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It was a quiet, barely audible, sniffling sound that roused Dara from his sleep. Then a set of delicate, trembling fingers running down the bare skin of his back.
“Nahri?” Dara slurred drowsily. He rolled over in the bed to face her, only to find himself instantly frowning. “Nahri…”
One hand clasped over her mouth and the other frozen mid-air, tears streamed down Nahri’s cheeks. Soft hitching breaths wracked her chest.
Dara’s first instinct was to find the source of Nahri’s distress and eliminate the threat. He glanced about the room swiftly, expecting to see a malevolent spirit or perhaps even Ali and the guard.
And yet, no threat was present. They were still in Nahri’s bedroom, in Daevabad, undisturbed .
Then why did she weep?
Dara turned his attention back to his Banu Nahida, ready to gently inquire as to what had her so upset.
Then she buried her head against his chest, arms snaking up his back and hands gripping his muscled shoulders.
He returned the embrace, burying his face in her curls. Dara was no stranger to nightmares. Often he woke screaming. Often he woke in tears. Often he woke surrounded by ghosts and regrets and with blood on his hands. And yet, even those worst nightmares had been resolved by Khayzur simply sitting in silence with Dara until the storm had passed.
So that was what Dara did. He waited in silence. Clutching Nahri the way she clutched him. Unrelentingly. Faithfully. Two pieces that didn’t quite fit together but were unfaltering in their willingness to.
“You died,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest. “We were on that boat again. And he cut you down. And you died .”
Dara did not remember much of that fateful night, but he could still hear Nahri’s cry of warning before Alizayd had struck him. Before he had become ash. Before he had died again .
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “I am very much alive, much thanks to you.”
Nahri’s fingers dug deeper into his skin and Dara realized her intent. She was feeling him. Drinking him in. Assuring herself that he was real and here and in her arms.
And not a pile of ash.
She pulled back, watery eyes meeting his. Her fingers slid from his back to his face. She traced the line of his jaw, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose.
It occurred to Dara then that Nahri may not have had the chance to talk about that night. She likely hadn’t had the opportunity to share her story, her trauma, with anyone.
For who would listen to the tale of Daevabad’s savior, mourning a devil?
“Do you want to tell me… about that night?”
Nahri’s lips twitched. “You can’t want to hear me recant your demise…”
He snorted. “If you recall, death and I are on fair terms. Perhaps one of my most beloved companions…” At Nahri’s wet laugh, Dara continued. “One of my only companions, as it were.” He combed back her curls with his fingers. “So please, do recant the tale of my dearest companion to me.”
Nahri leaned her head against his chest again and inhaled a shuddering breath. Dara waited patiently for her to gather herself, fully prepared for whether she relayed the tale or changed her mind.
But then Nahri pulled away, and resumed the act of tracing his features.
“I wanted to say anything. Anything. To make you see reason. Just to see that you lived. And in my dreams… I’m screaming at you. Calling out. Saying anything I can think of to get you to leave. To see that you survive.” She shook her head. “But you don’t hear me. You continue to stare down Ali as he comes nearer and nearer. It’s like… like you’re waiting.”
Dara swallowed and steeled himself. Not for the story of his death… but for his Banu Nahida’s distress. For her grief at the loss of someone like him. Someone loathed and despised and for good reason.
“And then he kills you. He cuts you down. You’re… you’re ash…” Nahri’s breath caught, and she released another shaky exhale. “And I’m on my knees. I’m trying to put you back together. I’m trying to bring you back. Again.”
Again?
Dara’s brows furrowed. He’d prepared for her grief. Her despair. Her sadness. But not her desperation. Not her reckoning, her breaking. The image that came to mind wrenched his heart.
Nahri bathed in moonlight, falling to the deck and sifting through his ashes. Tears streaming down her cheeks with the eyes of the daeva upon her as she tried to piece together the remains of The Scourge. The remains of a monster.
“And then I’m back in my room. I’m cutting my arm again and again, praying that it brings you back. That somehow you return to me. I’m watching the window and the door every night, waiting for you to appear.” Her throat bobbed. “I’m holding my breath and I’m just willing you to come back and berate me for believing you would leave me so easily.
“And somehow, years go by where all I want to do is mourn you, but no one will let me. No one will hear me. And I know why.” She sniffed, her voice softer and not belonging to the arrogant Cairene conwoman he had come to love, “I know why.”
Dara refused to make this moment about him. He refused to let her misery fill him with satisfaction. With relief that someone cared if he died. If he left this earth. That someone would miss his humor or his courage or his fierce heart. All qualities secondary to his transgressions. Qualities he deserved to have overlooked for the atrocities he’d committed.
“That’s it,” Nahri sighed, her quivering fingers stilling against his collarbone. “Thank you.”
What felt like moments was only seconds before Dara replied, “You needn’t thank me.”
She smirked. “But you’re crying, Afshin.”
Dara blinked. He hadn’t realized he was crying. He did not deserve to shed tears.
He searched for a reply… but came up empty.
Nahri inclined her head and brought her lips to his cheeks, kissing away each of his tears.
The words left him unbidden. “Thank you.”
“You needn’t thank me,” she replied with a wry smile.
Dara chuckled. “You’re wicked.”
Outside the window the moon was fading, the midnight sky turning violet. Nahri turned her head and followed his gaze to the window.
She exhaled laboriously. “Tonight Ali will return for you. To escort you out of the city. We should make the most of this day.”
Dara considered for a moment. “Perhaps the formidable Najwa Zawar’s vessel requires more of our attention. To ensure he will remain dormant till my next visit…”
He could see the pained look in her eyes as she swallowed hard. “And when would that be?”
Dara had visited her twice since they’d first reunited a year ago. He wasn’t certain how often he should visit. How often she wanted him to. If she wished, he would return every month. Every week.
But at the end of the day, Nahri was the Banu Nahida. Her time should be spent with her people, no matter how greatly some of them resented her. Some for being shafit. Some for her allowing Dara to leave the city all those years ago. No matter the cause of their anger, Nahri had made it clear she did not feel welcome here.
But he only said, “Whenever you wish. Ask it of me and I will return. Be it in a month or in a decade.”
Nahri nodded, arms wrapping around his waist. “But we still have today.”
“That we do.”
Did he dare?
Yes.
“And tomorrow if you’d like.”
Her brows lifted. “Don’t you have a noble quest, Afshin?”
“I have not forgotten. Old age has not yet taken my memory,” he grinned, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear. “But right now my noble quest is seeing that my Banu Nahida is properly cared for.”
Her eyes glinted wickedly, all traces of sorrow and apprehension swept away on the fleeting night breeze. “As any good Afshin should.”
In one swift movement, he had shifted her to lie on her back. He sat upright, straddling her, calloused hands gripping her waist. “And what am I, if not a good Afshin?”
A monster. A devil. Her burden.
But he faced those names down, and as his hips ground against hers, Nahri spoke his true title…
“Dara…”