Too late, Nahri remembered that the door opened on to a staircase.
Muntadhir grunted as she hit him hard in the stomach and then he cried out as he lost his balance. They tumbled down the stairs, various limbs bashing against the dusty stone before they landed in a heap at the bottom.
Pinned beneath her, Muntadhir swore. Nahri gasped, the wind knocked from her lungs. Her abilities were still dulled from the iron cuffs, and she was bruised and battered, a searing pain running down her left wrist.
Muntadhir blinked and then his eyes went wide, locking on something past her shoulder. “Run!” he cried, scrambling to his feet and yanking her up.
They fled. “Your relic!” Nahri wheezed. In the opposite corridor from the one they’d taken, someone cried out in Geziriyya. Then, chillingly, the wail abruptly cut out into silence. “Take out your relic!”
He reached for it as they ran, his fingers fumbling.
Nahri glanced over her shoulder, horrified to see the coppery haze lapping toward them like a hungry, malevolent wave. “Muntadhir!”
He yanked it out, hurling the copper bolt away just as the vapor engulfed them. Nahri held her breath, terrified. And then it passed, rushing down the corridor.
Muntadhir fell to his knees, shaking so hard Nahri could hear his teeth rattling. “What the hell was that?” he gasped.
Her heart was pounding, the echo throbbing in her head. “I have no idea.”
Tears were running down his face. “My father … Kaveh. I’ll kill him.” He staggered to his feet and turned back toward the way they had come, one hand braced on the wall.
Nahri moved to block him. “That’s not what’s important right now.”
He glared at her, suspicion crossing his face. “Did you—”
“No!” she snapped. “Really, Muntadhir? I just threw myself down a stairwell to save you.”
He flushed. “I’m sorry. I just … he …” His voice cracked, and he wiped his eyes roughly.
The grief laced in his words dulled her temper. “I know.” She cleared her throat, holding her bound wrists out. “Would you get this off me?”
He pulled free his khanjar, quickly slicing through the cloth binds and helping her out of the iron cuffs. She inhaled, relieved as her powers burned through her veins, her blistered skin and dark bruises instantly healing.
Muntadhir had opened his mouth to speak again when a voice echoed down the hall. “Banu Nahida!”
It was Kaveh.
Nahri clapped a hand over her husband’s lips, dragging him into the shadows. “Let’s not find out if he has any other tricks up his sleeve,” she whispered. “We need to warn the rest of the Geziris in the palace.”
Even in the shadows, she could see his face pale. “You think it will spread that far?”
“Did it look like it was stopping?”
“Fuck.” It seemed an appropriate answer. “My God, Nahri … do you know how many Geziris are in the palace?”
She nodded grimly.
There was a sudden rumble, the floor shuddering beneath their feet. It lasted only a second, and then was gone.
Nahri braced herself. “What was that?”
Muntadhir shuddered. “I don’t know. It feels like the entire island just shook.” He ran a hand nervously over his beard. “That vapor … do you have any idea what it might be?”
Nahri shook her head. “No. It looked somewhat similar to the poison used on your brother, though, didn’t it?”
“My brother.” Her husband’s expression darkened and then panic swept his face. “My sister.”
“Muntadhir, wait!” Nahri cried.
But he was already running.
ZAYNAB’S APARTMENTS WEREN’T CLOSE, AND BY THE time they made it to the harem garden, Muntadhir and Nahri were both thoroughly out of breath. The scarf she’d tied around her head in the hospital was long gone, her curls plastered to her damp skin.
“Jamshid was always telling me I should exercise more,” Muntadhir panted. “I should have listened.”
Jamshid. His name was like a knife to her heart.
She darted a look at Muntadhir. Well, there was one situation that had just grown more complicated. “Your father had him arrested,” she said.
“I know,” Muntadhir replied. “Why do you think I was banging down the door? I heard Wajed took him out of the city. Did my father tell Kaveh where?”
“Out of the city? No, your father said nothing about that.”
Muntadhir groaned in frustration. “I should have stopped all this sooner. When I heard he had you as well …” He trailed off, sounding angry with himself. “Did he at least tell you what he wanted with Jamshid?”
Nahri hesitated. Ghassan might have been a monster, but he was still Muntadhir’s father, and Nahri didn’t need to add to her husband’s grief right now. “Ask me later.”
“If we’re alive later,” Muntadhir muttered. “Ali finally lost his mind, by the way. He seized the Citadel.”
“It would seem an excellent night to be in the Citadel instead of the palace.”
“Fair point.” They crossed under the delicate archway leading to the pavilion that fronted Zaynab’s apartment. A rich teak platform floated over the canal, framed by the wispy fronds of slender palm trees.
Zaynab was there, perched on a striped linen couch and examining a scroll. Relief coursed through Nahri, followed swiftly by confusion when she saw who was seated with the princess.
“Aqisa?”
Muntadhir marched across the platform. “Of course you’re here. Doing my brother’s dirty work, I assume?”
Aqisa leaned back, a move that revealed the sword and the khanjar belted at her waist. Looking unbothered, she took a leisurely sip of coffee from the paper-thin porcelain cup in her hand before responding. “He asked me to convey a message.”
Zaynab deftly rolled the scroll back up, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “It seems Ali was quite inspired by our last conversation,” she said, tripping over the last words. “He wants us to remove Abba.”
Muntadhir’s face crumpled. “We’re beyond that, Zaynab.” He sank into the couch beside his sister, gently taking her hand. “Abba is dead.”
