The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,50

check; he didn’t want to be alone with his father.

Wajed squeezed his shoulder and briefly leaned in toward Ali’s ear. “Breathe, boy,” he whispered as Ghassan stood and strolled toward the balcony. “He doesn’t bite.” He flashed Ali a reassuring smile and followed Muntadhir out of the office.

There was a long moment of silence. His father studied the garden, his hands clasped behind him.

His back was still to Ali when he asked, “Do you believe that?”

Ali’s voice came out in a squeak. “Believe what?”

“What you said before.” His father turned around, his dark gray eyes intent. “About God’s law applying equally— By the Most High, Alizayd, stop shaking. I need to be able to talk to my Qaid without him turning into a trembling mess.”

Ali’s embarrassment was tempered with relief—far better for Ghassan to blame his anxiety on nerves from being made Qaid. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ghassan leveled his gaze on him again. “Answer the question.”

Ali thought fast, but there was no way he could lie. His family knew he was devout—he had been since childhood—and their religion was clear on the issue of the shafit. “Yes,” he replied. “I believe the shafit should be treated equally. That’s why our ancestors came to Daevabad. That’s why Zaydi al Qahtani went to war with the Nahids.”

“A war that nearly destroyed our entire race. A war that ended in the sacking of Daevabad and earned us the enmity of the Daeva tribe until this day.”

Ali startled at his father’s words. “Do you not think it was worth it?”

Ghassan looked irritated. “Of course I think it was worth it. I’m simply capable of seeing both sides of an issue. It’s a skill you should try to develop.” Ali’s cheeks grew hot, and his father continued. “Besides, there weren’t this many shafit in Zaydi’s time.”

Ali frowned. “Are they that numerous now?”

“Nearly a third of the population. Yes,” he said, noticing the surprise in Ali’s face. “Their numbers have burgeoned immensely in recent decades—information you’d do best to keep to yourself.” He gestured to the weapons. “There are now almost as many shafit in Daevabad as there are Daevas, and truthfully, my son, if they went to war in the streets, I’m not sure the Royal Guard could stop them. The Daevas would win in the end, of course, but it would be bloody, and it would destroy the city’s peace for generations.”

“But that’s not going to happen, Abba,” Ali argued. “The shafit aren’t fools. They just want a better life for themselves. They want to be able to work and live in buildings that aren’t coming down around them. To take care of their families without fearing their children will be snatched away by some pure—”

Ghassan interrupted. “When you come up with a way to provide jobs and housing for thousands of people, let me know. And if their lives were made easier here, they would only reproduce faster.”

“Then let them leave. Let them try to make better lives in the human world.”

“Let them cause chaos in the human world, you mean.” His father shook his head. “Absolutely not. They may look human, but many still have magic. We’d be inviting another Suleiman to curse us.” He sighed. “There’s no easy answer, Alizayd. All we can do is strike a balance.”

“But we’re not striking a balance,” Ali argued. “We’re choosing the fire worshippers over the shafit our ancestors came here to protect.”

Ghassan whirled on him. “The fire worshippers?”

Too late Ali remembered the Daevas hated that term for their tribe. “I didn’t mean—”

“Then don’t ever repeat such a thing in my presence.” His father glared at him. “The Daevas are under my protection, same as our own tribe. I don’t care what faith they practice.” He threw up his hands. “Hell, maybe they’re right to obsess over blood purity. In all my years, I’ve never encountered a Daeva shafit.”

They probably smother them in their cradles. But Ali didn’t say that. He’d been a fool to pick this fight today.

Ghassan ran a hand along the wet windowsill and then shook off the water droplets that had gathered upon his fingertips. “It’s always wet here. Always cold. I haven’t been back to Am Gezira in a century and yet every morning, I wake up missing its hot sands.” He glanced back at Ali. “This is not our home. It never will be. It will always belong to the Daevas first.”

It’s my home. Ali was accustomed to Daevabad’s damp chill and liked the diverse mix of peoples that