The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,93

to protest, but Ali raised his hand so abruptly the other man flinched. “Get out. And if I hear you speak of such corruption a second time, I’ll take your tongue to prevent a third.”

Ali didn’t really mean that; he was merely exhausted and annoyed. But Abu Zebala’s patronizing smile vanished and he paled. He nodded and quickly left, his sandals clattering as he fled down the steps.

That was poorly done. Ali sighed and stood, walking toward the window. But he didn’t have the patience for a man like Abu Zebala. Not after last night.

A single ferry pushed over the calm water of the distant lake, bright sunlight reflecting on its black and gold hull. It was a beautiful day to sail. Whoever was on the ferry should count themselves lucky, he thought; the last time Ali crossed was in rain so heavy he’d feared the boat would sink.

He yawned, exhaustion creeping up on him again. He hadn’t gone back to the palace last night, unable to bear the thought of seeing his luxurious apartment—or running into the family the Tanzeem wanted him to betray—after the disastrous encounter at the orphanage. But he hadn’t gotten much sleep in his office; in truth, he hadn’t gotten much sleep since the night he had followed Anas into the Daeva Quarter.

He returned to his desk, its flat surface suddenly tempting. Ali laid his head upon his arm and closed his eyes. Maybe just a few minutes . . .

A sudden knock jarred Ali from sleep, and he jumped, scattering his papers and knocking over the teacup. When the grand wazir barged in, Ali didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

Kaveh closed the door as Ali swept wet tea leaves off his now-stained reports. “Hard at work, my prince?”

Ali glared at him. “What do you want, Kaveh?”

“I need to speak to your father. It is most urgent.”

Ali waved his hand around the office. “You do know that you’re in the Citadel? I understand it must be confusing at your age . . . all these buildings that look nothing alike, located on opposite sides of the city . . .”

Kaveh sat without invitation in the chair across from Ali. “He won’t see me. His servants say he’s busy.”

Ali hid his surprise. Kaveh was a deeply annoying man, but his position was one which usually guaranteed access to the king, especially if the matter was urgent. “Perhaps you’ve fallen from favor,” he suggested hopefully.

“I take it then that the rumors do not have you worried?” Kaveh asked, pointedly ignoring Ali’s response. “The gossip in the bazaar about a Daeva girl who supposedly converted to your faith to elope with a djinn man? People say her family stole her back last night and are hiding her in our quarter.”

Ah. Ali reconsidered Kaveh’s concern. There wasn’t much that sparked more tension in their world than conversions and intermarriage. And unfortunately the situation the wazir just laid out was fuel for a riot. Daevabad’s law provided absolute protection to converts; under no circumstances were their Daeva families allowed to harass or detain them. Ali saw no problem with this: the djinn faith was the correct faith, after all. Yet the Daevas could be extremely possessive when it came to their kin, and it rarely ended well.

“Would it not be better for you to go back to your people and find the girl? Surely you have the resources. Return her to her husband before things get out of control.”

“As much as I enjoy handing over Daeva girls to mobs of angry djinn,” Kaveh started sarcastically, “the girl in question doesn’t seem to exist. No one on either side knows her name or has any identifying information. Some say her husband is a Sahrayn trader, some say a Geziri metalworker, and others a shafit beggar.” He scowled. “If she were real, I would know.”

Ali narrowed his eyes. “So what is the problem then?”

“That it’s a rumor. There’s no girl to turn over. But that answer merely angers the djinn even more. I fear they’re looking for any reason to sack our quarter.”

“And who is ‘they,’ Grand Wazir? Who would be foolish enough to attack the Daeva Quarter?”

Kaveh raised his chin. “Perhaps the men who helped Anas Bhatt murder two of my tribesmen, the men I believe you were tasked with finding and arresting.”

It took every bit of self-control Ali had not to flinch. He cleared his throat. “I doubt a few fugitives already on the run from the Royal Guard would