The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,180

royal platform. Was Zaynab there? His heart twisted. He could only imagine how his sister felt watching this after trying so hard to make peace between her brothers.

Muntadhir tossed the bow at him with more force than necessary. “Good luck.”

“Fuck you.” The crude words slipped from Ali’s mouth in a flash of anger, and he saw Muntadhir startle.

And then smile yet again, a glimmer of spite in his brother’s eyes. “Oh, do you not enjoy being embarrassed, Zaydi? That’s odd, as you don’t seem to mind doing it to me.”

Ali didn’t take the bait, riding off without another word. He couldn’t ride as well as Muntadhir, he knew that. But he could turn around and aim a damn arrow. Drawing back on the bow, he whirled to face the target.

He did so too fast … and his saddle slid free.

Ali fell with it, dropping the bow and pulling his feet from the stirrups. The spookish horse reacted the exact way he imagined the Daevas had hoped for, putting on a burst of speed as the saddle slipped further. He saw a blur of hooves, the ground too close to his face. Several people screamed.

And then it was over. Ali landed hard on his back, rolling to narrowly avoid being trampled as the horse bolted away. He gasped, the air knocked clear from his lungs.

Muntadhir leaped lightly from his horse to retrieve the bow from where Ali had dropped it. “Are you all right?” he drawled.

Ali climbed to his feet, biting back a hiss of pain. He could taste blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten his tongue.

He spat it at the ground. “I’m fine.” He wrenched the bow from his brother’s hands, picking up the arrow from where it had fallen in the dust. He marched toward the target.

Muntadhir followed, staying at his shoulders. “I am surprised you haven’t trained more on the bow. You know how your Banu Nahida loves her archers.”

The pointed words struck much deeper than they should have. “That has nothing to do with me,” he said heatedly.

“No?” Muntadhir retorted softly in Geziriyya. “Because I can give you some pointers. Brother to brother.”

“I don’t need your advice on how to shoot an arrow.”

“Who says I was talking about archery?” Muntadhir continued as Ali drew back the bowstring. His voice was deadly quiet, his words again for Ali alone. “I was talking about Nahri.”

Ali sent the arrow hurtling into the wall. A wave of laughter greeted his blunder, but Ali barely noticed. His face burning at the insinuation, he whirled on his brother. But Muntadhir was already there, taking the bow back.

He hit the target dead center, barely taking his gaze from Ali’s. “I do believe I win.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s fortuitous you’re not going to be my Qaid after all.”

Ali had no words. He was more hurt than he thought he could ever be, feeling younger and more naive than he had in years.

Muntadhir was already turning away, as if to return to the platform.

Ali stalked after him, keeping his gaze down and defeated though rage burned in his heart. Muntadhir wanted to see the Citadel-trained part of him?

Very well.

The two of them were only out of eyesight for a second, in the shadow of the stairwell, but it was enough. Ali lunged at his brother, shoving a hand against his mouth before he could scream and kicking open the door to a weapons’ closet he knew was located under the stairs. He pushed Muntadhir inside, pulling the door closed behind them.

Muntadhir stumbled back, glaring. “Oh, have you something to say to me, hypocrite? Going to give me a lecture on righteousness while you—”

Ali punched him in the face.

His heart wasn’t entirely in it, but the blow was enough to make Muntadhir reel. His brother swore, reaching for his khanjar.

Ali knocked it out of his hands but made no move to take it. Instead, he shoved Muntadhir hard into the opposite wall. “What, isn’t this what I’m supposed to be?” he hissed. “Your weapon?”

But he’d underestimated his brother’s own anger. Muntadhir wrenched free and threw himself on Ali.

They fell to the dirt, and Ali’s fighter instincts swept over him; he’d spent too many years battling for his life in Am Gezira to not immediately react. He rolled, snatching up the khanjar and pinning Muntadhir to the ground.

He had the blade at his brother’s throat before he realized what he was doing.

Muntadhir seized his wrist when Ali moved to jerk back. His gray eyes