The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,177

motion of his hand drew Ali’s attention, and he startled. Was the Afshin’s slave ring . . . glowing? He narrowed his eyes. It appeared so. The emerald shone with the barest of lights, like a flame contained by a grimy glass lamp.

The Afshin didn’t seem to notice. “I follow the Banu Nahida in all things,” he said, his voice icier than Ali ever thought a man’s could be. “No matter how abominable. So I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Muntadhir started to open his mouth but thankfully, Khanzada chose that moment to approach.

She perched on the edge of Muntadhir’s sofa and draped an elegant arm around his shoulders. “My beloved, with what serious business do you gentlemen mar this beautiful evening?” She stroked his cheek. “Such grumpy faces on all of you. Your inattention insults my girls.”

“Forgive us, my lady,” the Afshin interjected. “We were discussing the emir’s wedding. Surely you will be in attendance?”

Heat rose in his brother’s expression, but if Darayavahoush hoped to spark some sort of jealousy-fueled lover’s spat, he had underestimated the courtesan’s loyalty.

She smiled sweetly. “But of course. I shall dance with his wife.” She slid into Muntadhir’s lap, her sharp eyes staying on Darayavahoush’s face. “Perhaps I can give her some guidance in how to best please him.”

The air grew warm. Ali tensed, but the Afshin didn’t respond. Instead, he drew in a sharp breath and reached for his head as if overcome by an unexpected migraine.

Khanzada feigned concern. “Are you well, Afshin? If the evening has overtired you, I have rooms where you may rest. Surely I can find you companionship,” she added with a cold smile. “Your type is rather apparent.”

She’d gone too far—she and Muntadhir both. Darayavahoush snapped back to attention. His green eyes flashed, and he bared his teeth in an almost feral grin.

“Forgive the distraction, my lady,” he said. “But that truly is a beautiful image. You must fantasize about it often. And how lovingly detailed . . . right down to the little house in Agnivansha. Red sandstone, yes?” he asked, and Khanzada went pale. “On the banks of the Chambal . . . a swing for two overlooking the river.”

The courtesan straightened up with a gasp. “How . . . you can’t possibly know that!”

Darayavahoush didn’t take his eyes off her. “By the Creator, how very much you want it . . . so much so that you’d be willing to run away, to abandon this pretty place and all its riches. You don’t think he’d be a good king anyway . . . would it not be better for him to go off with you, to grow old together, reading poetry and drinking wine?”

“What in God’s name are you going on about?” Muntadhir snapped as Khanzada jumped up from his lap, embarrassed tears in her eyes.

The Afshin fixed his bright eyes on the emir. “Her wishes, Emir Muntadhir,” he said calmly. “Not that you share them. Oh, no . . .” He paused, edging closer, his eyes locked on Muntadhir’s face. A delighted grin spread across his face. “Not at all, apparently.” He looked between Jamshid and Muntadhir and then laughed. “Now that’s an interesting—”

Muntadhir jumped to his feet.

Ali was between them in an instant.

His brother might not have been Citadel trained, but at some point in his life, someone had clearly taught him how to throw a punch. His fist caught Ali on the chin and knocked him clean off his feet.

Ali landed hard, shattering the table that held their drinks with a crash. The musicians clanged to a noisy stop, and one of the dancers screamed. Several people jumped to their feet. The crowd looked shocked.

Two soldiers had been loitering near the roof’s edge, and Ali saw one reach for his zulfiqar before his fellow grabbed his arm. Of course, Ali realized. To the rest of the roof, it must have looked like the Emir of Daevabad had just purposefully punched his younger brother in the face. But Ali was also the future Qaid, an officer in the Royal Guard—and it was clear the soldiers weren’t sure who to protect. Had Ali been any other man, they’d be dragging him away from their emir before he could respond. That’s what they should have been doing—and Ali could only pray Muntadhir didn’t realize the breach in protocol. Not after the fears his brother had just confessed to having where Ali was concerned.

Jamshid held his hand out. “Are you all right, my prince?”

Ali stifled a gasp