The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,160

knew his brother was wrong, he decided to change the subject. “I was starting to fear that’s how the Afshin would send you back to Daevabad.”

Muntadhir’s face soured. “I will need more wine if we’re going to talk about Darayavahoush.” He dropped off the wall’s edge and crossed back toward the pavilion.

“That bad?”

His brother returned, setting down one of the food platters and a full goblet of dark wine before pushing back up on the wall. “God, yes. He barely eats, he barely drinks, he just watches, like he’s waiting for the best time to strike. It was like sharing a tent with a viper. By the Most High, he spent so much time staring at me, he probably knows the number of hairs in my beard. And the constant comparisons to how things were better in his time.” He rolled his eyes and affected a heavy Divasti accent. “If the Nahids still ruled, the ifrit would never dare come to the border; if the Nahids still ruled, the Grand Bazaar would be cleaner; if the Nahids still ruled, wine would be sweeter and dancing girls more daring and the world would just about explode in happiness.” He dropped the accent. “Between that and the fire-cult nonsense, I was nearly driven mad.”

Ali frowned. “What fire-cult nonsense?”

“I took a few Daeva soldiers along, thinking Darayavahoush would be more comfortable around his own people.” Muntadhir took a sip of his wine. “He kept goading them into tending those damn altars. By the time we returned, they were all wearing ash marks and barely speaking to the rest of us.”

That sent a chill down Ali’s spine. Religious revivals among the fire worshippers rarely ended well in Daevabad. He joined his brother on the wall.

“I couldn’t even blame them,” Muntadhir continued. “You should have seen him with a bow, Zaydi. He was terrifying. I have no doubt that if his little Banu Nahida wasn’t in Daevabad, he would have murdered us all in our sleep with the barest of efforts.”

“You let him have a weapon?” Ali asked, his voice sharp.

Muntadhir shrugged. “My men wanted to know if the Afshin lived up to the legend. They kept asking.”

Ali was incredulous. “So you tell them no. You were in charge, Muntadhir. You would have been responsible if anything—”

“I was trying to gain their friendship,” his brother cut in. “You wouldn’t understand; you trained with them in the Citadel, and judging from how they spoke of you and your damn zulfiqar, you already have it.”

There was a bitterness to his brother’s voice, but Ali persisted. “You’re not supposed to be friends. You’re supposed to lead.”

“And where was all this common sense when you decided to spar alone with the Scourge of Qui-zi? You think Jamshid didn’t tell me about that bit of idiocy?”

Ali had little defense for that. “It was stupid,” he admitted. He bit his lip, remembering his violent interaction with the Afshin. “Dhiru . . . while you were gone . . . did Darayavahoush seem strange to you in any way?”

“Did you not hear anything I just said?”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s just that when we sparred . . . well, I’ve never seen anyone wield magic like that.”

Muntadhir shrugged. “He’s a freed slave. Don’t they retain some of the power they had when they were working for the ifrit?”

Ali frowned. “But how is he free? We still have his relic. And I’ve been reading up on slaves . . . I can’t find anything about peris being able to break an ifrit curse. They don’t get involved with our people.”

Muntadhir cracked a walnut in his hand, pulling the meat free. “I’m sure Abba has people looking into it.”

“I suppose.” Ali pulled the platter over and grabbed a handful of pistachios, prying one open and flicking the pale shell into the black water below. “Did Abba tell you the other happy news?”

Muntadhir took another sip of wine, and Ali could see an angry tremor in his hands. “I’m not marrying that human-faced girl.”

“You act like you have a choice.”

“It’s not happening.”

Ali pried open another pistachio. “You should give her a chance, Dhiru. She’s astonishingly smart. You should see how fast she learned to read and write; it’s incredible. She’s worlds brighter than you for sure,” he added, ducking when Muntadhir threw a walnut at his head. “She can help you with your economic policies when you’re king.”

“Yes, that’s just what every man dreams of in a wife,” Muntadhir said drily.

Ali gave him an