The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,178

arena?”

“I do.” Muntadhir put his wine cup down with a flourish, his eyes dancing as if this were all a joke. “Come on, Afshin-slayer,” he goaded when Ali didn’t move. “Surely you’re not afraid?” Without waiting for a response, Muntadhir laughed and headed for the steps.

The eyes of the rest of pavilion were on Ali, expectant. Muntadhir might have done it in jest, but he’d issued a challenge, and Ali would lose face if he didn’t address it—especially one so seemingly innocent.

Ali rose to his feet slowly.

Ghassan gave him a warning look, but Ali knew he wouldn’t interfere; Geziri men didn’t back down from such a public contest, and princes in the line of succession certainly did not. “Remember yourself,” he said simply.

Remember what? That I was always meant to be beneath him? Or that I was meant to be his weapon—one who could defeat any man?

Lubayd was at his elbow in a second. “Why do you look like you just swallowed a locust?” he whispered. “You can shoot an arrow better than that gold-draped fool, can’t you?”

Ali swallowed, not wanting to confirm his weakness. “I-I was shot, Lubayd. By the Afshin,” he stammered, the memories coming to him in a swift punch. “It was bad. I haven’t touched a bow since.”

Lubayd blanched, but there was no time for him to respond. Muntadhir was already joining the Daeva riders. They grinned as he greeted them in the Divasti that Ali couldn’t speak, gesturing back toward Ali with laughter. God only knew what Muntadhir was saying to them. They were probably his friends, the wealthy nobles with whom he liked to wine and dine in the salons of courtesans and poets. A world that didn’t look kindly upon men like Ali.

And though he knew he’d provoked his brother, a hurt Ali rarely acknowledged made itself known, the knot of resentment and jealousy he tried so hard to disavow threatening to come undone. The times he’d forced himself to smile when Muntadhir’s companions teased him growing up, asking how many men he’d killed at the Citadel and if it was really true he’d never touched a woman. The countless family celebrations that ended with Muntadhir sleeping in a silken bed at the palace and Ali on the floor of his barracks.

Stop. Because of those barracks, the arena right here is your home. Muntadhir and his friends couldn’t take that from him. Archery might not be Ali’s specialty, but surely he could beat his spoiled, soft brother.

One of the riders slipped from his saddle, and without missing a beat, Muntadhir swung into his place. His brother was the better horseman, that Ali knew. Ali could ride well enough but had never shared Muntadhir’s love for the sport. His brother kept his own stable and had probably spent countless hours racing outside the city walls, laughing and trying stunts with Jamshid—who was an even more talented rider—while Ali labored at the Citadel.

Muntadhir’s horse cantered up. “Why so glum, Zaydi?” His brother laughed, spreading his arms. “This is your thing, isn’t it? You used to talk when you were a kid about these martial competitions. How you would sweep them and earn your place as my Qaid. I’d think the greatest warrior in Daevabad would be smiling right now.” Muntadhir drew nearer, his grin fading. “Or maybe you’ve been intruding upon my world for so long—insinuating yourself with my wife, embarrassing me before Abba—that you’ve forgotten your place.” He said the final words in Geziriyya, his voice low. “Maybe you need a reminder.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Ali glared back even as the other Daeva men rode up, joking in Divasti as their horses circled him, kicking sand. “I spent my childhood training to serve you,” he shot back. “I’d say I know my place quite well; I was never permitted to have another. Something I suspect Zaynab is about to learn as well.”

He’d swear uncertainty flickered in his brother’s eyes, but then Muntadhir shrugged, looking nonchalant. “So let’s begin.” He wheeled his horse around and raised his voice so the crowd could hear him. “I was just telling my companions here that I think it is time a few sand flies tried their hand at this.” His brother winked, flashing a mesmerizing smile at the thousands of djinn arrayed in the arena seats. He was the dashing emir again, and Ali heard more than a few women sigh. “Try to contain your laughter, my people, I beg you.”

Another Daeva came riding out,