“You did tell me to find something to do,” Ali replied, a petty edge in his voice. Nahri clenched her teacup, resisting the urge to hurl it at his head. If she could check her temper, so could he. “But it wouldn’t be preposterously expensive if handled correctly,” Ali continued, gesturing to the armful of scrolls he’d brought. “I’ve been running estimates with people at the Treasury, and we’ve devised numerous proposals.” He plucked up one of the fatter scrolls. “I know how important financials are, so I haven’t spared any details.”
Ghassan held up a hand. “Spare the details. We will be sitting here until Navasatem if I let you start talking about the specifics. I can have my own accountants check your proposals later.” He tilted his head. “I am, after all, quite aware of your cleverness when it comes to numbers.”
The words hung between them for a moment. Unwilling to let whatever drama swirled around her in-laws eclipse her hospital, Nahri spoke quickly. “I’m willing to offer a portion of my dowry as well, enough to cover the materials and room and board for an initial class of twenty students. And once we start seeing patients, we can charge those who can pay on a sliding scale.”
“I also thought the queen might assist me in meeting with the Ayaanle trade envoy,” Ali added. “Should Ta Ntry find a way to make restitutions for its unfortunate tax situation, we could use the revenue to fix a lot of things in Daevabad.”
Hatset raised her palms, smiling sweetly. “It can be difficult to predict financial matters.”
Ali returned her smile. “Not when they can be audited, Amma,” he said pleasantly.
Hatset drew up, looking taken aback, and Nahri saw a far more genuine smile spread across Ghassan’s face.
But it was not a pleasure that erased his skepticism. “And the staffing cost?” he asked. “However formidable their magic, a handful of freed djinn are not going to be able to build and maintain a complex of that size.”
Before Nahri could respond, Ali spoke up again. “I had been thinking in another direction.” He toyed with a length of prayer beads looped around his wrist. “I’d like to tear down the shafit . . . exchange . . . in the Grand Bazaar and reuse its materials, as well as free those being held there. I’ll offer them—and any shafit qualified and interested—employment in the hospital restoration.”
Nahri blinked, surprised but pleased at the suggestion. She wasn’t sure what exchange Ali was talking about—though the naked disdain in his voice made clear his opinion of it. But Subha’s accusations about Nahri’s complicity in the oppression of Daevabad’s shafit had struck deep. Nahri didn’t know much about the lives of a people she quietly belonged to, but this seemed like a good way to help some of them.
But Ghassan’s expression had darkened. “I thought you’d learned to be warier about getting involved with the shafit, Alizayd.”
“It’s not just him,” Muntadhir cut in. His gaze locked on hers. “And I suspect that’s not all they want. This has to do with that shafit physician you were so eager to track down, doesn’t it?” He turned back to his father. “She came to me with this weeks ago, talking about how she wanted to start working with shafit doctors and treating shafit patients.”
Shock fell across the pavilion, so thick she could almost feel it. Zaynab dropped her cup, the queen taking a sharp breath.
Nahri silently cursed; it wasn’t enough for Muntadhir to disagree, apparently. He also needed to undermine her by rudely letting slip a risky plan she’d wanted to be far more precise in proposing.
Ghassan recovered first. “You intend to heal shafit?”
Nahri answered honestly, though she loathed the words. “No. Not myself . . . not at first. We’d work and study alongside each other, the djinn using magic and the shafit using human techniques. I’m hoping it might prove a fresh start for the Daevas and the shafit, and that maybe, in the future, we’ll be able to cross those lines.”
Ghassan shook his head. “Your priests would never approve of such a thing. I am not certain I approve of such a thing. The first time a shafit doctor hurts a Daeva—or the reverse—people will be rioting in the streets.”
“Or they might learn to get along a bit better.” It was the queen, still looking slightly taken aback, though her words were encouraging. “It is the Banu Nahida who is proposing this project. The Daevas are obliged to obey her, are they not?” She shrugged lightly, as though the conversation hadn’t turned fraught. “It is her responsibility and her risk if she wants to provoke them.”
