harm. I’ll even apologize—yes?—and call them by their fancy titles.”
“I knew I could count on you.” Ali smiled before turning away.
But the brief lift in his spirits at winning over Wajed vanished as he kept walking.
He shouldn’t have had to make that choice. It was the same thing that had been swirling in Ali’s head since his brother first took the zulfiqar strike Darayavahoush had meant for Ali. Because Jamshid was right. It should have been Ali.
Instead, Muntadhir was dead, and Ali wore the seal, and he didn’t think he would ever stop carrying that guilt.
A pair of servants passed, a soldier saluting. Ali barely managed a response. Protocol hadn’t been something he’d thought about in weeks, and he didn’t trust himself not to make an error. Instead, he stepped into the first alcove he saw, grateful to find that it twisted into a small, empty balcony. It was an otherwise lovely day, and just beyond the jungle, Ali caught a glint of the sea, the bright sun reflected against the water.
And then the other part of Jamshid’s shouting came back to him.
Your brother was the love of my life.
Ali suddenly felt very, very foolish—a hundred whispers and comments and looks that had blown past him returning and making obvious in hindsight what he’d missed. But he didn’t understand why—why would Muntadhir have gone to such lengths to keep his relationship with Jamshid a secret from Ali? It wasn’t as if his brother had bothered to hide anything else. The drinking, the women, his lackluster attitude toward prayer, toward any element of their faith—a litany of sins.
And is that what you consider this? A sin? Was Ali even one to judge? He spent half his nights dreaming about his brother’s wife and had the blood of innocents on his hands. What had Muntadhir done in comparison? Fallen in love with someone forbidden? All Ali could do at this point was relate.
But that hadn’t been the worst of Jamshid’s accusations. God, that night on the roof … There had been a time when Ali thought about that night every day. Now he could scarcely remember his would-be assassin’s name.
Hanno. Hanno, the shafit shapeshifter from the Tanzeem. He’d had a daughter kidnapped and killed by purebloods, and it all came back to Ali in pieces. The grief in the other man’s eyes, the blood, the pain, the curt order Ali had growled to Jamshid before passing out—get rid of him. Ali must have seemed like a monster.
He must have seemed exactly like Ghassan.
Was that how it started, Abba? Had his father felt like this as a young king, so scared and uncertain how to rule that he’d simply crushed anything he feared might hurt him? The act that Ghassan had put on in the court, the act Muntadhir had had to perfect his whole life—when saddled with that kind of responsibility, how else did you respond if you knew a mistake would doom everyone you cared for?
Your brother was the love of my life. Jamshid’s words came again, but it was Muntadhir whom Ali saw in his mind. How much of himself had his brother had to hide behind his broken grin?
Ali leaned against the wall, embracing the shadow. For a moment, he wished for a proper imam, for someone who knew the Book and whose faith had not been shaken, to tell him what to do next.
A slippered step drew his attention. Ali instantly reached for his zulfiqar—and then dropped his hand.
“You found my hiding spot.” Hatset stepped into the sunshine, smiling gently at him. “I’ve been coming here since I was a girl. There used to be an enormous vine you could climb to better see the ocean, but my mother had it cut down when I fell and nearly broke my neck.” Her smile faded. “I am torn between clutching you to my heart and smacking you in the head, Alubaba. I thought you’d be here at least a day before I felt that way.”
“I did not bring Nahri to Ta Ntry to be set upon by angry djinn,” Ali retorted, assuming it was his rudeness on her behalf that irked Hatset. “She has reasons for her secrets.”
“And we have reasons to distrust Nahids.” Hatset gave him an astute look. “Did you enjoy your time with the new Baga Nahid?”
Ali didn’t bother lying. His mother always seemed to know everything anyway. “I think our relationship needs some work.” But then he paused. His mother did always seem to know