The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,177

Nahri have done fine work.”

Ali checked the resentment growing inside him, knowing he’d be smarter to take advantage of his father’s seemingly amicable mood. “I am glad to hear that.” He took another sip of his coffee, savoring the bitter, cardamom-scented tang. “On a related note, I was wondering if you’d seen my proposal.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Ghassan replied. “I think I have fifty proposals from you on my desk at the moment.”

“The one giving official recognition to the shafit guilds in the workcamp. I’d like them to be able to compete for government contract—”

“My God, do you ever stop?” Muntadhir cut in rudely. “Can we not have a day’s break from your yammering about the economy and the shafit?”

Ghassan raised a hand before Ali could speak. “Let him be. As it is, he’s not wrong to be thinking about the economy.” He cleared his throat, his gaze going a little distant. “I’ve received an offer for Zaynab’s hand.”

Ali instantly tensed; there was nothing he liked in the careful way his father had delivered that news. “From who?” he demanded, not caring that he sounded curt.

“Nasir Ishak.”

Ali blinked. “Who?”

“Nasir Ishak.” Muntadhir had gone pale as he repeated the name. “He’s a spice merchant from Malacca.”

“He’s more than a spice merchant,” Ghassan corrected. “He’s king of the djinn in those islands in all but name. Daevabad’s control has always been tenuous there.”

Malacca. Ali looked between his father and brother. They couldn’t be serious. “Daevabad’s control is tenuous there because it’s across the ocean. Zaynab will be lucky to visit here once a century!”

Neither man answered him. Muntadhir looked like he was fighting to keep his composure. “You told me you had decided against his offer, Abba,” he said.

“That was before … recent events.” Ghassan’s mouth thinned in displeasure. “We need to start looking beyond Ta Ntry for allies and resources. Nasir is an opportunity we can ill afford to turn away.”

“Does Zaynab get a say in this?” Ali could hear the edge in his voice, but this was too much. Was this another reason his mother had been banished? So that she wouldn’t be able to protest her daughter being shipped across the sea to fill the Treasury’s coffers?

“I’ve spoken with Zaynab about this possibility,” Ghassan replied tersely. “I would never force her. I would never have to. She takes her loyalty and duty to our family far more seriously than you, Alizayd. And quite frankly, your stunt in the shafit camp and your mother taking half the Ayaanle delegation back to Ta Ntry has forced my hand.” He turned back to Muntadhir. “Nasir is arriving next week for the holiday. I’d like you to spend time with him and get to know what kind of man he is before I decide anything.”

His brother stared at his hands, emotions warring on his face. Ali watched him, silently begging: Say something. Anything. Give some sign that you can stand up to him, that you won’t become him.

Muntadhir cleared his throat. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Coward.” The moment the word slipped from his lips, Ali knew it wasn’t fair. But he didn’t care.

Muntadhir stared at him in shock. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said you’re a—” From below, another arrow struck the target, making a solid thunk as it tore through the flesh of the gourd. Ali instinctively flinched, the moment stealing his words.

Ghassan had drawn up, glaring at Ali with open contempt. “Have you lost all sense of honor?” he hissed under his breath. “I should have you lashed for speaking with such disrespect.”

“No,” Muntadhir said sharply. “I can handle this, Abba. I should have already.”

Without another word, his brother rose to his feet and turned to face the packed pavilion. He aimed a dazzling smile at the crowd, the change in his expression so sudden it was as though someone had snuffed out a candle.

“Friends!” he called out. The Qahtani men had been speaking quietly in Geziriyya, but Muntadhir raised his voice, switching to Djinnistani. “The great Afshin-slayer is anxious to show his skills, and I do believe you deserve a spectacle.”

An expectant hush fell across the crowd, and Ali suddenly realized just how many people were watching them: nobles always eager to witness some drama from Daevabad’s royals.

And Muntadhir knew how to draw their attention. “So I’d like to issue my little brother a challenge …” He gestured to the archers below. “Beat me.”

Ali stared at him in incomprehension. “You want to compete with me? In the