Two weeks after her barbed family breakfast, Nahri found herself back in the hospital, watching Razu with rapt attention. “Beautiful,” she said admiringly, as the ancient Tukharistani gambler swapped the jewels again, a sleight of hand that betrayed nothing as Razu set down a brilliant glass gem in front of her—a pretty bauble, but certainly not the ruby that had vanished. “And it’s not magic?”
“Not at all,” Razu replied. “One cannot overly rely on magic. What if your hands were bound in iron, and you needed to hide away the key you’d snatched?”
“Is that a situation you’ve found yourself in?”
The other woman gave her a cryptic smile. “Of course not. I am a … what are we telling your law-abiding friends again?”
“A former trader from Tukharistan who ran a respectable inn.”
Razu laughed. “Respectability was the last thing my old tavern was known for.” She sighed. “I am telling you … a couple glasses of my soma and your doctor and prince will be agreeing to your every suggestion.”
Nahri shook her head. She was fairly certain a single sip of Razu’s soma would knock Ali out cold, and Subha would probably think they were poisoning her. “Let’s try a more orthodox approach first. Though I would not be averse to you teaching me how to do that,” she said, pointing to the glass gem.
“I am at my Banu Nahida’s service,” Razu replied, placing the gem in Nahri’s palm and adjusting her fingers. “So you twist your hand like this and …”
From the other side of the courtyard came a disapproving cluck. Elashia, the freed djinn from Qart Sahar, was painting a turtle she’d carved from cedarwood. Nahri had brought her the paints, an act that had been greeted with wet eyes and a fierce hug.
But right now Elashia was looking at Razu with open disapproval. “What?” Razu asked. “The child wants to learn a skill. Who am I to deny her?” When Elashia turned back around with a sigh, Razu flashed Nahri a conspiratorial smile. “When she is out of sight, I will teach you a spell to give even a rock the appearance of a jewel.”
But Nahri’s gaze was still on the Sahrayn woman. “Does she ever speak?” she asked softly, switching to Razu’s archaic dialect of Tukharistani.
Sadness swept the older djinn’s face. “Not often. Sometimes with me, when we are alone, but it took years. She was freed decades ago, but she never speaks of her time in slavery. A companion of mine brought her to my tavern after finding her living on the streets, and she’s been with me since. Rustam told me once he believed his grandfather freed her, and that she had been enslaved for nearly five hundred years. She is a gentle soul,” she added as Elashia blew on the turtle and then let it go, smiling as it came to life and tottered along the edge of the fountain. “I cannot imagine how she survived.”
Nahri watched her, but it wasn’t Elashia she saw in her mind’s eye. It was Dara, whose captivity had been three times as long as Elashia’s. However, Dara had remembered almost nothing of his imprisonment—and the few recollections they’d shared together had been ghastly enough that he’d confessed to being relieved such memories were gone. Nahri hadn’t agreed at the time—it seemed appalling to lose such a huge portion of one’s life. But maybe there had been a mercy in it she hadn’t realized, one of the few Dara had enjoyed.
A crashing came from the entrance. “I take it your friends are here,” Razu said.
Nahri rose to her feet. “I would not call us friends.”
Ali and Subha entered the courtyard. They couldn’t have looked more different: the djinn prince was smiling, his eyes bright with anticipation as he gazed about the ruins. In contrast, apprehension was written in every line of Subha’s body, from her pursed lips to her tightly crossed arms.
“Peace be upon you all,” Ali said in greeting, touching his heart as he caught sight of them. He was in plain Geziri dress today: a white dishdasha that fell to his sandaled feet and a charcoal-colored turban, his zulfiqar and khanjar tucked into a pale green belt. On one shoulder, he was carrying a leather bag full of scrolls.
“And upon you peace.” Nahri turned to Subha, offering a polite bow. “Doctor Sen, it is lovely to see you again. Razu, this is Doctor Subhashini Sen and Prince Alizayd al Qahtani.”
“An honor,” Razu said, bringing her left hand to her brow. “I am Razu Qaraqashi, and this is Elashia. You’ll excuse our third companion for hiding in his room. Issa does not do well with guests.”
Ali made his way forward. “Did you see the seals on the door?” he asked eagerly.
Nahri thought back to the carved pictograms she’d noticed when she first found the hospital. “Yes. Why? What are they?”
