“But I’m not leaving without you. A not-inconsiderable amount of risk and cost went into this. Another man might be grateful.”
“Find him, then,” Ali shot back.
“And that would be it? You’d really go back to picking through human trash and selling dates when I’m offering to help you return to Daevabad before it falls apart?”
“Daevabad is not falling apart.”
“No?” Musa stepped closer. “Does news from the capital not make it to this forsaken place? Crime is soaring, and the economy is so bad that the Royal Guard can barely afford to feed its soldiers, let alone provision them with proper weapons.”
Ali gave him an even look. “And what part did the Ayaanle play in those economic woes?”
Musa spread his hands. “Why should we be fair to a king who exiles our prince? A king who turns his back on his own family’s legacy and does nothing as shafit are sold at auction blocks?”
“You’re lying.” Ali eyed the man with scorn. “Not that your people would care about the shafit or the city. Daevabad is a game to the Ayaanle. You sit in Ta Ntry, counting your gold and playing with other people’s lives.”
“We care far more than you think.” Musa’s eyes flashed. “Zaydi al Qahtani wouldn’t have taken Daevabad without the Ayaanle. Your family would not be royalty without the Ayaanle.” His mouth lifted in a slight smile. “And let’s be honest … rising crime and political corruption do have a tendency to disrupt business.”
“And there it is.”
“That’s not all it is.” Musa shook his head. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be thrilled! I’d be heartbroken if I was banished from my home. I know I’d do anything to return to my family. And your family …” His voice softened. “They’re not doing well.”
Apprehension raced down Ali’s spine. “What are you talking about?”
“How do you think your mother responded to your being exiled? You should be relieved she’s restricted herself to a trade war rather than an actual one. I hear your sister is heartbroken, that your brother falls further into drink every day, and your father …” Musa paused, and Ali did not miss his calculated tone when he spoke again. “Ghassan’s a vengeful man, and his wrath has fallen directly on the shafit he believes stirred you to treason.”
Ali flinched, the last line finding its mark. “I can’t do anything about any of that,” he insisted. “Every time I tried, it hurt the people I cared about. And I have even less power now than I did then.”
“Less power? Alizayd the Afshin-slayer? The clever prince who has learned to make the desert bloom and travels with a pack of Am Gezira’s fiercest warriors?” Musa eyed him. “You underestimate your appeal.”
“Probably because I know intimately how much of that is nonsense. I’m not going to Daevabad.” Ali crossed to the entrance to beckon his companions back. “My decision is final.”
“Alizayd, would you just—” But Musa was wise enough to fall silent as the others joined them.
“My cousin apologizes for abusing the hospitality of Bir Nabat,” Ali announced. “He intends to depart at dawn and says we may take a fifth of his inventory to compensate our loss.”
Musa whirled on him. “What?” he said hotly in Ntaran. “I certainly did not!”
“I will gut you like a fish,” Ali warned in the same tongue before slipping back into Djinnistani: “… to compensate our loss,” he repeated firmly, “and refill the bellies of the children gone hungry while his camels gorge. Additionally, have someone take his provisions and replace them with locusts and dates.” He watched as Musa went from incredulous to outraged. “You said you were feeling weak. I suggest a change in diet. Such food has made us very hardy.” He clicked his teeth. “You get used to the crunch.”
Indignation simmered in Musa’s eyes, but he didn’t speak. Ali stood, pressing a hand to his heart in the traditional Geziri salute. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I’ll wake you at dawn for prayer.”
“But of course,” Musa said, his voice newly cool. “One must never forget their obligations.”
Ali didn’t like the look in his eyes, but having made his point, he turned for the exit. “Peace be upon you, cousin.”
“And upon you peace, prince.”
ALI SLEPT HARD; HE ALWAYS DID HERE. HE DREAMT HE was back in Daevabad on the lovely pavilion overlooking the harem gardens, lost in his books. A cool breeze, a wet breeze, gently swung his hammock. The water soaked through the fabric, through