Right now, though, he had another destination in mind.
Nerves swept through him as he headed toward the rooms set aside for the Nahid siblings—not just because he was eager to see Nahri, but also because he had no idea what to say to Jamshid that wouldn’t result in getting another slipper flung at his head. Ali was still struggling to find peace with the other man’s accusations, and he’d never been the most diplomatic with his words. Making small talk with his brother’s angry former lover—whom Ali had once forced to kill a man—seemed beyond his skill set.
A pair of well-armed guards stood in front of the finely carved teak door. The Geziri man saluted; the Ayaanle one bowed.
“Peace be upon you,” Ali greeted them. “Is the Banu Nahida here?”
“Yes, my prince,” the Ayaanle man responded. “She and her brother are taking breakfast.”
“Excellent.” Ali pulled free two of the many dirhams his mother had given him last night, handing one to each. “Please know your service is much appreciated,” he said, motioning for them to leave. Ali expected a lot more yelling on Jamshid’s end and didn’t want anyone barging in to “save” him. “If you don’t mind, could you see if any Daeva visitors have left a fire altar the Nahids could use?”
Once they were gone, Ali took a deep breath. Seeing Nahri’s smile in his mind, he smoothed down his robe and ran his fingers over his beard before silently cursing himself and knocking on the door. He started to call her name and then stopped, remembering their surroundings. Did he risk speaking so freely to her in front of others? Should he ask for Jamshid instead? Use his Nahid title?
And oh, God, did it look like he’d just bribed his private entry into Nahri’s bedroom?
The door opened while Ali’s mouth was still open in indecision. Jamshid stared back at him, a serving knife poorly concealed behind his back.
“May the fires burn brightly for you!” Ali said in Divasti, in a voice he instantly knew was too loud, his accent atrocious.
Jamshid’s hostile expression didn’t waver.
Ali tried again. “I wanted to come by and make sure your accommodations were suitable. How did you sleep? The bed, it was comfortable?”
Now Jamshid’s expression shifted to one of faint contempt and incredulity. “Nahri, your …” Jamshid’s gaze traveled up and down Ali with what seemed like every ounce of new Nahid imperiousness he possessed. “… companion is here.”
“Yes, I heard.” The door was pulled from Jamshid’s hand to reveal Nahri.
Ali’s heart did an extremely unhelpful dance, as all the confidence he’d gathered this morning vanished. Nahri was dressed in a bold block-patterned tunic the color of a stormy sea and striped pants. He’d caught her in the middle of braiding her hair, and her sleeve had ridden up, revealing the delicate expanse of her inner wrist.
God forgive him, he wanted to touch her. Instead, Ali instantly dropped his gaze. “Sabah el-hayr,” he greeted her, fighting the embarrassed heat rising in his cheeks.
“Sabah el-noor,” she replied. “I wondered if I would see you this morning.”
Ali glanced up in surprise at her tone. “Should I have not come?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” But Nahri looked as though there was something she wasn’t saying. “Come. Take some tea with us.”
Uneasy, Ali stepped inside the room, not unaware of Jamshid’s still-disgruntled expression. “Is everything all right?” he asked her.
“Of course.” But the Nahri who Ali knew would not say “of course” to a question like that in their circumstances. She would have launched into a sarcastic litany of grievances. “Have you spoken to your mother this morning?” she asked.
His mother? Ali’s suspicions instantly blossomed. “No, why? Did she say something to you?”
Nahri’s hand paused on the curtain she was pulling back. In the pale morning light, she suddenly looked very tired. “No. She came by last night to make sure we were settled in, but that was it.”
“Are you sure that was it?”
“Yes.” She offered a tight smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Come.”
With every additional moment of strained politeness, Ali was growing more convinced something was wrong. But knowing how guarded Nahri could be, he held his tongue, simply following her to a small balcony overlooking the forest. Cushions surrounded a low table set with fruit, pastries, tea, and juice.
Nahri motioned for him to sit, and Ali did. Then, more like herself, she snapped her fingers at her brother. “Oh no, Jamshid. Don’t you slink off. You’re joining us too.” She fell onto one of the cushions and reached for a cup of tea. “You know, for all the lecturing I’ve heard about how emotional women supposedly are, we have nothing on the men I’ve known.”