Zaynab jerked back. “What?” When he didn’t say anything further, her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh God … please don’t tell me Ali—”
“Kaveh.” Muntadhir reached for his sister’s relic, carefully removing it from her ear. “He unleashed some sort of magical vapor that targets these.” He held up the relic before hurling it away into the depths of the garden. “It’s bad, Zaynab. I watched it kill four guards in a matter of seconds.”
At that, Aqisa ripped out her own relic, sending it flying into the night.
Zaynab had started to cry. “Are you sure? Are you sure he’s really dead?”
Muntadhir hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, ukhti.”
Not wanting to intrude on the grieving siblings, Nahri edged closer to Aqisa. “You came from the Citadel? Is Ali all right?”
“He has an army and isn’t trapped in a palace with some murderous mist,” Aqisa replied. “I’d say he’s doing better than we are.”
Nahri looked out at the dark garden, her thoughts roiling. The king was dead, the grand wazir was a traitor, the Qaid was gone, and Ali—the only one of them with military experience—was involved in a mutiny across the city.
She took a deep breath. “I … I think that leaves us in charge.”
The night sky abruptly darkened further—which Nahri thought a rather apt response. But when she glanced up, her mouth went dry. A half-dozen smoky, equine shapes with wings of flashing fire were racing toward the palace.
Aqisa followed her gaze and then grabbed her, pulling her swiftly inside the apartment. Zaynab and Muntadhir were right behind them. As they bolted the door, they heard several thudding crashes and the distant echo of screams.
“I don’t think Kaveh is working alone,” Muntadhir whispered, his face ashen.
Three pairs of gray-toned eyes settled on her. “I have nothing to do with this,” Nahri protested. “My God, do you really think I’d be in your company if I did? Surely you both know me better than that.”
“I believe that,” Zaynab muttered.
Muntadhir sank to the floor. “Then who could he be working with? I’ve never seen magic like this.”
“I don’t think that’s what’s most important right now,” Zaynab said softly. There were more shouts from somewhere deep in the palace, and they all went quiet for a moment listening before Zaynab continued. “Nahri … could the poison spread to the rest of the city?”
Nahri recalled the wild energy of the vapor that had chased them and nodded slowly. “The Geziri Quarter,” she whispered, voicing the fear she could see in Zaynab’s eyes. “My God, if it reaches there …”
“They need to be warned at once,” Aqisa said. “I will go.”
“As will I,” Zaynab declared.
“Oh no, you won’t,” Muntadhir replied. “If you think I’m about to let my little sister go dashing off while the city is under attack—”
“Your little sister isn’t asking permission, and there are people who will believe my word more readily than Aqisa’s. And you’re needed here. Both of you,” Zaynab added, nodding at Nahri. “Dhiru, if Abba is dead, you need to retrieve the seal. Before Kaveh or whoever he’s working with figures out how to do so.”
“Suleiman’s seal?” Nahri repeated. She hadn’t even given a thought to that—the king’s succession seemed a world away. “Is it with your father?”
Muntadhir looked like he was about to be sick. “Something like that. We’d need to get back to him. To his body.”
Aqisa locked eyes with Zaynab. “The chest,” she said simply.
Zaynab nodded and beckoned them farther into her apartment. It was as rich and finely appointed as Muntadhir’s, though not as cluttered with artwork. Or wine cups.
The princess knelt beside a large, elaborate wooden chest and whispered an unlocking charm over it. As the lid sprang open Nahri peered inside.
It was entirely filled with weapons. Sheathed daggers and scimitars wrapped in silk rested beside an oddly lovely mace, a crossbow, and some sort of barbed, jeweled chain.
Nahri didn’t know whose expression was more shocked, hers or Muntadhir’s. “My God,” she said. “You really are Ali’s sister.”
“What … where did you …,” Muntadhir began weakly.
Zaynab looked slightly flustered. “She’s been teaching me,” she explained, nodding to Aqisa.
The warrior woman was already selecting blades, looking unbothered by Nahri and Muntadhir’s reactions. “A Geziri woman her age should have mastered at least three weapons. I have been making up for an abominable lapse in her education.” She pressed a sword and the crossbow into Zaynab’s hands and then clucked her tongue. “Stop trembling, sister. You’ll do fine.”
Nahri shook her head, and then considered the chest, knowing well her limitations. Quickly, she pulled out a pair of small daggers, the heft reminding her of something she might have used to cut purses back in Cairo. For a moment, she thought longingly of Dara’s blade back in her room.
I wish I’d had a few more knife-throwing lessons with him, she thought. Not to mention that the legendary Afshin would have probably made for a better partner in a palace under siege than her visibly skittish husband.
She took a deep breath. “Anything else?”
Zaynab shook her head. “We’ll sound the alarm in the Geziri Quarter and then head to the Citadel to alert Ali. He can lead the Royal Guard back. Warn every Geziri you see in the palace, and tell them to do the same.”
Nahri swallowed. It could be hours before Ali returned with the Guard. She and Muntadhir would be on their own—facing God only knew what—until then.
“You can do this,” Zaynab said. “You have to.” She hugged her brother. “Fight, Dhiru. There will be time for grief, but right now, you’re our king, and Daevabad comes first.” Her voice grew fierce. “I’ll be back with your Qaid.”
Muntadhir gave a jerky nod. “God be with you.” He glanced at Aqisa. “Please keep my sister safe.” He nodded toward the pavilion. “Take the stairs we came from. There’s a passage close by that leads to the stables.”
Zaynab and Aqisa left swiftly. “Are you ready?” Nahri asked when she and Muntadhir were alone.
He laughed as he strapped a wicked-looking sword to his waist. “Not in the slightest. You?”
“God, no.” Nahri grabbed another needle-sharp dagger and flipped it into her sleeve. “Let’s go die.”