The Kingdom of Copper. S. Chakraborty A.
a single cloud marred the bright, fathomless blue of Daevabad’s sky. The three of them were waiting at the front of the city’s once grand port. Though the docks were still serviceable, the rest of the port was in ruins and apparently had been for centuries. Weeds grew through the cracked paving stones and the decorative granite columns lay smashed. The only hint of the port’s ancient grandeur was behind her, in the gleaming brass facades of her ancestors on the city’s mighty walls.
Ahead was the lake, the misty-green mountains of the opposite shore melting into a thin, pebbly beach. The lake itself was still, its murky water cursed long ago by the marid during some forgotten feud with the Nahid Council. It was a curse Nahri tried very hard not to think about. Nor did she let her gaze drift southward to where the high cliffs beneath the palace met the dark water. What had happened on that stretch of the lake five years ago was a thing she didn’t dwell on.
The air shimmered and sparked, pulling Nahri’s attention to the center of the lake.
The Ayaanle had arrived.
The ship that emerged from the veil looked like something out of a fairy tale, slipping through the mists with a grace that belied its size. Nahri had grown up along the Nile and was used to boats, to the thicket of sleek feluccas, fishing canoes, and loaded trade transports that glided over the wide river in a ceaseless flow. But this ship was nothing like any of those. It looked large enough to fit hundreds, its dark teak dazzling in the sunlight as it floated lightly upon the lake. Teal banners adorned with the icons of studded golden pyramids and starry silver salt tablets flew from the masts. Its many amber-colored sails—and Nahri counted at least a dozen—dwarfed the glimmering decks. Segmented and ribbed, the sails looked more like wings than anything that belonged on a boat, and they shivered and undulated in the wind like living things.
Awed, Nahri drew closer to the Qahtani siblings. “How did they get a ship here?” The only land beyond the magical threshold that embraced Daevabad’s vast lake and misty mountains was composed of immense stretches of rocky desert.
“Because it’s not just any ship.” Zaynab grinned. “It’s a sandship. The Sahrayn invented them. They’re careful to keep the magic behind them a secret, but a skilled captain can fly across the world with one of those.” She sighed, her gaze admiring and rueful. “The Sahrayn charge the Ayaanle a fortune to use them, but they do make a statement.”
Muntadhir didn’t look as impressed by the lovely ship. “Interesting that the Ayaanle can afford such a thing when Ta Ntry’s taxes have been chronically short.”
Nahri’s gaze flickered to her husband’s face. Though Muntadhir had never directly spoken to her of Daevabad’s economic problems, they were obvious to everyone—especially the Banu Nahida who healed the training injuries of soldiers as they griped about reduced rations and undid the hexes the increasingly frazzled Treasury secretaries had begun hurling at one another. Fortunately, the downturn had yet to largely affect her Daevas—mostly because they’d cut themselves off from trading with the other tribes after Ghassan had tacitly allowed the Daeva stalls to be destroyed and their merchants harassed in the Grand Bazaar after Dara’s death. Why take the risk of trading with djinn if none would stand up to protect them?
The Ayaanle ship drifted nearer, its sails fanning out as deckhands in brightly striped linen and thick gold ornaments dashed about the boat. On the top deck, a chimeralike creature with a feline body covered in ruby scales strained at a golden harness, flashing horns that shone like diamonds and whipping a serpentine tail.
The ship had no sooner docked than a knot of passengers made their way toward the royal party. Among them was a man dressed in voluminous teal robes and a silver turban that wrapped his head and neck.
“Emir Muntadhir.” He smiled and bowed low. “Peace be upon you.”
“And upon you peace,” Muntadhir returned politely. “Rise.”
The Ayaanle man did so, aiming what seemed to be a far sincerer grin at Zaynab. “Little princess, how you’ve grown!” He laughed. “You do this old coin-changer a great honor, coming to greet me yourself.”
“The honor is mine,” Zaynab assured him with a grace Nahri would never have the patience to emulate. “I pray your journey went well?”
“God be praised.” The man turned to Nahri, his gold eyes lighting in surprise. “Is this the Nahid girl?” He blinked, and Nahri didn’t miss the way he stepped back ever so slightly.
“This is my wife,” Muntadhir corrected, his voice considerably cooler.
Nahri met the man’s eyes, drawing up as she pulled her chador close. “I am the Banu Nahida,” she said through her veil. “I hear you are called Abul Dawanik.”
He bowed. “You hear correctly.” His gaze didn’t leave her, the examination making her skin crawl. He shook his head. “Astonishing. I never imagined I’d meet a real Nahid.”
Nahri gritted her teeth. “Occasionally we’re allowed out to terrify the populace.”
Muntadhir cleared his throat. “I have made room for your men and your cargo at the royal caravanserai. I would be happy to escort you there myself.”
Abul Dawanik sighed. “Alas, there’s little cargo. My people needed more time to prepare the tax caravan.”
Muntadhir’s civil mask didn’t waver, but Nahri sensed his heartbeat pick up. “That was not the arrangement we agreed on.” The warning in his voice was so reminiscent of Ghassan, her skin prickled. “You are aware of how close Navasatem is, yes? It is a bit difficult to plan a once-in-a-century celebration when tax payments are consistently late.”
Abul Dawanik threw him a wounded look. “Straight to all this talk of money, Emir? The Geziri hospitality I’m used to typically involves chattering about polite nonsense for at least another ten minutes.”
Muntadhir’s response was direct. “Perhaps you would prefer my father’s company to mine.”
Abul Dawanik didn’t look cowed; if anything, Nahri saw a hint of slyness in his expression before he responded. “No need for threats, Your Highness. The caravan is but a few weeks behind me.” His eyes twinkled. “No doubt you will enjoy what it brings you.”
From behind the city walls, the adhan sounded, calling the faithful to noon prayer. It rose and fell in distant waves as new muezzins picked it up, and Nahri fought a familiar twinge of homesickness. The adhan always made her think of Cairo.
“Dhiru, surely this can wait,” Zaynab said, clearly trying to alleviate the tension between the two men. “Abul Dawanik is our guest. He has had a long journey. Why don’t the two of you go pray together and then visit the caravanserai? I can take Nahri back to the palace.”
Muntadhir didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t protest. “Do you mind?” he asked Nahri courteously.
Do I have a choice? Zaynab’s bearers were already bringing their litter over, the pretty cage that would return Nahri to her gilded prison. “Of course not,” she muttered, turning away from the lake to follow her sister-in-law.
They didn’t talk much on the way back. Zaynab appeared absorbed in her thoughts, and Nahri was happy to rest her eyes before returning to the bustling infirmary.
But the litter shuddered to a stop too soon. Nahri jolted from her half doze and rubbed her eyes, frowning as she caught sight of Zaynab hastily pulling off some of her jewelry. Nahri watched as she piled it on the cushion beside her, and then from beneath the brocade-covered seat, retrieved two plain cotton abayas, pulling one over her silk gown.
“Are we being robbed?” Nahri asked, half-hoping it might be true. Being robbed would mean a delay in returning to the palace and Ghassan’s constant, watchful presence.
Zaynab neatly wrapped a dark shawl around her hair. “Of course not. I’m going for a walk.”
“A walk?”
“You’re not the only one who wants to escape