Jamshid sat, glowering.
Ali fidgeted for a moment and then decided to just let it out.
“I’m sorry.” He met the other man’s gaze. “I’m so sorry for that night, Jamshid. I was worried about getting caught, about my father learning the assassin was shafit and doing something awful, but that doesn’t excuse what I did to you. I can’t take it back, and I understand if you don’t trust me. I also know how rudely I once spoke of your faith and your people; I know that even before Nahri arrived in Daevabad, your tribe was right to look upon me with suspicion. But I’m sorry.”
There was a moment of silence, tension rising in the air, and then Jamshid spoke, his eyes not leaving Ali’s. “And what of Muntadhir and me?”
Muntadhir. His brother’s name was like a wound; Ali feared it would never stop hurting. In his mind’s eye, he saw his grinning older brother, always so charming, and wondered just how much it had hurt to hold that facade. It broke Ali’s heart that he’d had to.
“Muntadhir saved my life,” he said, noticing Nahri drop her gaze. “I will regret to the end of my days how we spent our last months together, and that my behavior meant he had to hide so much from me. But I am incredibly grateful he had someone like you at his side with whom he could share some happiness.”
At that, he finally saw Jamshid’s cool visage crack. “You have a politician’s gilded tongue,” Jamshid replied, but there was no heat in the insult as he quickly wiped his eyes. “I still don’t like you. I’m only agreeing to work with you because Nahri has asked. You have a very long way to go to earn my trust.”
“I pray I can one day,” Ali said sincerely, pouring a cup of tea. “Perhaps this can be a new beginning for us.”
Something quirked in Jamshid’s expression, but there was a knock at the door, and then a steward entered.
“The queen would like to see you, my prince. The Banu Nahida and Baga Nahid as well.”
God, did his mother have his every move watched? Ali had been here only minutes. “We’ll be right there,” he said with a resigned sigh.
Nahri rose to her feet. “Let me get my cloak.”
Jamshid was pouring a drink. He pushed the cup toward Ali. “Tamarind juice before we leave,” he said politely. “I know how fond you are of it.”
Ali scowled. “I was fond of it before someone tried to poison …” He trailed off, noting the challenge in Jamshid’s eyes. “Oh, you bas—”
Jamshid tsked, nodding at Nahri’s retreating back. “We would not wish to upset her.” He raised his own cup, smiling dangerously. “To fresh starts.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Betray my sister—hurt her in any way—and there will be no one around to interfere the next time you’re poisoned.”
Not trusting himself to respond, Ali simply grunted. Nahri returned, a hooded cloak pulled over her clothes and messy braid.
“Let’s go.” She sounded like they were headed to a funeral.
Ali let Jamshid get ahead of them in the corridor and then turned back to Nahri. “Are you sure everything is okay?” he asked again. “Should I not have said—”
“No,” she cut in quickly. “What you said was perfect.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Ali pressed. “You seem so sad.”
Nahri stopped, taking a deep breath as if to steady herself. “There’s nothing wrong. But you shouldn’t do that here,” she added, pulling away.
Mortified, Ali realized he had unconsciously reached for her hand.
He instantly stepped back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. It’s just we’re not running around Cairo by ourselves anymore.” A flush darkened Nahri’s cheeks. “People talk. I wouldn’t want them to get the wrong impression.”
“No,” Ali said hoarsely. “Of course not.”
“Good.” Nahri stared at him for another moment, and no matter what she claimed, Ali would swear he saw a flicker of regret in her eyes before she glanced away. “I should catch up with Jamshid.”
Ali nodded, only following when the siblings were far ahead. He kept his distance, trying to pretend that he was fine and normal and there wasn’t a whirling contraption of blades tearing through his chest where his heart used to be. Nahri was right. Ali shouldn’t have touched her; he shouldn’t be touching any woman who wasn’t his wife.
You could ask if she’d like to be your wife.
The ridiculous thought galloped unwelcome into his head, followed by utter panic, as though down the hall Nahri might somehow read his mind. By God, had the marid messed with him so much that Ali had lost all sense?