“The old tribal sigils,” Ali explained. “They were used before we had a shared written language. The great scholar Grumbates once said—”
“Can we not have a history lesson right now? Another one?” Subha clarified, in a tone that made Nahri suspect the walk to the hospital in the company of the chatty prince had been a long one. Her gaze darted around the courtyard like she expected some sort of magical beast to leap out and attack. “Well … it certainly looks like this place has been abandoned for fourteen centuries.”
“Nothing we can’t fix.” Nahri plastered a grin on her face. She was determined to win over the other healer today. “Would you like some refreshments before we take a tour? Tea?”
“I’m fine,” Subha replied, her expression displeased. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The blunt refusal of her hospitality ruffled something very deep in the Egyptian part of her heart, but Nahri stayed polite. “Certainly.”
Ali stepped in. “I tracked down the hospital’s old plans and had a Daeva architect at the Royal Library go through them with me to draw up notes for us to follow.”
Nahri was taken aback. “That was a good idea.”
“Yes. It is almost as if history lessons are useful,” he sniffed, plucking out one of his scrolls and spreading it before them. “This was always a courtyard. The architect said there were notes about it containing a garden.”
Nahri nodded. “I’d like to keep it that way. I know my patients in the infirmary enjoy the occasional chance to walk around my gardens now. It lifts their spirits.” She glanced at Subha. “Does that seem correct to you?”
The doctor narrowed her eyes. “You did see where I worked, yes? Do you imagine us getting some air near the local uncollected trash piles?”
Nahri flushed. She was itching to find a commonality with this fellow female healer, a physician who, in the brief time Nahri had watched her, seemed to have an abundance of the professional confidence Nahri was still pretending at. She doubted Subha shook like a leaf before new procedures, or desperately prayed she didn’t kill someone every time she performed surgery.
Ali was peering at his notes. “According to this … that domed chamber there was used for humoral disorders of air. It says that tethers were set in the floor to prevent people from injuring themselves while floating …”
“And that?” Nahri prompted, pointing to a line of crumbling columns. She suspected Subha was not ready to discuss rooms designed to enclose flying djinn. “It looks like a corridor.”
“It is. It leads to a surgical wing.”
That sounded more promising. “Let’s start there.”
The three of them headed down the twisting path. The dirt was soft underfoot, the sun shining in bright swaths through the overgrown trees. The air smelled of old stone and fresh rain. It was humid, and Nahri fanned herself with an edge of her linen chador.
The silence between them was heavy. Awkward. And try as she might, Nahri couldn’t forget that the last time Daevas, Geziris, and shafit had been together in this place, they had all been brutally killing one another.
“I’ve been discussing funding options with the Treasury,” Ali said, an oddly pleased smile playing across his mouth. “And after a visit from my companion Aqisa, I find the Ayaanle trade envoy suddenly far more eager to offer financial assistance.”
Subha shook her head, glancing about in dismay. “I cannot imagine turning this into a functioning hospital in six months. With several miracles, perhaps you could do it in six years.”
A golden-brown monkey chose that particular moment to leap over their heads with a screech, jumping from the trees to land upon a broken pillar. It glared at them as it munched a mushy apricot.
“We’ll, ah, have the monkeys cleared out right away,” Nahri said, mortified.
The corridor came to an abrupt stop. The surgical wing was enclosed by thick brass walls that towered overhead, and the one in front of them was covered in scorch marks, the brass melted into an impenetrable barrier.
Nahri touched one of the marks. “I don’t think we’ll be getting in there.”
Ali stepped back, shading his eyes. “It looks as though part of the roof has collapsed. I can climb up and see.”
“You’re not going to be able to—” But Ali was gone before the words left her mouth, his fingers hooking around handholds she couldn’t see.
Subha watched him scale the wall. “If he breaks his neck, I am not taking responsibility.”
“You were never here.” Nahri sighed as Ali pulled himself on the roof and vanished out of sight. “Your daughter is with your husband today?” she asked, determined to continue the conversation.
“I do typically advise that infants steer clear of decaying ruins.”
Nahri had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something sarcastic in return. She was reaching the end of her diplomatic rope. “What’s her name?”
“Chandra.” Subha said, her face softening slightly.
