everything. “Muntadhir and Jamshid … were they—”
“Yes. They were quiet about it, but most of us knew.”
“Abba knew?”
“Yes.” She sounded grim. “I suspect he encouraged their relationship—on Jamshid’s end, anyway. I’m sure he got a measure of satisfaction at watching how far Manizheh’s son would go to protect his own.”
Ali’s stomach flipped. “Muntadhir never told me. We were once so close. It makes me sick that he would have feared my reaction. That maybe he was right too.”
“You were very young when it started, Alizayd. Very sheltered at the Citadel—which, as your mother, admittedly I did not mind. You don’t know what your relationship with Muntadhir would have been like later in life.”
“Because it was going so well.” Ali shook his head. “I feel like I failed him, Amma. Failed Zaynab. Failed Lubayd and all my brothers at the Citadel. Am actively failing you and Nahri and everyone else.” He leaned over the balcony. “Maybe it would have been better if our roles had been reversed. If I had died in Daevabad, and Dhiru—”
“Don’t.” Hatset stroked his back. “Don’t go down that path, Alu. God put you here for a reason, and you haven’t lost yet. You’re also not alone. Come get cleaned up, have something to eat, and rest. Plotting your next move can wait until tomorrow.”
Ali glanced sideways at her. “Extend the offer to Nahri and Jamshid, and I promise I’ll even sleep in a bed.”
“Always the negotiator.”
“Does that mean I’ve convinced you?”
“I will release Jamshid, but both he and Nahri are going to be under heavy guard—as much for their own safety as ours. And you’ll be granting me additional concessions.”
He feigned a shiver. “What?”
“One, you’re getting a tutor. At least an hour a day in Ntaran until you stop speaking it like a child. And two, you will then use that Ntaran to be polite and respectful to your family here. You can’t just look to the Geziris anymore, Alizayd. You’re going to need the Ayaanle. Let the past with Musa rest.”
Ali offered an exaggerated bow, touching his heart. “I’ll be the picture of diplomacy, I promise. Can I meet my grandfather?”
Sadness swept over his mother’s face. “Not today, but hopefully soon. His health has taken a turn for the worse. When he’s lucid, he seems to be living in his own world of ten years ago. I’m trying to keep him from learning about the invasion, but …” Her voice hitched. “He always asks after you and Zaynab. It’s been … it’s been very hard not to react.”
Ali hugged her. “I’m sorry, Amma.” Small wonder his always indomitable mother looked worn out. “It’s going to be all right, God willing. And we’re going to get Zaynab back. She’s smart, she’s a survivor, and she has one of the most skilled warriors I’ve ever met at her side.”
“I pray you’re right.” Hatset held him close. “I really do.”
25
NAHRI
Whatever Ali said to his mother must have worked, for by the evening, Nahri and Jamshid had been set up in adjoining suites fit for, well, the exiled and long-lost royalty they apparently were. The rooms weren’t as luxurious as those in Daevabad’s palace, but rather had a restrained, natural elegance Nahri appreciated more, with tall ceilings of carved plaster held up by slender wooden columns. One wall was entirely given over to open windows and a balcony, bringing the smell of the sea indoors.
More important personally to her, she’d finally had a chance to bathe, scraping off enough muck to require multiple changes of fire-warmed water. It felt achingly good to be clean and have her stomach full—for she’d returned to their suites to find a newly groomed Jamshid had already sampled everything from the enormous platter they’d been given, stolen one of the serving knives, and was waiting to see if he died from poison before letting Nahri touch any of the food. When Nahri delicately questioned his washed but still very overgrown hair and beard, he matter-of-factly explained that no djinn was coming near him with a razor.
He was finally asleep in the next room. Nahri should have been as well; God knew she needed it. But her mind hadn’t stopped racing, and the enormous teak bed—solid and covered in soft, patterned quilts—was too different from the myriad places she’d slept in the past few weeks.
It was also too quiet with Ali still gone. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left Jamshid’s cell, not that she should be surprised—he had his own reunions with his people