The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,141

frightened someone would see her.” She glanced back at him. “But I never considered it of you. You were so Geziri, even as child. And once you joined the Citadel, you were so loyal to their code …”

“You feared I would tell,” Ali finished when his mother trailed off. He felt sick. He couldn’t even say she was wrong. There were times when he was a child that he was so determined to prove himself true to his father and brother’s tribe, so rigid in his conception of faith, that yes, he would have let slip an Ayaanle secret, and it shamed him. He abruptly sat down, running his wet hands over his face. “But why didn’t you say anything when I first told you about the marid possession?”

Her words were gentle. “Alu, you were panicking. You’d been in Daevabad less than a week. It wasn’t the time.”

Issa was looking between them as though he were suddenly very sorry he’d let them in. “Stop that,” he warned, waving a hand at the ribbon of fog curling around Ali’s waist. “Do you have any idea what would happen if someone saw you doing that? I had a mob chase me from the palace just for these emerald eyes!”

“Then help me,” Ali begged, struggling to rein back the water. “Please. It’s getting harder to control.”

“I don’t know how to help you,” Issa replied, sounding flabbergasted. He glanced at Hatset, for the first time looking slightly chastened. “Forgive me, my queen. I don’t know what you were expecting, but I have never come across anything like this. You should take him back to Ta Ntry. He’d be safer and your family might have answers.”

“I cannot take him back to Ta Ntry,” his mother said plainly. “Things are too tense in the palace. His father and brother will think I’m preparing him for a coup, and if either of them got wind of this?” She nodded at the still lingering fog. “I do not trust them. Ghassan puts the stability of this city before everything else.”

Issa shook his head. “Queen Hatset …”

“Please.” The word cut through the air. “He is my only son, Ustadh,” she pressed. “I will get you everything that’s ever been written about the marid. I will get you copies of my family records. All I ask is that you look for a way to help us.” Her voice turned a little crafty. “And come now, it must be decades since you’ve had a good mystery on your hands.”

“You might not like the answers,” Issa pointed out.

Ill with dread, Ali’s gaze had fallen to the floor. Still, he could sense the weight of their stares, the worry radiating from his mother.

Hatset spoke again. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

THOUGH HIS MOTHER HAD ENDED THEIR MEETING with a firm order for Ali to stay calm and let her and Issa handle things, their conversation at the hospital haunted him. In response, Ali threw himself deeper into his work, trying desperately to ignore the whispers that ran through his mind when he bathed and the fact that the rain—which had not abated in days—came down more heavily each time he lost his temper. He hadn’t been sleeping much, and now when he did close his eyes, his dreams were plagued with images of a burning lake and ruined ships, of scaled limbs dragging him beneath muddy waters and cold green eyes narrowing over an arrow’s shaft. Ali would wake shivering and drenched in sweat, feeling as though someone had just been whispering a warning in his ear.

The effect it was having on his behavior did not go unnoticed.

“Alizayd.” His father snapped his fingers in front of Ali’s face as they exited the throne room after court. “Alizayd?”

Ali blinked, pulled from his daze. “Yes?”

Ghassan eyed him. “Are you all right?” he asked, a little concern in his voice. “I thought for certain you’d have sharp words for the moneychanger from Garama.”

Ali could remember neither a moneychanger nor Garama. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

His father narrowed his eyes. “Problems at the hospital?”

“Not at all,” Ali said quickly. “Our work there continues smoothly and we should be on track, God willing, to open by Navasatem.”

“Excellent.” Ghassan clapped his back as they came around the corner. “Take care not to entirely overwork yourself. Ah … but speaking of someone who could stand to overwork himself—Muntadhir,” he greeted as his eldest son came into view. “I do hope you have an excuse for missing court.”

Muntadhir touched his heart