“That’s very pretty,” Nahri replied. “She looked healthy too. Strong, mashallah. She’s doing all right?”
Subha nodded. “She was born earlier than I’d like, but she’s thriving.” Her eyes dimmed. “I’ve seen it go the other way too many times.”
Nahri had too, both in Cairo and in Daevabad. “I had one last week,” she said quietly. “A woman from out in northern Daevastana rushed here after being bitten by a basilisk. She was in her last month of pregnancy, and she and her husband had been trying for decades. I was able to save her, but the child … a basilisk bite is terribly poisonous and I had no good way to administer the antidote. He was stillborn.” Her throat tightened at the memory. “The parents … I don’t think they quite understood.”
“They never do. Not really. Grief clouds the mind, makes people say terrible things.”
Nahri paused. “Does …” She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed. “Does it get easier?”
Subha finally met her gaze, her tin-toned eyes understanding if not warm. “Yes … and no. You learn to distance yourself from it. It’s work; your feelings don’t matter. If anything, they can interfere.” She sighed. “Trust me … one day you’ll go from witnessing the worst of tragedies to smiling and playing with your child in the space of an hour, and you’ll wonder if that’s for the best.” She gazed upon the ruined hospital. “The work is what matters. You fix what you can and keep yourself whole enough to move on to the next patient.”
The words resonated through Nahri, her mind drifting to another patient: the only one she couldn’t heal. “Could I ask you something else?”
Subha nodded briefly.
“Is there anything you recommend for spinal injuries? For a man struggling to walk?”
“Is this about your friend, the grand wazir’s son?” When Nahri’s eyes widened in surprise, Subha tilted her head. “I do my research before agreeing to work with someone.”
“It’s about him,” Nahri admitted. “Actually, you’ll probably meet him soon. He’s my apprentice now. But he took several arrows to the back five years ago, and I haven’t been able to heal him. He’s getting better slowly with exercise and rest but …” She paused. “It feels like a failure on my part.”
Subha looked contemplative, perhaps the medical nature of the conversation drawing her out. “I can examine him if he’s willing. There are some therapies I know that might work.”
Before Nahri could respond, Ali leapt down to join them, landing so silently that she jumped and Subha yelped.
His expression didn’t inspire much hope. “Well … the good news is, it does indeed look like this was a surgical wing. There are even some tools scattered about.”
“What sort of tools?” Nahri asked, her curiosity kindled.
“Hard to say. Much of it is underwater. It appears that a basement collapsed.” Ali paused. “And there are snakes. Lot of them.”
Subha sighed. “This is madness. You are never going to be able to restore this place.”
Nahri hesitated, resignation beginning to seep through her. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Nonsense,” Ali declared, drawing up when Subha glared at him. “Don’t tell me the two of you are ready to give up so soon. Did you think this would be easy?”
“I didn’t think it would be impossible,” Nahri countered. “Look around, Ali. Do you have any idea how many people we would need to even get started?”
“I will by the end of the week,” he said confidently. “And lots of work is not a bad thing—it means we need lots of workers. It means new jobs and training for hundreds, people who will then have money for food and school and shelter. This project is an opportunity. One we haven’t had in generations.”
Subha made a face. “You sound like a politician.”
He grinned. “And you sound like a pessimist. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work together.”
“But the money, Ali,” Nahri replied. “And the timing …”
He made a dismissive gesture. “I can get the money.” An eager glint entered his eye. “I could have trade guilds built around waqfs and increase the tax on luxury imports …” Perhaps seeing that the two healers looked lost, he stopped. “Never mind. The two of you tell me what a hospital needs, and I’ll worry about getting it done.” He turned around without waiting for a response. “Now come. The plans say that building ahead was once the apothecary.”
Subha blinked, looking a little bewildered, but she followed Ali, muttering under her breath about youth. Nahri was equally taken aback—but also grateful. Their personal history aside, maybe partnering with Ali wasn’t the worst idea. He certainly seemed confident.
They continued down the weed-covered path, pushing aside wet palm fronds and glistening spider webs. Columns lay smashed on the ground, half swallowed by thick, twisting vines, and a large black snake sunned itself on the remains of a small pavilion.