“Your support is appreciated,” Nahri replied, checking her sarcasm. “I figured we could start the rebuilding effort first—of that I am certain my people would approve. I will go to the priests afterward and tell them of my plans regarding the shafit. Tell them,” she clarified. “I’ll listen to their concerns, but as the queen pointed out, I am the Banu Nahida. What I wish to share of my abilities at my hospital is my decision.”
Ghassan leaned back. “If we’re speaking so frankly . . . what do we get out of this? You’re asking me to lay out money and risk to restore a monument to your ancestors . . . people who, as you may recall, were the enemies of mine.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “The health of Daevabadis aside, I am not naive to the fact that this empowers you, not me.”
“But what if it was truly a joint project?” Zaynab spoke this time, softly at first, though her voice grew more assured as she continued. “An extension of your outreach to the Daevas, Abba. It would be greatly symbolic, especially in light of the generation celebrations.” She smiled at her father. “Maybe we could even try to finish it in time for Navasatem? You could open it yourself, as a crowning achievement for your rule.”
Ghassan inclined his head, but at his daughter’s warm smile, his expression had softened. “A rather plain appeal to vanity, Zaynab.”
“Because I know you well,” she teased. “Peace between the tribes is why you wished to see Muntadhir and Nahri marry, isn’t it? Perhaps he could even go with her to the Temple to seek the priests’ blessing.”
Nahri had to work to keep her expression neutral at that. She was glad for Zaynab’s support, but she knew how protective her people were of their customs. “Only Daevas are permitted to enter the Temple. It’s been that way for centuries.”
Hatset gave her a pointed look. “If you’re willing to take djinn money for your hospital, Banu Nahida, I think you’d be willing to let one of us darken the doorstep of your Temple.” She laid a hand on her son’s shoulder. “But it should be Alizayd. He is the one who wishes to partner with you.”
“It should be Muntadhir,” Zaynab corrected, pleasantly firm. “He is her husband, and his history is a bit less . . . complicated . . . when it comes to the Daevas.” She plucked a pink milk-sweet from one of the silver platters, taking a delicate bite. “Would it not be good to see them work together, Abba? I think it would do much to quell all this unnecessary and divisive talk from some of the other tribes.”
Nahri did not miss the sugary smile Zaynab aimed at her mother . . . nor the way Hatset carefully nodded once, not so much in agreement, but in quiet approval of her daughter’s maneuvering.
Muntadhir was looking at the three women with outrage. “Me? I don’t even agree with this! Why do I have to convince the priests of anything?”
“I’ll do the convincing,” Nahri said sharply. She wasn’t letting Muntadhir ruin this. “You might even enjoy it,” she added quickly, trying for more tact. “Jamshid gives a wonderful tour.”
Her husband glowered in response but stayed silent.
Ghassan seemed to study her again. It was the same look she’d seen when he’d welcomed her to Daevabad. The same look he’d worn the first time they’d negotiated her betrothal, the look of a gambler willing to bet a great deal if the risk was carefully calculated.
The first time she’d seen that expression it had set her at ease; Nahri had always preferred pragmatists. But now it made her skin crawl. Because she’d seen what Ghassan was capable of when his gambles didn’t pay off.
/> “Yes,” he finally said, and her heart skipped. “You may proceed. With extreme caution. I intend to be consulted on every development and every snag.” He wagged his finger in Ali’s direction. “You, in particular, are to be careful. I know how passionate you get about all of this. You are to build a hospital, not start climbing up on minbars and giving the masses sermons about equality, understand?”
Ali’s eyes flashed and Nahri did not miss the quick way Zaynab “accidentally” struck his knee, reaching rather purposefully for a serving knife. “Yes, Abba,” Ali said hoarsely. “I understand.”
“Good. Then you may tell your priests you have my blessing, Banu Nahida, and take Muntadhir with you. But you are to make it clear this is your idea, not ours. I won’t have any Daeva spreading rumors that we dragged them into this.”
She nodded. “Understood.”
