The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,176

demons with those bows.”

Ali glowered. “I’m well aware.”

“Alizayd.” Ghassan’s voice rang across the pavilion just as Ali was about to take a seat with a few of the officers from the Royal Guard. His father was at the front, of course, leaning against a silk-covered bolster, a jade cup of ruby-colored wine at hand. “Come here.”

Lubayd grabbed his wrist before he could move. “Careful,” he warned. “You seem a little surlier than usual this morning.”

Ali didn’t respond. It was true he didn’t trust himself to say anything to his father, but he had no choice other than to make his way to the front. Muntadhir was already seated, flashing his charming grin at a pretty servant as she passed. She stopped with a blush and smile to pour him a cup of wine.

He makes that look so easy. Not that Ali wanted to go around enticing attractive women into pouring him wine—every part of that was forbidden. But he knew Muntadhir wouldn’t have been reduced to a stammering wreck in front of Nahri last night. And as he watched his brother, Ali was unable to deny the jealousy clawing in his chest. Muntadhir had leaned over to whisper in the cupbearer’s ear, and she giggled, playfully bumping him with her shoulder.

You have a wife. A beautiful, brilliant wife. Though Ali supposed when everything else was offered to you on a silver platter, beautiful, brilliant wives weren’t blessings to be cherished.

“Everything going well with the procession?” Ghassan asked Muntadhir, paying no attention to Ali as he sat down stiffly on a plain prayer mat, forgoing the soft cushions closer to the pair.

Muntadhir nodded, taking a sip of his wine as the cupbearer moved away. “The priests and Nahri led dawn ceremonies at the lake. Kaveh was to make sure they all boarded their chariots, and Jamshid just left to escort them here with another group of archers.” A small smile broke his face. “He’s riding today.”

“And security for the procession?” Ghassan pressed. “Did you speak with Wajed?”

“I did. He assured me he has soldiers lining the parade route and that no shafit would be permitted to join.”

Ali struggled not to roll his eyes. Of course, banning the shafit from the festivities would be the type of “security” the palace enacted. Though Ali supposed he should be happy his brother and not his father was overseeing Navasatem. Ghassan probably would have chosen to execute on sight any shafit who strayed within five blocks of the procession route.

All too aware he was in the exact mood that Lubayd had warned him to guard against, Ali tried to direct his attention to the arena. The Daeva archers were dressed in the age-old style of their ancestors, dashing about as if they were part horse themselves in wildly striped felt leggings, dazzling saffron coats, and horned silver helms. They rose to stand in painted saddles as they galloped in sweeping arcs and intricate formations, ornaments flashing in their horses’ manes as they drew back stylized silver bows.

Unease pooled in Ali’s stomach. Though not Afshins themselves—Darayavahoush’s family had been wiped out in the war—the men below were the clearest inheritors of his legacy. One of the men let a scythe-ended arrow fly at a target, and Ali could not help but cringe. He didn’t know which kind of arrows Darayavahoush had shot through his throat, but he’d bet one of them was down below.

“Not to your taste, Zaydi?” Muntadhir was watching him.

The sarcasm with which his brother spoke his nickname cut deep, and then the punch of another arrow tearing through a target made his stomach clench. “Not quite,” he said through his teeth.

“And yet to hear it, you’re the finest warrior in Daevabad.” Muntadhir’s tone was light, but malice lurked underneath it. “The great Afshin-slayer.”

“I never trained much with the bow. You know that.” Ali had learned to use one, of course, but he was meant to be Qaid, and archery took time, time Wajed had preferred Ali spend on the zulfiqar and strategy. The Daeva men before him had likely been in saddles since they were five, given toy bows at the same age.

A servant came by with coffee, and Ali gratefully took a cup.

“You look as though you need that,” Ghassan commented. “I was surprised not to see you at the hospital’s opening last night.”

Ali cleared his throat. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Unfortunate,” Ghassan said. “I have to say I was pleased; it’s an impressive complex. Regardless of your recent behavior, you and Banu