The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,165

and hope in her voice. “Because I could really use another Daeva at my side.”

Nisreen squeezed Nahri’s hand. “I will always be at your side.”

SITTING STIFFLY WITH MUNTADHIR IN THE MASSIVE throne room, Nahri watched the oil in the tall glass cylinder burn low.

A hush had descended upon the crowd below, an expectant and excited buzz. Though court had been held as usual, the day’s business was done with a wink, the petitions getting silly as was apparently the custom on the last day of a generation. The throne room was packed, eager crowds spilling out into the entrance gardens.

Nahri was struggling to share their excitement. For one, she’d drunk a little too much soma last night and her head was still swimming. But worse was being in the throne room itself. It was here she’d been forced to denounce Dara, and the more she learned about her people, the more obvious the room’s Daeva design became. The open pavilion and manicured gardens so similar to those of the Grand Temple; the elegant columns carved with Nahids riding shedu, archers sporting ash marks, and dancers pouring wine. The green marble floor cut through with canals of rushing ice water brought to mind the green plains and cold mountains of Daevastana, not Am Gezira’s golden sands. And then there was the throne itself, the magnificent, bejeweled seat carved to imitate the mighty shedu her ancestors had once tamed.

To be a Nahid in the throne room was to have her family’s stolen heritage thrust in her face while she was forced to bow down before the thieves. And it was a humiliation she hated.

She could feel Ghassan’s gaze on her now, and she tried to bring a happier expression to her face. It was tiring to play the part of the joyful royal wife when she hadn’t spoken to her husband in weeks and she was fairly certain her father-in-law was contemplating assassinating her.

Standing at Ghassan’s side was Kaveh. Ever diplomatic, the grand wazir had greeted her warmly when she arrived. Nahri had smiled back, even as she considered trying to brew up one of her ancestors’ truth serums to slip into his wine. Nahri wasn’t certain if Ali’s accusations about Kaveh’s complicity in the workcamp attack were true, but her instincts told her there was more ruthless cunning behind Kaveh’s politely loyal mask than she had previously suspected. Not that she knew what to do about it. Nahri meant what she’d said to Subha: she was determined to find some justice for the camp’s victims. But under virtual imprisonment in the palace infirmary—Ghassan would not even let her go to the Temple to speak to her people—she wasn’t sure how to accomplish that.

She looked around the chamber once more. Ali was missing, an absence that concerned her. Per Ghassan’s orders, they hadn’t seen each other since that day, though they’d been exchanging letters through the king’s messenger fairly often. In a petty move, they’d resorted to writing out their words in Egyptian Arabic, but Ali’s messages were all business: hospital updates and construction news. As far as anyone could tell, he’d been brought into line, chastened by his mother’s banishment and his own confinement in the hospital.

Nahri didn’t believe that for a minute.

There was a flicker of light, and then a cheer broke out across the room, drawing her attention back to the now extinguished cylinder.

Ghassan rose to his feet. “I call to a close the twenty-ninth generation of Suleiman’s Blessing!”

A roar of approval greeted his words, cheers and ululations ringing across the chamber. Sparks flew as people clapped—an already drunk few cackling as they sent up glittering conjured fireworks.

Ghassan lifted his hand. “Go home, my people. Sleep at least one night before we all lose ourselves in merriment.” He smiled—for once it looked a little forced—and turned away.

Nahri stood—or tried to. Her aching head protested and she winced, her hand going to her temple.

Muntadhir caught her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked, sounding at least half concerned.

“Fine,” she muttered, though she let him help her.

He hesitated. “Preparations for the parade tomorrow are going well?”

Nahri blinked. “They are …”

“Good.” He bit his lip. “Nahri … I expect the next few days will be a whirlwind for us both, but if possible, I would like to take you up on your offer to visit the Grand Temple.”

She crossed her arms. “So you can stand me up again?”

“I won’t, I promise. I shouldn’t have before.” She raised a skeptical brow at the