blinked, surprised but pleased at the suggestion. She wasn’t sure what exchange Ali was talking about—though the naked disdain in his voice made clear his opinion of it. But Subha’s accusations about Nahri’s complicity in the oppression of Daevabad’s shafit had struck deep. Nahri didn’t know much about the lives of a people she quietly belonged to, but this seemed like a good way to help some of them.
But Ghassan’s expression had darkened. “I thought you’d learned to be warier about getting involved with the shafit, Alizayd.”
“It’s not just him,” Muntadhir cut in. His gaze locked on hers. “And I suspect that’s not all they want. This has to do with that shafit physician you were so eager to track down, doesn’t it?” He turned back to his father. “She came to me with this weeks ago, talking about how she wanted to start working with shafit doctors and treating shafit patients.”
Shock fell across the pavilion, so thick she could almost feel it. Zaynab dropped her cup, the queen taking a sharp breath.
Nahri silently cursed; it wasn’t enough for Muntadhir to disagree, apparently. He also needed to undermine her by rudely letting slip a risky plan she’d wanted to be far more precise in proposing.
Ghassan recovered first. “You intend to heal shafit?”
Nahri answered honestly, though she loathed the words. “No. Not myself … not at first. We’d work and study alongside each other, the djinn using magic and the shafit using human techniques. I’m hoping it might prove a fresh start for the Daevas and the shafit, and that maybe, in the future, we’ll be able to cross those lines.”
Ghassan shook his head. “Your priests would never approve of such a thing. I am not certain I approve of such a thing. The first time a shafit doctor hurts a Daeva—or the reverse—people will be rioting in the streets.”
“Or they might learn to get along a bit better.” It was the queen, still looking slightly taken aback, though her words were encouraging. “It is the Banu Nahida who is proposing this project. The Daevas are obliged to obey her, are they not?” She shrugged lightly, as though the conversation hadn’t turned fraught. “It is her responsibility and her risk if she wants to provoke them.”
“Your support is appreciated,” Nahri replied, checking her sarcasm. “I figured we could start the rebuilding effort first—of that I am certain my people would approve. I will go to the priests afterward and tell them of my plans regarding the shafit. Tell them,” she clarified. “I’ll listen to their concerns, but as the queen pointed out, I am the Banu Nahida. What I wish to share of my abilities at my hospital is my decision.”
Ghassan leaned back. “If we’re speaking so frankly … what do we get out of this? You’re asking me to lay out money and risk to restore a monument to your ancestors … people who, as you may recall, were the enemies of mine.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “The health of Daevabadis aside, I am not naive to the fact that this empowers you, not me.”
“But what if it was truly a joint project?” Zaynab spoke this time, softly at first, though her voice grew more assured as she continued. “An extension of your outreach to the Daevas, Abba. It would be greatly symbolic, especially in light of the generation celebrations.” She smiled at her father. “Maybe we could even try to finish it in time for Navasatem? You could open it yourself, as a crowning achievement for your rule.”
Ghassan inclined his head, but at his daughter’s warm smile, his expression had softened. “A rather plain appeal to vanity, Zaynab.”
“Because I know you well,” she teased. “Peace between the tribes is why you wished to see Muntadhir and Nahri marry, isn’t it? Perhaps he could even go with her to the Temple to seek the priests’ blessing.”
Nahri had to work to keep her expression neutral at that. She was glad for Zaynab’s support, but she knew how protective her people were of their customs. “Only Daevas are permitted to enter the Temple. It’s been that way for centuries.”
Hatset gave her a pointed look. “If you’re willing to take djinn money for your hospital, Banu Nahida, I think you’d be willing to let one of us darken the doorstep of your Temple.” She laid a hand on her son’s shoulder. “But it should be Alizayd. He is the one who wishes to partner with you.”
“It should be Muntadhir,” Zaynab corrected, pleasantly