She is beyond you, and she always will be. Nahri had been loved by the Afshin, a man so handsome his enemies wrote poetry praising his beauty, and married to Muntadhir, Daevabad’s renowned breaker of hearts. Did Ali really think the brilliant, beautiful Banu Nahida would ever be interested in a scarred Geziri virgin with a propensity for saying exactly the wrong thing?
No. She wouldn’t be. Which meant Ali was going to keep his mouth shut and see what his mother wanted without further contemplating blowing up his dearest friendship and most importance political alliance.
Hatset was waiting for them outside the library. “Good morning to you all.” She smiled at Ali. “I hear you had an early start politicking at the mosque today.”
“If by politicking, you mean genuinely talking to people about their lives and praying together, yes,” he replied. “It was nice.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” His mother’s smile wavered, and she took his hand. “Alu, there is someone here you need to see. I didn’t want to overwhelm you yesterday, but—”
“Who?” Ali asked. Hatset looked unsettled, and he knew it took a lot to do that.
“Ustadh Issa.”
“Issa?”
When she said nothing more, Ali moved for the library, still in disbelief. But he no sooner pushed open the door than the elderly scholar was there, draped in a homespun blanket and surrounded by books, his giant emerald eyes blinking like a bat’s.
“Ustadh Issa … my God,” Ali stammered. “Peace be upon you.” He crossed the long room in seconds. “When did you get here?”
Issa’s eyes darted to Hatset before he replied. “Just recently. The journey exhausted me, and I requested a few days to recover.”
“But you were in Daevabad,” Ali said, reeling. “How did you escape?”
“It seems you have the Tukharistani woman, Razu, to thank,” his mother explained. “She convinced the Afshin that Issa was distressed, and that it would be a kindness to let a fellow slave leave a city ifrit had invaded.”
Ali had no problem believing anyone would think Issa distressed, but he was shocked to learn the Afshin had helped him. “Do you have any news?” he begged. “My sister, the other Geziris—”
Hatset answered again. “Zaynab is alive. She was able to warn the other Geziris, and those in the quarter survived. They’ve apparently joined with the shafit district and barricaded themselves off from the rest of the city.” She paused. “They’re not the only ones who survived, baba. Issa says Muntadhir is alive.”
Ali stared at her, the words impossible.
Jamshid reacted first, his head snapping up. “What?”
“Muntadhir is alive,” Hatset repeated. “Issa said he’s being held prisoner in the palace.”
“Oh, my God.” Ali abruptly sat down, feeling like his legs had been cut out from underneath him. Tears pricked his eyes. “Are you sure? Are you really sure?”
“No,” Issa said, sounding indignant. When Ali spun on him, he continued. “There is no such thing as certainty in this situation, young man. The emir is surrounded by deeply volatile enemies. They may have killed him since I left. Lady Manizheh was already threatening to do so if the Geziris and your sister did not surrender.”
“They won’t kill him.” It was Nahri, exchanging an oddly loaded glance with his mother. “Not yet. Muntadhir is too valuable, and Manizheh isn’t a fool.”
“We need to save him,” Jamshid declared.
“We need to save lots of people,” Nahri corrected. “You’re a Nahid now, Jamshid. All of Daevabad is your responsibility.”
Jamshid looked mutinous, but Ali’s astonishment had already dissipated, news of his brother and his city jolting him into action. He strode over to a desk, snatching a piece of parchment and a charcoal pencil. “Issa, I need you to tell me everything you know.”
The scholar made a sour face. “It’s going to be a lot. Razu and Elashia made me memorize all sorts of things before I left, about food and security and other such nonsense.” He let out a scandalized sound. “Razu put maps in the lining of my loincloth.”
Ali stilled, his blood rushing in his ears. This was no mere return of a “distressed” old man. Razu had intentionally passed them valuable information.
Jamshid exhaled loudly, his eyes widening as he met Ali’s gaze. An identical thrill was on his face—Ali knew the former captain realized what a lucky victory this was.
“I can’t believe Dara let you leave,” Jamshid breathed. “He led the damn rebellion against Zaydi al Qahtani. How could he make such a mistake?”