The king regarded them all. “This pleases me,” he declared, rising to his feet. “It will be good for Daevabad to see us working together in peace.” He hesitated and then snapped his fingers at Ali. “Come, Alizayd. If you’re going to brag about your financial acumen, you might as well help me. I’ve a meeting with a particularly slippery governor from Agnivansha and could use you.”
Ali looked uncertain, but after a nudge from his mother, he stood. Nahri started to do the same.
Muntadhir’s hand fell lightly on her wrist. “Sit,” he hissed under his breath.
With a quick glance between them, Zaynab rose hastily. Nahri didn’t blame her; Muntadhir’s handsome face was furious, a vein jumping in his temple. “Enjoy the Temple, akhi,” she teased.
“About that . . .” Hatset pulled Zaynab close. “Take a walk with me, daughter.”
The door leading to the steps closed, and then they were alone, save for the wind and the gulls.
Muntadhir turned to her, a shaft of sunshine illuminating the tired shadows under his eyes. It looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. “Is this because of our fight?” he demanded. “Are you really ready to throw in with Alizayd and his lunatic ideas because of what I said?”
Nahri’s temper flared. “I’m not throwing in with anyone. I’m doing this for myself and for my people. And as you’ll recall, I came to you first. I tried to talk to you about these things—things close to my heart—and you dismissed me.” She fought to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. You made plain what you think of the foolish girl from Cairo.”
He pressed his lips into a grim line, dropping his gaze. The moment stretched, silent and tense.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he finally said. “I’m sorry. I was upset about Jamshid, and about Ali returning . . .”
“I’ve had enough of men hurting me because they were upset.” Her voice was hard, so much so that Muntadhir looked startled. But Nahri didn’t care. She rose to her feet, placing her chador over her head. “I won’t have it from the man I call my husband. Not anymore.”
Muntadhir’s eyes darted to hers. “What are you saying?”
Nahri paused. What was she saying? As in Cairo, divorce was permissible in Daevabad—and rather widely practiced considering djinn life-spans and temperaments. But Nahri and Muntadhir were royals, their marriage blessed by Ghassan himself. It wasn’t as though she could run to a judge down the street with her grievances.
But there were lines her husband wouldn’t cross, and he’d made one of them clear on their wedding night.
“I’m doing this, Muntadhir. For my people, for myself—with or without you. I want to build this hospital. I want to see if there’s a way to make peace with the shafit. If you’d like to join me, I will gladly welcome you to my people’s Temple. If you cannot bring yourself to visit me there . . .” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not sure you should be visiting me anywhere.”
Stunned incredulity crossed his face, and Nahri turned away. He could stew on the implications of that for a time.
Her hand was on the door when he finally responded.
“He is so much more dangerous than you realize.” Nahri glanced back, and Muntadhir continued, his voice low. “I understand, believe it or not. I know you. I know Ali. I suspect you really were friends. I bet it was nice. The palace can be a lonely place, after all. And I know damn well he cared about you.”
Nahri stilled.
“And that’s just it, Nahri. He does care . . . recklessly so. Passionately so. About the shafit. About his village in Am Gezira. He cares so much he’s willing to risk himself and everyone around him, unwilling to accept a shade of gray or a lesser evil in service to a greater good.” Warning laced into his voice. “My brother would die for his causes. But he’s a prince of Daevabad, so he’s not the one who pays that price. Other people do. And you have an entire tribe of such people to protect.”
Nahri twisted the edge of her chador in her fists, wishing she could say he was wrong. Except Ali had risked incurring his father’s wrath to sneak out of the palace with her because he’d felt guilty. He’d all but warned Subha off working with them because he didn’t want to lie. They’d come here today to beg a favor from the king, and he’d been rude, brimming with his usual self-righteousness.
It doesn’t matter. Nahri had set herself on this path for the right reasons, and she now had the resources to try and bring her dream to fruition. Ali was a means to an end, and she wouldn’t let him be a weakness again.
She opened the door. “Nisreen is expecting me in the infirmary,” she said, forcing a steadiness she didn’t feel into her voice. “I’ll send word when we’re visiting the Grand Temple.”
