re all right,” Ali said softly.

She squeezed her eyes against the prick of tears, embarrassed and furious. “I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward. You’re the bravest person I know.” Ali stroked back the hair from her face, letting Nahri rest against his chest. “Just breathe.”

His voice was a soothing murmur, mingling with the sound of the current, and so cradled in his arms, Nahri tried to do just that, breathing steadily in and out. She was safe. There were no ifrit, no ghouls. No soldiers to dodge or wars to fight.

Eventually her heart stopped racing. Ali wordlessly eased her back to her feet, keeping one hand on her waist as she found her footing. “Better?” he asked.

She turned to face him and was promptly lost for any coherent response. Ali had bent to remain eye level with her, the river coursing over his shoulders like a liquid cape. The water’s gleam reflected in his eyes, a silvery haze stealing over the black-dappled gold. Nahri had long ago gotten used to his changed appearance, but in his river, Ali was downright otherworldly, and there was no getting accustomed to it. Mist roiled off his frame, curling to surround them, and she was suddenly very aware of the press of his hands through her wet dress. He was close, so close she could have tasted the beads of water on his lips, wrapped her legs around his waist, and then . . .

Suleiman’s eye, this is what led to a bunch of your ancestors drowning in the Nile after an encounter with Sobek.

Nahri shivered, trying to shake off the fog of desire that had replaced her panic. Neither was helpful, and she had yet to inform Ali how alluring he was in his river. He would probably do something annoying and overly honorable, like insist again Mishmish was not a proper chaperone.

Or you could let yourself have him. But Nahri knew that Ali didn’t want a simple tryst in the water. He wanted more, so much more. And there were times Nahri thought she did too—if fantasizing about having someone to come home to, someone who would make her bad tea and read books in bed on a lazy day, didn’t send her into a spiral envisioning all the dreadful ways she could lose just that. Nahri still cajoled her grandfather into a Nahid examination once a month, half convinced the very act of meeting her had shortened his lifespan. What she might dare to build with Ali . . . it seemed too fragile to hope for, let alone speak aloud.

But you don’t need to speak it aloud. Not today. That was the point of the velvet bag waiting back at the riverbank. It was to be a small step, a stand-in for the words her still-healing heart would not yet let her say.

“Better,” she finally replied, trying to bring a casual smile to her face. “How long have you been spying on me?”

Ali looked like he knew she was lying, but he didn’t press it. “No spying, I swear. I was in the lake, and I felt you enter the water, but I was having a hard time pulling free of the currents. Then . . . there was sort of a jolt—your distress, I guess? And suddenly I was here.” He shook his head. “I will never understand marid magic. I’m probably just lucky thinking of you didn’t send me straight to the Nile.”

“I’m sure Sobek would have been thrilled.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sobek is the reason I was in the lake to begin with. He says if I spend more time with my ‘kin,’ I’ll be able to better control my abilities.”

“And how’s that going?”

Ali’s mouth twisted into an abashed grin. “I think a frog tried to break into my mind. There were all these memories of hopping around and eating flies . . .” He made a gagging sound. “Let’s just say I didn’t mind being summoned to your side.”

Nahri burst into laughter. “Do you think the council members you’re forced to abandon once a week to ‘maintain our relationship with the marid’ have any idea it involves getting in the mind of a frog?”

“I hope to God not. They’d probably take my ideas less seriously.” His eyes twinkled. “Are you up to walking back to shore?”

With the heady river magic still swirling around them, Nahri was far more interested in re-creating the situation that had led to him shirtless beneath her back in Ta Ntry—minus the bloody surgery and marid ultimatum. But Ali had made himself clear back then how he felt about a physical relationship outside marriage and Nahri was trying to respect it. Mostly.

“Sure,” she said, forcing a false cheer into her voice.

They made their way back to the riverbank. Nahri was trying extremely hard not to look at him—she had not missed that Ali wasn’t wearing the reptilian armor that typically covered his torso—but by the time they were pushing through the reeds, he was shivering so badly, she could not help but notice.

