The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,61

muster up. Ali was as poor as the rest of Bir Nabat, his wealth stripped away when his father banished him. The camels they towed were loaded with gifts, but all of it was carefully inventoried, a gift from the Ayaanle to the palace.

Reaching down, Ali pulled his zulfiqar from his robes.

Now the trader did more than flinch. He blanched and stepped back in open fear. “Now, wait a minute. I don’t know who you stole that from, but—”

“Would this be enough?” Ali’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his beloved blade. Then he swallowed hard and offered it to the trader.

A shrewd look entered the man’s eyes. “No,” he said bluntly. “Not with all the soldiers trying to pawn them before they desert back to Am Gezira. I’ll give you the father, but not the girl.”

The shafit man had been watching them haggle in what looked like numb shock. But at the trader’s offer, his daughter let out a cry, and the man clutched her close.

“No.” The word burst from his mouth. “I won’t let you put her back in that cage. I won’t let you take her away from me!”

The despair in his voice shoved Ali past his tipping point. “A Qahtani zulfiqar.” He threw it at the man’s feet and then pulled away the ghutra covering his face. “Surely that will pay your price?”

The trader’s mouth fell open, the golden tone of his skin turning a green Ali hadn’t realized was possible. He dropped to his knees. “Prince Alizayd,” he gasped. “My God … f-forgive me,” he stammered. “I would never have spoken with such disrespect had I known it was you.”

The crowd parted in a way that reminded Ali of how djinn in Am Gezira jumped from horned vipers. His name carried on the wind, whispers in various tongues rustling through the throng.

Ali tried to ignore them, instead letting a little of his old arrogance leach into his voice. “Come now,” he challenged. He jutted his chin at the zulfiqar, heartsick at the thought of giving over the weapon that had kept him alive during his exile. “My personal blade. It’s been in my family for generations—certainly this will cover them both?”

A mix of greed and fear flitted across the trader’s face. “Is this what you used to kill the Scourge?”

Ali was repulsed by the question. But suspecting it would help sway the man, the lie came easily. “The very blade.”

The man grinned. “Then I would say it is very good doing business with you, my prince.” He bowed and motioned for Ali to join him. “Please … the contracts will only take a moment …”

The shafit man was looking at him in stunned disbelief. “But you … people say—” His eyes darted toward the crowd of purebloods, and he abruptly changed the subject. “Please don’t separate us, Your Highness.” He hugged his daughter closer. “I beg you. We’ll serve however you like, but please don’t separate us.”

“No,” Ali said quickly. “That’s not what this is.” The trader returned with the contracts, and he read through them before adding his signature. Then he handed them to the shafit father.

The other man looked bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re free,” Ali said. “As you should be.” He shot the trader his coldest glare, and the man flinched away. “Those who peddle in lives will be among the first to burn in hell.”

“And we shall leave it at that!” Lubayd had finally made his way to them, pulling both bleating camels through the crowd. He shoved the reins into Aqisa’s hands and seized the hem of Ali’s robe, dragging him off the platform.

Ali glanced around, but the shafit father was gone, vanished into the crowd with his daughter. Ali didn’t blame him. He could feel the eyes of the bystanders boring into them as Lubayd started trying to rewrap Ali’s ghutra around his face.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Ali demanded as his friend poked him in the eye. “Ow! Will you stop …” The words died in his mouth as he spotted the reason he suspected Lubayd was trying to hustle him away.

A dozen members of the Royal Guard had joined them.

Ali stood awkwardly, his ghutra askew, uncertain how to greet his former companions. There was a moment or two of hesitant staring, until one of the officers stepped forward. He brought his hand to his heart and brow in the Geziri salute. “Peace be upon you, Prince Alizayd,” he greeted him solemnly. “Your father has asked that I retrieve you.”

“IT