fighting cats

Crouched like a cat over the smoldering remains of a small fire—the sharp smell of

morning that sent most djinn scurrying indoors like cats fleeing rain, back to beds

My ring blazes, illuminating the black slave record branded into my skin.

circling her like a cat. He closed

“She must be a very good cook.” “She was.” He drank back the rest of his wine, and the goblet immediately refilled. “Was?” Nahri ventured. Dara stared into the fire; his fingers twitched like he longed to touch it. “She’s dead.” Nahri dropped her bread. “Oh. Dara, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—” “It is fine,” he interrupted, though the tone of his voice implied it was anything but. “It was a long time ago.”

without your permission.” He can’t? Nahri arched an eyebrow. Had she and Dara been alone, she might have been tempted to take advantage of such information. But for now, she simply beckoned him up. “You know you don’t have to do that.” He climbed back to his feet. “It’s my pleasure.” He