The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,128

his mother. Ali had never known her—she’d died before he was born, when Muntadhir himself was still a child. But he’d heard she and Muntadhir had been very close, and he’d always known his brother was deeply affected by her loss.

Looking at Tariq of the third great-great-uncle, Ali suspected he knew as well, and was only too happy to take advantage of that grief. Anger stirred in Ali’s heart. He didn’t need another reason to hate the man behind this abominable place, but the fact that he was so obviously using Muntadhir made his hatred burn a hundred times hotter.

Still, the situation before him was delicate. If Tariq had been a closer relation, Ali would have recognized the name and acted with more discretion. God knew things were already strained enough between him and Muntadhir.

He stepped closer to his brother’s horse. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Muntadhir flushed. “I wasn’t aware. Do you know all your relatives’ personal assets?”

“I know none of them made a business of selling shafit like slaves.” Ali hissed the words under his breath, but clearly not quietly enough, for Tariq drew up.

“Slaves?” Tariq rolled his eyes, the word coming in a condescending drawl. “By the Most High, we’re all aware of how sensitive you are when it comes to the shafit, Prince Alizayd, but there were no slaves here. God forbid such a thing. There were shafit looking for work, and for their pureblooded kin.”

Ali couldn’t believe the man’s gall. “Looking for work?” he asked incredulously. “The first time I came upon this place, your men were auctioning off a child as she screamed for her father!”

Muntadhir turned toward Tariq in shock. “Is that true?”

Ali had to hand it to Tariq—the man didn’t so much as flinch. “Of course not.” He touched his heart. “Come, Emir, you know me. And you know how the shafit like to exaggerate their woes … particularly before a man known to have an open purse and susceptible heart.” He shook his head. “I have no doubt they have been filling your poor brother’s ears with all sorts of tales of beatings and abuse.”

Lubayd threw out a hand, stopping Ali before he lunged forward. But he couldn’t stop Ali’s tongue. “You lying snake—”

“Enough,” Muntadhir snapped. “Both of you.” His brother now looked more annoyed than shaken, the doubt that had flashed in his eyes when Ali mentioned the girl already gone. “We didn’t come here to fight, Alizayd. The order came from Abba, and Tariq doesn’t plan to contest it. But he wants to be properly compensated.”

Ali gritted his teeth. “He was. I outlined terms in the scroll.”

“A hundred dinars?” Tariq mocked. “That’s nothing. Oh, wait, forgive me … and passage to Mecca,” he added sarcastically. “Clearly more an order than an offer.”

It was costing every bit of self-control Ali had not to drag this man from his horse. Had Muntadhir not been there, he probably would have. Feeling water begin to pool in his hands, he quickly clenched his fists; he dared not lose control here. “It is a great honor to be allowed to retire to Mecca,” he said in an even voice. “We only allow a handful of new djinn to enter the holy city each year; there are those who would weep for such a prize.”

“Well, I’m not one of them,” Tariq retorted. “My life and my business are in Daevabad. I’m not leaving, and I insist you properly compensate me.”

“I can leave you to the shafit you claim to have been assisting in ‘finding jobs and kin,’” Ali suggested coldly. “Would that be proper compensation?”

“No,” Muntadhir said flatly, his eyes flashing as his cousin paled. “Though if you threaten him again, we’re going to be having a very different conversation.” He stared at Ali. “This man is my kin,” he said, his voice low and laced with purpose. “He’s under my protection. Do not dishonor me by treating him so disdainfully. There must be some sort of compromise we can agree to.”

Ali met his gaze. He understood quite well the Geziri notions of pride and honor his brother was attempting to appeal to.

But that wasn’t the only code their tribe held dear.

“There’s no compromise to be made here, Dhiru,” Ali replied. “I’m not giving this man another coin. We cannot spare them. You are asking me to take bread out of the mouths of the soldiers who guard your life and bricks from the hospital intended to treat your citizens so an already rich man—a