“Cold?” she asked as he dashed for his shirt.

“Always,” he replied, pulling it over his head. “Ever since . . . well, you know.”

Nahri’s gaze again fell upon the flint he’d used to light a fire, and her heart twisted. “I don’t understand how you don’t hate the marid for what they took from you.”

“Because I am tired of hate, and I understand why they did it. Besides . . .” He scratched Mishmish behind his ears and then returned to her side. “I cannot deny the abilities the marid granted me in return don’t carry their own blessings.”

Nahri wasn’t as forgiving, but today wasn’t the day to make Ali dwell on his sacrifice. Instead she handed over her shawl. “Take it . . . no, take it,” she insisted, wrapping the garment around his shoulders before he could argue. “Stop being stubborn. I don’t need it, and we have a long walk back to Daevabad. Surely you know I’ve been sent to fetch you.”

Alarm flashed in his golden eyes. “Fetch me?”

“Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?”

“Yes.” Ali groaned. “I begged Dhiru to keep it to himself. He promised.”

“Oh, Ali, have you met your brother? He lied.” Nahri grinned. “Happy quarter century, my friend.” When Ali merely looked more crestfallen, she lightly swatted his arm. “What is wrong with you? Don’t tell me you wanted to spend your birthday swapping minds with a fly-eating frog instead of celebrating with friends?”

Ali shuddered. “I’m not a birthday person. I don’t like everyone making a fuss over me; it’s so very awkward and undeserved. Especially for my quarter century. You know the kind of jokes people make about marriage and—oh my God.” Horror lit his expression. “You said fetch me. Muntadhir is throwing a party, isn’t he?”

“He’s decorating my house as we speak. He’s been planning it for weeks, and you will act surprised and happy and attempt to enjoy yourself.” When Ali appeared even more stricken, Nahri reached out to take his face in her hands. “Alizayd al Qahtani, you have confronted deadlier foes than a party with people who love you and some inappropriate jokes. You can survive this, trust me.” She brushed the back of her knuckles down his beard, and the protest she saw brewing in his expression turned flustered.

He caught her hand. “Your house? I hope we’re not intruding.”

“I insisted. I knew it would keep the guest list small—a favor for which you owe me. Add it to the debt.” Nahri tucked his arm under hers to prevent any escape and then beckoned Mishmish to follow. “Come. The walk back will give you time to steel yourself.”

They returned to the narrow path, leaving the river behind. “How did your case go this morning?” Ali asked.

“Pretty good. I still don’t know how Yusef managed to make wings sprout from his back, but a few of my students are chasing down theories.” Nahri shook her head, thinking fondly of her physicians-in-training. “Every day I thank the Creator we took them on when we did instead of waiting longer. They’re such a great group. Hani and Rufaida are already talking about building clinics in other parts of the city when they graduate.”

“That would be wonderful. It would certainly ease pressure on the hospital anyway.” Ali glanced down at her, concern crossing his face. “And hopefully lessen your own burden. I worry about you, Nahri. Your grandfather told me you’ve taken to sleeping in your office some nights.”

“Says the man who passes out in council meetings.”

“That’s different. I would challenge even the most alert person alive to stay awake during those interminable meetings.”

Ali said the words lightly, but she could hear the weariness in his voice. They weren’t fools; they had always known rebuilding Daevabad would be difficult, the work of a lifetime. But there were some days when that work was truly grueling, when the promise of peace, let alone political stability, seemed so very far away.

Nahri squeezed his hand. “It will get better,” she promised. “For both of us. It already has. And you don’t have to worry about any of that tonight.”

They kept walking. The sun was low in the sky, filtering straight through the trees to cast a warm glow upon the forest. Nahri traced her fingers along a mossy outcropping of rock as they passed, and tiny blue flowers erupted in the wake of her touch.

