The Kingdom of Copper. S. Chakraborty A.

spar in another life.

      He also knew it could be worse. Ali thanked God every day he’d landed with the djinn of Bir Nabat rather than in the hands of any of the dozens who’d tried to kill him since. But the ache when he thought of his family never quite went entirely away.

      Then maybe you should start building one here. Ali rolled onto his back, basking in the warmth of the sun glowing against the tent. In the distance, he could hear children laughing and birds chirping. Bushra’s quiet interest played across his mind, and alone in his tent, Ali would not deny it sent a slight thrill through his body. Daevabad seemed a world away, his father apparently content to forget him. Would it truly be so terrible to allow himself to settle more permanently here, to quietly seize the kind of domestic life he would have never been allowed as Muntadhir’s Qaid?

      Dread crept over him. Yes, it seemed to answer, swallowing the simple fantasies running through his mind’s eye. For in Ali’s experience, dreaming of a better future had only ever led to destruction.

      

      Well, one thing was clear: her Daeva elders did not share Nahri’s enthusiasm about the Nahid hospital.

      Nisreen stared at her. “You slipped away from your guards? Again? Do you have any idea what Ghassan will do if he finds out?”

      “Zaynab made me do it!” Nahri defended herself. Then—realizing it was perhaps a little ungrateful to blame her sister-in-law for an outing she rather enjoyed—she quickly added, “She said she takes such walks often and hasn’t been caught yet. And she promised to take the blame if we were.”

      Kartir looked openly alarmed. The grand priest was normally more indulgent of Nahri’s … unorthodox ways, but this latest misadventure seemed to have shaken his calm. “And you trust her?” he asked, his wiry brows knitting in worry.

      “On this, yes.” Nahri’s relationship with her sister-in-law was a prickly one, but she recognized a woman eager for a little bit of freedom when she saw one. “Now will the two of you stop fretting over everything? This is exciting! Can you imagine it? A Nahid hospital?”

      Kartir and Nisreen shared a look. It was quick, but there was no denying the way the priest’s cheeks flushed in guilt.

      Nahri was instantly suspicious. “You already know of this place? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

      Kartir sighed. “Because what happened to that hospital is neither pleasant nor wise to discuss. I doubt anyone besides the king and a few devoted Daevabadi historians even know anything about it.”

      Nahri frowned at the vague words. “Then how do you two?”

      “Because Banu Manizheh learned of its existence—and of its fate,” Nisreen said quietly. “She was always poring over her family’s old books. She told us.”

      “What do you mean, ‘its fate’?” When neither replied, Nahri’s impatience got the better of her. “Suleiman’s eye, must everything be a seceret here? I learned more from Razu in five minutes than I have from the two of you in five years!”

      “Razu? Baga Rustam’s Razu?” Relief lit Kartir’s face. “Thank the Creator. I feared the worst when her tavern was burned.”

      Nahri felt a pang of sorrow for the kind gambler who’d welcomed her so warmly. “I’m the Banu Nahida. I should have known ifrit slaves were being hunted down.”

      Nisreen and Kartir exchanged another glance. “We thought it best,” Nisreen said finally. “You were still so deep in grief over Dara, and I didn’t want to burden you with the fate of his fellows.”

      Nahri flinched at Dara’s name; she could not deny she had fallen apart in the weeks after his death. “It still wasn’t a decision you should have made on my behalf.” She eyed them. “I cannot be Banu Nahida in the Temple and infirmary and then be treated like a child when it comes to political matters you believe upsetting.”

      “Political matters we think could get you killed,” Nisreen corrected bluntly. “There is more room for error in the Temple and infirmary.”

      “And the hospital?” Nahri pressed. “What political reason could there be to have kept me in the dark about its existence?”

      Kartir stared at his hands. “It’s not because of its existence, Banu Nahida. It’s because of what happened to it during the war.”

      When he fell silent again, an idea struck Nahri. “If you can’t give me a better explanation that that, you’ll force me to find a way back. One of the freed djinn was a historian, and I’m sure he knows.”

      “Absolutely not,” Nisreen cut in quickly, but then she sighed, sounding resigned. “The hospital was the first place to fall when Zaydi al Qahtani took Daevabad. The Nahids inside didn’t even have a chance to flee back to the palace. The shafit revolted the moment Zaydi’s army breached the city walls. They stormed the hospital and murdered every Nahid inside. Every single one, Banu Nahri. From elderly pharmacists to apprentices barely out of childhood.”

      Kartir spoke up, his voice grave as the blood left Nahri’s face. “It was said to have been quite brutal. The Geziris had their zulfiqars, of course, but the shafit fought with Rumi fire.”

      “Rumi fire?” Nahri asked. The term sounded slightly familiar.

      “It’s a human invention,” Nisreen explained. “A substance that sticks like tar and burns even Daeva skin. ‘Fire for the fire worshippers,’ the shafit were said to have shouted.” She dropped her gaze, looking sick. “Some still use it. It’s how the djinn thieves who murdered my parents set our family’s temple ablaze.”

      Guilt swept through Nahri, hard and fast. “Oh, Nisreen, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

      “It’s not your fault,” Nisreen replied. “In truth, I suspect what happened at the Nahid hospital was far worse. I didn’t read the accounts Banu Manizheh did, but she barely spoke for weeks after finding them.”

      “There were some indications that it was an act of revenge,” Kartir added carefully. “The violence … it seemed purposeful.”

      Nisreen scoffed. “The djinn do not need a reason to be violent. It is their nature.”

      The priest shook his head. “Let’s not pretend our tribe doesn’t have blood on its hands, Lady Nisreen. That is not the lesson I would impart to a young Nahid.” A shadow passed across his face. “Banu Manizheh used to speak like that. It was not good for her soul.”

      Nisreen’s eyes narrowed. “She had reason to speak as she did, and you know it.”

      There was a knock on the door. Nisreen instantly fell silent. They might be in the Temple, but one still needed to be wary of speaking ill of the Qahtanis in Daevabad.

      But the man who poked his head in was anything but a spy. “Banu Nahida?” Jamshid tented his fingers together in respect. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the palace sent a litter for you.”

      Nahri scowled. “Because Creator forbid I spend one unauthorized moment in my own temple.” She stood up, glancing at Nisreen. “Are you coming?”

      Nisreen shook her head. “I have some matters to finish here.” She gave Nahri a stern look. “Please resist the urge to take another side trip, I beg you.”

      Nahri rolled her eyes. “I bet my own mother would have been less controlling than you.”

      Nisreen touched her wrist as she passed, an act technically forbidden in the Temple. Her eyes were soft. “But she’s not here, child, so it’s up to us to protect you.”

      The genuine worry in her face cut through some of Nahri’s annoyance. For their many