The Kingdom of Copper (The Daevabad Trilogy #2) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,63

a drop of human blood from the gold ring on his thumb.

Wajed bowed his head. “Emir Muntadhir,” he greeted him respectfully. “Peace be upon you.”

“And upon you all peace,” Muntadhir returned politely. The familiar sound of his brother’s voice sent a wave of emotion crashing through Ali. “Qaid, my father requests that you escort Prince Alizayd’s companions to the Citadel’s guest quarters. Please ensure that they want for nothing.” He touched his heart and then aimed a dazzling smile at Aqisa and Lubayd. “We are forever grateful for the welcome you provided my brother in your village.”

Ali narrowed his eyes at the pleasantly worded lie, but neither Aqisa nor Lubayd responded with their usual sarcasm. Instead, they looked rather awestruck by the sight of Daevabad’s emir.

Yes, I suppose he makes for a more gripping image than a soaked, starving prince dying in a crevasse.

Lubayd recovered first. “Is that all right with you, brother?” he asked Ali.

“Of course it is,” Muntadhir cut in smoothly. “You’ll understand that we’re eager to spend some time alone with Prince Alizayd.”

Ali didn’t miss his brother’s aggressive use of “we,” a manner of speaking he associated with their father. There was a terseness lurking under Muntadhir’s charming words that Ali didn’t like. And though it probably didn’t bode well for him, he suddenly didn’t mind his friends being far away. “You’ll look after them?” he asked Wajed.

Wajed nodded. “You have my word, my prince.”

It would have to do. Ali trusted Wajed as much as he could trust anyone here. He glanced at Lubayd and Aqisa and attempted a smile. “I’ll see you soon, God willing.”

“You better,” Lubayd replied, snatching another pastry before rising to his feet.

Aqisa pulled him into a quick embrace. Ali went stiff with shock at the utter inappropriateness of it, but then something hard was sliding into the fold of his belt. “Do not die,” she hissed in his ear. “Lubayd would be inconsolable.”

Fairly certain she’d just passed him God only knew what weapon she’d manage to smuggle into the palace, Ali nodded, silently grateful. “Take care.”

Wajed squeezed his shoulder. “Get over to the Citadel when you have a chance. Show my Daevabadi-born brats how we fight back home.”

As soon as they left, the temperature seemed to dip, and the politely vacant smile vanished from Muntadhir’s face. “Alizayd,” he said coolly.

Ali flinched; his brother rarely called him by his formal name. “Dhiru.” His voice caught. “It’s really good to see you.”

Muntadhir’s only reaction was a slight grimace, as though he’d bitten into something sour. He turned, ignoring Ali to descend into the pavilion.

Ali tried again. “I know we didn’t part under the best circumstances. I’m sorry.” His brother said nothing, pouring a cup of wine and sipping it as though Ali wasn’t there. Ali persisted. “I hope you’ve been well. I was sorry to miss your wedding,” he added. Despite his efforts, he could hear the stiffness in his words.

At that, Muntadhir looked up. “All the blandly diplomatic things you could blather about, and you go straight to her.”

Ali flushed. “I only meant—”

“How’s your cousin?”

Ali started. “My what?”

“Your cousin,” Muntadhir repeated. “The Ayaanle one who conveniently fell ill and needed you to continue on in his place.”

The sarcastic implication that Ali had played a part in Musa’s plot set his teeth on edge. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“Of course not. One Ayaanle plot gets you sent away, another one brings you back. And there remains Alizayd, innocent and oblivious to it all.”

“Come on, Dhiru, surely—”

“Don’t call me that,” Muntadhir interrupted. “I meant what I told you that night—you must remember, it was just before you brought the ceiling of the infirmary down on my head—I’m done protecting you.” He took another sip from his cup. His hands were shaking, and though his voice didn’t waver, Muntadhir’s gaze flickered away as though the sight of his little brother caused him pain. “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust myself with you. And that’s not a weakness I intend to let drag me down.”

Stung, Ali struggled for a response, emotions swirling in his chest.

Hurt responded first. “I saved your life. The Afshin … the boat …”

“I’m well aware.” Muntadhir’s voice was curt, but this time Ali didn’t miss the flicker of emotion in his brother’s eyes. “So let me return the favor. Leave.”

Ali stared at him. “What?”

“Leave,” Muntadhir repeated. “Get out of Daevabad before you blunder into something else you don’t understand and get a score of innocent people killed.” A fierce protectiveness