The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy, #2)

by S.A. Chakraborty

Dara had stolen his way into her heart and then he’d shattered it, so desperate to save her despite her own wishes that he’d been willing to risk plunging their world into war.

“It’s hard to watch the way this city ruins the ones we love.”

“Stop turning into a statue, and you won’t have to deal with this.” She briefly paused to glare at him. “This is the third time I’ve had to treat you . . . people are not meant to shift into rocks!” He looked a little ashamed. “It’s very peaceful.”

Nahri said nothing. Of course, she had walls up. Nearly everyone she knew had betrayed her at least once.

Ghassan hadn’t overly pressed on the topic of grandchildren yet. Djinn didn’t conceive easily, and it was entirely reasonable the emir and his wife had yet to be blessed with an heir. But she doubted he’d hold his tongue for long.

Khayzur, the peri who’d once nursed him back to health, had tried to teach Dara to appreciate such moments, to let the solace and beauty of the natural world sweep him away. It had been a difficult lesson to internalize.

you are worse. Twice undead and with the blood of thousands on your hands . . . and still you serve those who made you into this abomination.”

your father has carved his beliefs into Muntadhir deeper than you realize. He will reign as Ghassan does: so afraid of his people that he crushes them.”

Zaynab—who could drive men to their knees dressed in an ill-fitting sack—was clad in a gown that looked like a waterfall had come to life and decided to worship her,

Nahri had once quietly feared that it was her, that growing up alone on Cairo’s streets with abilities that terrified everyone had broken her, shaped her into a person who didn’t know how to forge a genuine bond. But it wasn’t her. Or at least not just her.

“I’ve had enough of men hurting me because they were upset.”

“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.”

“I need no man to put ideas in my head,” Nahri retorted. “You speak out of turn, Kaveh e-Pramukh.”

“Afshin!” He stepped away from Irtemiz so fast he half stumbled. “I, er, we didn’t mean to intrude upon you. Your brooding.”

Ali touched his brow in greeting as he passed, but neither woman appeared to notice him. Razu was tucking one of the tree’s silky white flowers behind Elashia’s ear, the ever-silent Sahrayn woman giving her a small smile. It must be nice to have such a close friendship, he thought reflectively.

“I’m tired of everyone in this city feeding on vengeance. I’m tired of teaching our children to hate and fear other children because their parents are our enemies. And I’m sick and tired of acting like the only way to save our people is to cut down all who might oppose us, as if our enemies won’t return the favor the instant power shifts.”

I just hate that choosing to do the right thing in Daevabad always seems to come with a steep price.”

Ali peered around the corner. Muntadhir and Jamshid were across the corridor, framed together in a sunlit arch. He frowned, shading his eyes against the sudden brightness. For half a second, he’d swear he saw his brother’s hands on Jamshid’s collar, his face inclined toward his neck as though jokingly smelling him, but then Ali blinked, sunspots blossoming across his vision, and the two men were apart, neither looking very pleased to see him.

I think you’re more like Abba than you want to admit. But where Abba wants stability, you want justice. Your version of justice—even if you have to drag us there kicking and screaming.

“I’m going to tell Jamshid who he really is,” he said. “Then I’m going to tell him how his sister, having grown tired of sleeping with the man he loves, betrayed them both to save a man he hates.” The words were crude—the last attempt of an angry old man who’d traded decency for a throne that was about to be wrenched away by his own blood.

“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.”

A piece of her heart broke at the sight, still traitorously linked to the man who kept finding new ways to shatter it.

I can negotiate a peace more effectively than a woman who abandoned her tribe and returned only to plot the slaughter of another.”