A nearby pillar cracked as a second rumble—far stronger—rocked the temple. Dara swore, snatched up his weapons, and grabbed her hand. “Come on!”
They raced through the temple and out onto the open stage, narrowly avoiding a falling column. The ground shook harder, and Nahri gave the theater a nervous glance, looking for signs of the recently risen dead. “Maybe this one’s an earthquake?”
“So soon after you used your powers on me?” He searched the stage. “Where’s the carpet?”
She hesitated. “I may have burned it.”
Dara whirled on her. “You burned it?”
“I didn’t want you to follow me!”
“Where did you burn it?” he asked, not even waiting for an answer before sniffing the air and racing toward the edge of the stage.
By the time she caught him, he was crouching in the glowing embers, his hands pressed against the carpet’s ashy remains. “Burned it . . . ,” he muttered. “By the Creator, you really don’t know anything about us.”
Little worms of white-bright flame crawled out from under his fingers, reigniting the ash and twisting together into long ropes that grew and stretched under his feet. As she watched, they quickly multiplied, forming a fiery mat roughly the same size and shape as the carpet.
The fire flashed and died, revealing the tired colors of their old rug. “How did you do that?” she whispered.
Dara grimaced as he ran his hand over the surface. “It won’t last long, but it should get us across the river.”
The ground rumbled again, and a groan came from inside the temple, the sound all too familiar. Dara reached for her hand. She backed away.
His eyes flashed with alarm. “Are you mad?”
Probably. Nahri knew what she was about to do was risky, but she also knew the best time to negotiate was when your mark was desperate. “No. I’m not getting on that rug unless you give me some answers.”
There was another loud, vaguely human shriek from inside the temple. The ground shook harder, and a crack raced across the high ceiling.
“You want answers now? Why? So you’ll be better informed when the ghouls devour you?” Dara snatched for her ankle, but she danced back. “Nahri, please! You can ask me whatever you want once we’re gone, I swear!”
But she wasn’t convinced. What was to stop him from changing his mind as soon as they were safe?
Then it came to her.
“Tell me your name, and I’ll go with you,” she offered. “Your real name.” He had told her there was power in names. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“My name doesn’t—” Nahri took a deliberate step toward the temple, and panic lit his face. “No, stop!”
“Then tell me your name!” Nahri shouted, her own fear getting the better of her. She was used to bluffing, but not with the threat of being eaten by the risen dead looming. “And be quick about it!”
“Darayavahoush!” The daeva pulled himself onto the stage. “Darayavahoush e-Afshin is my name. Now get over here!”
Nahri was certain she couldn’t have repeated that correctly even if she’d been paid, but as the ghouls screamed again, and the smell of rot swept past her face, she decided it didn’t matter.
He was ready for her, grabbing her elbow and pulling her down on the rug as he landed lightly beside her. Without another word, the carpet rose in the air, sweeping over the temple’s roof as three ghouls stumbled out onto the stage.
Dara was thoroughly riled by the time they’d risen above the clouds. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” He threw up his hands. “Not only did you try to destroy our only method of escaping the ifrit, you were ready to risk your life just to—”
“Oh, get over it,” she said, dismissing him. “You’re the one who drove me to such straits, Afshin Daryevu—”
“‘Dara’ will continue to do just fine,” he interrupted. “You needn’t mangle my proper name.” A goblet appeared in his hand, filled with the familiar dark of date wine. He took a long sip. “You can call me a damn djinn again if you promise not to go running after ghouls.”
“Such affection for the shafit thief?” She raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t so fond of me a week ago.”
He grumbled. “I can change my mind, can’t I?” A blush stole into his cheeks. “Your company is not . . . entirely displeasing.” He sounded deeply disappointed in himself.
Nahri rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s time your company became a lot more informative. You promised to answer my questions.”
He glanced around, gesturing to the clouds. “Right now?”
“Are you busy with something else?”
Dara exhaled. “Fine. Go on, then.”
“What’s a daeva?”
He sighed. “I already told you this: we’re djinn. We just have the decency to call ourselves by our true name.”
“That explains nothing.”
He scowled. “We’re souled beings like humans, but we were created from fire, not earth.” A delicate tendril of orange flame snaked around his right hand and twisted through his fingers. “All the elements—earth, fire, water, air—have their own creatures.”
Nahri thought of Khayzur. “The peris are creatures of air?”
“An astonishing deduction.”
She shot him a dirty look. “He had a better attitude than you.”
“Yes, he’s extraordinarily gentle for a being who could rearrange the landscape below us and kill every life-form for miles with a single sweep of his wings.”
Nahri felt the blood drain from her face. “Truly?” When Dara nodded, she continued. “Are—are there a lot of creatures like that?”
He gave her a somewhat wicked smile. “Oh, yes. Dozens. Rukh birds, karkadann, shedu . . . things with sharp teeth and nasty temperaments. A zahhak nearly ripped me in two once.”
She gaped at him. The flame playing around his finger stretched into an elongated lizard that belched a fiery plume. “Imagine a fire-breathing serpent with limbs. They’re rare, thank the Creator, but don’t give much warning when they attack.”
“And humans don’t notice any of this?” Nahri’s eyes widened as the smoky beast left Dara’s arm and flew around his head.
He shook his head. “No. Those created from dirt, like humans, usually can’t see the rest of us. Besides, most magical beings prefer wild places, places already empty of your kind. If a human had the misfortune to come across one, they might sense something, see a blur on the horizon or a shadow out of the corner of their eye. But they’d likely be dead before they gave it a second thought.”
“And if they came across a daeva?”
He opened his palm, and his fiery pet flew into it, dissolving into smoke. “Oh, we’d eat them.” At the alarm in her face, he laughed and took another sip of wine. “A jest, little thief.”
But Nahri wasn’t in the mood for his jokes. “What about the ifrit?” she persisted. “What are they?”
The amusement vanished from his face. “Daevas. At least . . . they were once.”
“Daevas?” she repeated in surprise. “Like you?”
“No.” He looked offended. “Not like me. Not at all.”
“Then like what?” She prodded his knee when he stayed silent. “You promised to—”