The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,74

eyes. “Excuse me?”

Their argument was attracting curious glances; Ali switched to Geziriyya so only Muntadhir could understand him. “How can you even sit here, akhi? Have you ever given thought to where—”

Khanzada jumped to her feet. “If you want to accuse me of something, at least have the courage to say it in a language I can understand, you half-tribe brat!”

Muntadhir abruptly straightened up at her words. The nervous chatter of the other men died away, and the musicians stopped playing.

“What did you just call him?” Muntadhir demanded. Ali had never heard such ice in his voice.

Khanzada seemed to realize she had made a mistake. The anger vanished from her face, replaced by fear. “I-I only meant—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Muntadhir snapped. “How dare you say such a thing to your prince? Apologize.”

Ali reached for his brother’s wrist. “It’s fine, Dhiru. I shouldn’t have—”

Muntadhir cut him off with a raised palm. “Apologize, Khanzada,” he repeated. “Now.”

She quickly pressed her palms together and lowered her eyes. “Forgive me, Prince Alizayd. I did not mean to insult you.”

“Good.” Muntadhir shot a look at the musicians so reminiscent of their father it made Ali’s skin crawl. “What are you all staring at? Play on!”

Ali swallowed, too embarrassed to look at anyone in the room. “I should go.”

“Yes, you probably should.” But before Ali could rise, his brother grabbed him by the wrist. “And don’t ever disagree with me in front of these men again,” he warned in Geziriyya. “Especially when you’re the one being an ass.” He let go of Ali’s arm.

“Fine,” Ali muttered. Muntadhir still had a strand of pearls looped around Rupa’s neck like some extravagant leash. The girl was smiling, but the expression didn’t meet her eyes.

Ali pulled a heavy silver ring off his thumb as he stood up. He met the shafit girl’s gaze and then dropped the ring on the table. “My apologies.”

He took the dark steps that led to the street two at a time, struck by his brother’s swift response. Muntadhir clearly hadn’t agreed with Ali’s behavior, but had still defended him, had humiliated his own lover to do so. He hadn’t even hesitated.

We are Geziri. It’s what we do. Ali was just clear of the house when a voice spoke up behind him.

“Not quite to your taste?”

Ali glanced back. Jamshid e-Pramukh lounged outside Khanzada’s door, smoking a long pipe.

Ali hesitated. He didn’t know Jamshid well. Though Kaveh’s son served in the Royal Guard, he did so in a Daeva contingent whose training was segregated—and purposefully inferior. Muntadhir spoke highly of the Daeva captain—his bodyguard for over a decade and his closest friend—but Jamshid was always quiet in Ali’s presence.

Probably because his father thinks I want to burn down the Grand Temple with all the Daevas inside it. Ali could only imagine the things said about him in the privacy of the Pramukh household.

“Something like that,” Ali finally replied.

Jamshid laughed. “I told him to take you someplace quieter, but you know your brother when he sets his mind on a thing.” His dark eyes sparkled, his voice warm with affection.

Ali made a face. “Fortunately, I think I’ve worn out my invitation.”

“You’re in good company then.” Jamshid took another drag from the pipe. “Khanzada hates me.”

“Really?” Ali couldn’t imagine what the courtesan would have against the mild-mannered guard.

Jamshid nodded and held out the pipe, but Ali demurred. “I think I’ll just head back to the palace.”

“Of course.” He motioned down the street. “Your secretary’s waiting for you in the midan.”

“Rashid?” Ali frowned. He didn’t have any further business this evening that he could recall.

“He didn’t get around to offering his name.” A hint of annoyance flickered in Jamshid’s eyes, gone in a moment. “Nor did he want to wait here.”

Odd. “Thank you for letting me know.” Ali started to turn away.

“Prince Alizayd?” When Ali turned back, Jamshid continued. “I’m sorry for what happened in our quarter today. We’re not all like that.”

The apology took him aback. “I know,” Ali replied, unsure of what else to say.

“Good.” Jamshid winked. “Don’t let my father get to you. It’s a thing at which he excels.”

That brought a smile to Ali’s face. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. He touched his heart and brow. “Peace be upon you, Captain Pramukh.”

“And upon you peace.”

11

Nahri

Nahri took a long swig of water from the skin, swirled it around in her mouth, and spat. She’d have given her last dirham to drink without feeling grit in her teeth. She sighed and leaned heavily against