A gift from the father she would never know. Nahri was still struggling to make peace with what she’d learned of her parents’ loss—the life together of which they’d all been robbed. It seemed like so many promising starts stomped out. Their fragile love. Her father’s dream of returning to Daevabad and raising Nahri as his own. The little home and life Duriya had cobbled together back in Egypt. Her parents had worked so hard to build something, only to see it all crumble down. Or, rather, be torn apart.

But at least they had the courage to try—a courage Nahri now attempted to summon, gripping the strap of her bag.

“So . . . ,” she started. “Your mother must be very excited for today. She’s probably been making lists and vetting candidates for months.”

Ali gave her a baffled look. “Candidates?”

Oh, Creator . . . between his obliviousness and her anxiety, Nahri could not imagine this conversation proceeding effectively. “Well, you can marry now, can’t you?” she asked, approaching the topic more directly. “Considering that Zaynab seems more content to adventure with Aqisa around the world, you’re Hatset’s best hope for grandchildren.”

He snorted. “You must be reading my mail. Her letters have gone from hinting to openly reminding me of her age, my age, and the years I’m depriving her of such grandchildren. No candidates, though. I think I’ve made my wishes clear to her.”

“Oh?”

“I have no time for marriage.”

Wait, what? Nahri jerked to a halt. “Just to clarify . . . you think I spend too much time working, and now you’re ready commit to eternal bachelordom so you can die alone adjusting tax rates?”

“Your dismissal of economics offends me.” But Ali had stopped as well. “And no, I hope not to delay marriage forever. It’s just that right now, I prefer to spend the little free time I have swapping minds with frogs and balancing the books of a very particular Banu Nahida.” His voice softened. “I wouldn’t want to lose that.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe he wasn’t so oblivious. “And what if the books were really unbalanced?” she whispered. “What if they took years to sort out?”

Ali smiled, and Nahri felt herself fall. She wanted to wrap herself in the sweetness of that smile and stay in it forever.

“I’m very good at accounting, and I have the patience of a Nile lord.” Ali stepped closer. “Nahri, there’s no deadline to heal by. To get over your fear of water or to make . . . other decisions. Truly. This is only the beginning of our story. Your story. And you can make it whatever you want it to be.”

It was about the most promising answer she could hope for, and yet for a moment, Nahri hesitated, still uncertain. Right now, they were both still dancing around the subject. If she handed over her bag—

Have the courage your parents did.

“Then I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?”

Nahri nodded and took Ali’s hand, pulling him to sit beside her on a large, flat rock just beyond the path. “It’s for your birthday, but I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone. In case you don’t like it. Or don’t want to use it.”

“I can’t imagine not liking any gift you picked out for me,” Ali replied. “Though you didn’t need to go to the trouble. I know how busy you are.”

“You tracked down half the Egyptians in the city to design my office while you were busy restoring the hospital.”

Ali grinned again. “That was different. I’m in your debt.”

Nahri returned his smile but it faded as her heart rose to her throat. She normally never had a problem with her words; she could tease and curse, command and con the most silver-tongued tricksters and menacing tyrants. But this spilling of her heart was still so hard.

But you have spilled your heart to him before. That’s why you’re here now. “It was actually the office that gave me the idea,” she said. “Do you remember what you told me that night at the hospital, when I was making a fool of myself pining for Egypt?”

A somber expression clouded across his face. So much violence had followed that last peaceful night when they celebrated the hospital’s opening. “That you weren’t being a fool to miss your human homeland,” he said softly. “That those were your roots and they made you who you are.”

“It was the first time anyone in Daevabad said anything like that to me. The only time really. You were the first person to actually see me, see all of me, and find the parts I couldn’t reconcile with one another—Egyptian and Daeva, shafit and Nahid, thief and healer—stronger together.” Nahri took a deep breath, forcing herself to hold Ali’s gaze. “I would like to do the same for you.”