Nahri almost groaned when she saw Jamshid waiting in the private section of the infirmary. She didn’t need him begging for another healing session or talking about Muntadhir right now. But then she noticed the anxiety that was all but radiating off his body, one leg jiggling while he passed his cane nervously back and forth between his hands. Nisreen paced before him, her expression harried.
Odd. Nisreen typically doted on him. Nahri frowned as she approached. “Everything all right?”
Jamshid glanced up, his eyes too bright above the shadows lingering under them. “Banu Nahida!” His voice sounded oddly strained. “May the fires burn brightly for you.” He cleared his throat. “Of course everything is all right.” He blinked at Nisreen. “Everything is all right?”
Nisreen glowered at him. “I certainly hope so.”
Nahri looked between the two of them. “Is something wrong at home? Has there been news of your father?”
Nisreen shook her head. “Nothing is wrong. But as a matter of fact, I did recently write to his father. Just after the prince’s feast,” she added, and Jamshid flushed. “Creator willing, he’ll be headed back to Daevabad soon.”
Let him delay. Nahri didn’t think the powerful—and rather orthodox—Daeva grand wazir was going to think much of her plans for the hospital or the shafit.
Which meant she’d need to set them in motion quickly. “That’s good, then. But since you’re both here, I want to talk.” She took a seat across from Jamshid and motioned for Nisreen to do so as well. “I’ve just gotten back from meeting with the Qahtanis . . .” She took a deep breath. “We’re going to rebuild the Nahid hospital.”
It took a moment for her words to land, and then Jamshid’s face lit up in intrigue as swiftly as Nisreen’s darkened.
“There’s a Nahid hospital?” he asked brightly.
“There’s an ancient ruin soaked in the blood of your ancestors,” Nisreen cut in. She stared at Nahri in shock. “You told Ghassan about your visit?”
“I left that part out, actually,” Nahri said lightly. “But yes, we’re going to restore it. The king agreed.”
“Who exactly is ‘we,’ my lady?” Nisreen asked, though it was clear she already knew the answer.
“The Qahtanis, of course,” Nahri replied, deciding it was best not to be precise.
“You’re going to rebuild the Nahid hospital with the Qahtanis?”
Nisreen repeated faintly. “Now?”
Nahri nodded. “We’re hoping to have it open in time for Navasatem.” That seemed wildly optimistic to her, but if that was the price for Ghassan’s blessing, she and Ali would have to find a way to get it done. “I want to change things around here. We’ll rebuild the hospital, hire the freed djinn currently living there, start training apprentices . . .” She grinned, hopeful in a way she hadn’t been for a very long time. A little happy, even.
“Delay it,” Nisreen said bluntly. “Don’t do this. Not now. Things are too tense.”
Nahri felt some of her spirits drain; she’d hoped her mentor would share at least a touch of her excitement. “I can’t. Ghassan only agreed so we could present it as a tribal unity gesture for the celebrations. And anyway, I don’t want to delay it,” she added, a little hurt. “I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“That all sounds extraordinary,” Jamshid enthused. “I didn’t know about the hospital, but I’d love to see it.”
“I’d like to have you do more,” Nahri replied. “I want to make you my first student.”
His cane clattered to the floor. “What?” he whispered.
Nahri bent to pick it up and then smiled. “You’re smart. You’re excellent with the other patients here, and you’ve been a great help already.” She touched his hand. “Join me, Jamshid. It might not be the way you originally thought to serve our tribe . . . But I think you’d be a wonderful healer.”
He took a deep breath; he seemed stunned by the offer. “I . . .” His gaze darted to Nisreen. “If Nisreen does not object . . .”
Nisreen had the look of a woman wondering what she had done to deserve her current misfortune. “I . . . Yes. I think Jamshid might have quite the . . . knack for healing.” She cleared her throat. “Though perhaps he might exercise a bit more caution when putting away ingredients in the apothecary—and when reading old texts.” She returned her gaze to Nahri. “It seems Jamshid came across some of Manizheh’s notes archived in the Temple.”
“Really?” Nahri asked. “I’d love to see them.”
The Kingdom of Copper Page 28