“Razu can be very convincing,” Nahri said softly. “And maybe Dara was trying to show some mercy.”
Ali held his tongue on the prospect of the Afshin and “mercy,” opting to pace instead. If he could have, he would have picked Issa up, turned him upside down, and shaken out all he knew. “You said the Geziris and shafit neighborhoods had managed to hold the Daevas off—do you know about the other tribes?”
“Everyone was on their own when I left,” Issa explained. “Your sister was in talks with the Ayaanle and Tukharistanis but wasn’t having much luck. It is utter chaos, and no one trusts anyone else.”
Ali’s heart dropped. “So Manizheh doesn’t control the city? Surely they brought additional soldiers, security.”
“Oh no, not at all,” Issa replied. “Razu said to tell you reports say that the Afshin has less than a dozen men. There are rumors he is training more, but Manizheh only controls the Daeva Quarter for now.”
Jamshid gaped. “How did they overthrow your family with only a dozen warriors?”
Ali didn’t answer. Dara had had more than a dozen soldiers, of course, but it didn’t seem the right moment to tell Jamshid that Ali had personally killed that number with marid magic alone. He glanced at Nahri, but she was stone-faced and quiet. Why wasn’t she reacting to any of this? To Issa’s return? To word of the Afshin? To news of …
Muntadhir. Oh.
Well, Ali supposed it was good he’d held his tongue about his feelings for her.
War. Think about war. It’s simpler. He returned to Jamshid’s question. “They planned to annihilate the Royal Guard and the entire Geziri population. Manizheh is the most powerful Nahid healer in generations. Add two ifrit and whatever the hell the Afshin is now, and they probably thought it was enough to hold the city. And honestly, had Manizheh taken the seal and magic not fallen, I could see the other tribes surrendering. No one would have wanted to follow the example of the Geziris.”
His words chilled the room for a moment, but then Jamshid spoke up again. “What do you mean, what Dara is?”
Nahri twisted the hem of her scarf in one hand. �
�Dara said Manizheh freed him from Suleiman’s curse. He has the powers of an original daeva now.”
Jamshid paled. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“It’s been a difficult few weeks, all right?” Nahri replied. “You’ll excuse me for not wanting to think about how my old Afshin turns into fire to set giant smoke monsters on his enemies.”
“Oh.” Jamshid looked even greener. “That’s an unfortunate development.”
“Tell me about it.” Ali glanced at Issa. “Ustadh, my ancestors brought back a lot of the Nahids’ old texts. They should be in the archives. I’m hoping we can find a way to defeat him.”
“Defeat him?” Hatset interrupted. “Yesterday your only allies were a band of pirates and a Nahid fugitive. Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to be planning offensive measures?’
“I’m not going anywhere today. We’ll talk to Issa, find out everything we can, and then evaluate our next move.”
“Your position isn’t strong enough to be evaluating any moves; you’re lucky you haven’t been dragged back to Daevabad. Don’t you know there’s a bounty on your head?”
“I’ve been living with a bounty on my head for a very long time, Amma,” Ali said gently. “And I fear Daevabad doesn’t have time for me to get comfortable here. If the city is truly embroiled in a civil war, if Manizheh has cut it off from the rest of the world …” He ran the estimates in his head. “We were preparing for Navasatem crowds, but we were expecting supplies throughout the month. People will be starving, and soon.”
“Then let Manizheh and her Afshin deal with it. She wished to rule.”
Ali stared at his mother in astonishment. “Zaynab is there.”
Hatset’s eyes flashed. “Believe me, I know. But right now, I need you to stop and think. To consider what is best for all of us, not just those in Daevabad.”
Ali strongly suspected he was not going to like where this was going. “Meaning?”
“Meaning our world has been fractured, Alizayd, not just Daevabad. When magic fell, people were hysterical: abandoning their jobs and packing into the mosques, expecting some new Suleiman to sweep in and rip us from our homes and lives. Frightened, leaderless mobs of people do rash things.” Hatset hesitated. “But there’s also a chance to build something new. Someplace secure. We need a new king, a new government. And not one centered around a man in a jail cell.”
The Empire of Gold Page 37