Ali swallowed loudly. Both of them knew what she was talking about. If Ali had felt torn between his parents’ peoples, it was nothing compared to the situation he was in now. The situation he would be in for the rest of his life as the ambassador between the marid and the djinn.

“All right,” he breathed, his voice shaky. “That must be an astonishingly powerful bag.”

Nahri could not help a nervous laugh, the knot of anxiety in her chest loosening just a bit. “It’s what’s in the bag. I had a patient a while back, an artist from Ta Ntry who sculpts all sorts of talismans and jewelry from rock salt. The pieces are stunning; she gave me a beautiful necklace but warned me to keep it away from water. Too much moisture, too much heat, and it would dissolve. I . . . well, I had her make something for you.”

Ali gave her a quizzical look. “I can see the Ayaanle connection, but I’m not sure I should be handling anything that dissolves in water.”

“It’s meant to dissolve,” Nahri explained, her heart racing as she handed over the bag. “That’s the Geziri part.”

Still frowning in confusion, Ali took the bag. It seemed to take an eternity for him to unlace the ties holding it closed, but then he was pulling out the silk-wrapped package that had been nestled inside. He unwound the cloth.

He went completely still.

It was a mask, masterfully carved of solid pink salt. It glittered wildly in the sunlight, like a jewel with a thousand facets. A swirling pattern of stars and diamonds, apples and iris blossoms twinkled over the arched cutouts meant for eyes and the graceful slope to accommodate a nose.

Ali’s throat audibly caught. “Is this . . .”

“It’s a marriage mask,” she stammered out. “Or at least—it could be. It won’t burn to ash like the wooden ones, but I figured if you used your marid abilities, you could make it dissolve.” Her face was burning with mortification, but she pressed on. “It didn’t seem fair that you would miss out on such an important Geziri wedding tradition because you gave up your fire magic.”

“You got me a marriage mask,” Ali repeated, sounding shocked. His eyes had locked on the gift. “I . . . did you have someone in mind who would wear it?”

Yes! her heart seemed to sing even as sheer terror tore through it at the prospect of such a blunt declaration.

“Someone who still needs time,” Nahri said instead. “Someone who’s trying—really trying—to build a life here despite this constant fear that the moment she’s happy, it will all be torn apart.” Tears stung in her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away, embarrassed. “But someone who hopes her feelings are clear, even if she can’t say them yet.”

“Oh, Nahri.” Ali reached for her hand. “I don’t know whether to weep or to kiss you. One would probably be a rather alarming response and the other is forbidden.” He finally met her gaze and no matter what he said, his eyes were already wet and Nahri did not miss the desire burning there. “Your feelings are clear, my light,” he said in Arabic. “I hope mine are too.”

A weight seemed to slip—slip, not fall entirely—from her shoulders. “Are you sure? If you don’t want to wait, I would understand. There are no names carved . . .”

“There is only one name I want carved next to mine on this mask.” Clearly unable to resist bending the rules a little, Ali brought her hand to his mouth and lightly, so lightly it might have been a brush of the wind, kissed her knuckles.

The brief graze of his lips sent an unfair amount of heat unspooling in her belly. “Thank the Creator,” she breathed. “I was so nervous.”

“You don’t need to be nervous.” With his other hand, Ali traced the edge of the mask. “This is the kindest, most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me. I will find a safe place for it. Take your time. And when you’re ready . . .” The small clouds of fog that tended to drift around his feet had been roiling like thunderstorms, but they steadied now, misting against her skin. “We’ll write our story.”

Nahri waited for the panic to steal over her. The forest, typically full of birdsong and the chitter of various magical animals flitting from branch to branch, had gone quiet and soft. This moment was too sweet, too promising. But the urge to distance herself from it, to wall off her heart and protect herself from any future hurt, didn’t come, and that itself seemed a hopeful sign.

Still she could not help but ask, half teasing, “Do you think it will be a happy one?”

Ali smiled at her. “I do.”