They crossed under a forbidding arch and into the darkened chamber of the ancient apothecary. Nahri blinked as her eyes adjusted to the loss of light. Whatever floor had been there was long gone, swallowed by dirt, and only scattered sections of broken masonry were left behind. The distant ceiling had likely once been beautiful; blue and gold bits of tile still clung to its delicately carved and stuccoed surface. A swallow’s nest had been built into one elaborate cornice.
A burst of light briefly blinded her. Nahri glanced back to see that Subha had conjured a dancing pair of flames in one hand.
A challenge lit her face at Nahri’s astonishment. “Surely you know there are shafit capable of magic?”
Better than you would imagine. “Ah, of course,” Nahri said weakly. “I’d been told that.” She turned to study the room. The opposite wall was covered in hundreds of drawers. Though rusted over now, they were linked in a clever structure of metal and marble, their contents held behind securely fastened brass doors. Dozens were still clamped shut, their scrollwork surfaces tarnished by green and red rust.
“Care to see what mysterious magical ingredients look like after being locked away for fourteen centuries?” Nahri jested.
“I would rather not,” Subha replied, knocking Ali’s hand away when the prince reached for one of the handles. “No. The two of you can sate your curiosity when I’m gone.”
Nahri hid a smile. The doctor still looked exasperated, but Nahri would take that over openly hostile. “I think there will be more than enough room for all our supplies here.”
“I suspect so, considering my pharmaceuticals fit inside a single chest,” Subha replied. “I usually have to send patients to buy their own medicines for me to prepare. It’s an expense we can’t spare.”
“You won’t have to pay another coin yourself,” Nahri said smoothly. “Well, as long as our royal backer remains so sure of himself.” She smiled sweetly at him, relishing his glower.
A metal glint caught her eye from the ground. Remembering Ali’s comments about seeing tools in the surgical wing, Nahri knelt. Whatever it was was partially buried, half hidden behind a tree root that had burst through the floor and littered the broken tile with mounds of dark soil.
“What’s that?” Subha asked when Nahri reached for it.
“It looks like a scalpel,” Nahri replied, brushing the dirt away. “But it’s stuck.”
Ali leaned over her. “Pull a bit harder.”
“I am pulling hard.” Nahri gave another determined yank, and the blade abruptly came free, bursting out of the dirt with a spray of dark soil—and the skeletal hand still holding it.
Nahri dropped it, falling backward with a startled shriek. Ali grabbed her arm, yanking her back as his other hand went to his zulfiqar.
Subha peered past them. “Is that a hand?” Her eyes went wide with horror.
Ali quickly let Nahri go. “This place was destroyed during the war,” he said haltingly. Guilt flashed in his eyes. “Maybe … maybe not all those killed were put to rest.”
“Obviously not,” Nahri said acidly. Had Subha not been there, she would have had far sharper words, but Nahri didn’t dare start fighting about the war in front of the already apprehensive doctor.
It was Subha, however, who continued. “It seems a terrible thing to attack a place like this,” she said grimly. “No matter how just a war’s cause.”
Ali was staring at the bones. “Maybe that’s not all that happened here.”
“And what exactly do you think happened here that justified destroying a hospital and slaughtering its healers?” Nahri shot back, infuriated by his response.
“I didn’t say it was justified,” Ali defended. “Just that there might be more to the story.”
“I think I’ve had enough of this particular story,” Subha interrupted, looking ill. “Why don’t we move on and leave digging in the floors to people who can properly take care of these remains?”
Remains. The word seemed cold, clinical. Family, Nahri silently corrected, knowing there was a good chance the person murdered here still clutching a scalpel had been a Nahid. She removed her chador, draping it carefully over the bones. She’d come back here with Kartir.
By the time she straightened up, Subha was already through the apothecary door, but Ali was not.
Nahri grabbed his wrist bfore he could leave. “Is there something about this place you’re not telling me?”
His gaze darted away. “You’re better off not knowing.”
Nahri tightened her grip. “Don’t you dare condescend to me like that. Wasn’t that your reasoning when it came to Dara as well? All those books I wasn’t ‘prepared’ for? How did that turn out for you?”
Ali jerked free. “Everyone knew about Darayavahoush, Nahri. They just couldn’t agree if he was a monster or a hero. What led to this?” He tilted his head to take in the dim room. “It was buried. And if you want a new beginning, it should stay buried.”