The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,120

do so in all matters . . . unless it goes against God.”

“Unless it goes against God.” Ghassan held his gaze for another long moment while Ali inwardly panicked. But then his father nodded at the door leading out to the next platform. “Go. There is something you should see.”

They stepped out onto one of the upper tiers of the ziggurat. One could see the entire island from this height. Ali drifted toward the crenellated wall. It was a beautiful view: the ancient city hugged by its glowing brass walls, the neatly terraced and irrigated fields on its southern hills, the calm lake ringed by the emerald green mountains. Three thousand years of human architecture was spread before him, meticulously copied by the invisible djinn who’d passed through human cities, watching the rise and fall of their empires. Djinn-designed buildings stood apart, impossibly tall towers of twisting sandblasted glass, delicate mansions of molten silver, and floating tents of painted silk. Something stirred in his heart at the sight. Despite its wickedness, Ali loved his city.

A plume of white smoke caught his eye, and he turned his attention to the Grand Temple. The Grand Temple was the oldest building in Daevabad after the palace, an enormous yet simple complex at the heart of the Daeva Quarter.

The complex was so enshrouded by smoke that he could barely make out the buildings. That wasn’t unusual; on Daeva feast days the temple tended to see an uptick in the number of people servicing the fire altars. But today wasn’t a feast day.

Ali frowned. “The fire worshippers look busy.”

“I’ve told you not to call them that,” Ghassan chided as he joined him at the wall. “But, yes, it’s been like this all week. And their drums haven’t stopped yet.”

“The streets are filled with their celebrations as well,” Ali said darkly. “You’d think the Nahid Council had returned to throw us all in the lake.”

“I cannot blame them,” the king admitted. “If I were Daeva, and I witnessed an Afshin and Banu Nahida miraculously appear to stop a mob of shafit from breaking into my neighborhood, I’d take to wearing an ash mark on my head as well.”

The words were out of Ali’s mouth before he could stop himself. “Did the riot not go according to your plan, Abba?”

“Watch your tone, boy.” Ghassan glared at him. “By the Most High, do you ever stop to consider the things in your head before you spout them? If you were not my son, you would be arrested for such disrespect.” He shook his head and looked down upon the city. “You self-righteous young fool . . . sometimes I think you have no appreciation for the precariousness of your position. I had to send Wajed himself to deal with your scheming relatives in Ta Ntry and still you talk this way?”

Ali flinched. “Sorry,” he muttered. His father stayed silent as Ali nervously crossed and uncrossed his arms, tapping his fingers on the wall. “But I don’t see what this has to do with me resigning as Qaid.”

“Tell me what you know of the Banu Nahida’s land,” his father said, ignoring his statement.

“Egypt?” Ali warmed to the discussion, glad to be on ground that was familiar to him. “It’s been settled even longer than Daevabad,” he started. “There have always been advanced human societies along the Nile. It’s a fertile land, lots of agriculture, good farming. Her city, Cairo, is very large. It’s a center of trade, and scholarship. They have several acclaimed institutes of—”

“That’s enough.” Ghassan nodded, a decision settling on his face. “Good. I’m glad to know your obsession with the human world isn’t entirely useless.”

Ali frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m going to marry the Banu Nahida to Muntadhir.”

Ali actually gasped. “You’re going to do what?”

Ghassan laughed. “Don’t act so shocked. Surely, you must see the potential in their marriage? We could put all this nonsense with the Daevas behind us, become a united people moving forward.” Something uncharacteristically wistful flickered across his face. “It’s a thing that should have been done generations ago, had our respective families not been so prudish about crossing tribal lines.” His mouth thinned. “A thing I should have done myself.”

Ali couldn’t hide his flustered reaction. “Abba, we have no idea who this girl is! You’re ready to take her identity as Manizheh’s daughter on the secondhand word of some supposed ifrit and the fact that a bathroom fall didn’t kill her?”

“Yes.” Ghassan’s next words were deliberate. “It pleases me for