“What in God’s name are you going on about?” Muntadhir snapped as Khanzada jumped up from his lap, embarrassed tears in her eyes.
The Afshin fixed his bright eyes on the emir. “Her wishes, Emir Muntadhir,” he said calmly. “Not that you share them. Oh, no . . .” He paused, edging closer, his eyes locked on Muntadhir’s face. A delighted grin spread across his face. “Not at all, apparently.” He looked between Jamshid and Muntadhir and then laughed. “Now that’s an interesting—”
Muntadhir jumped to his feet.
Ali was between them in an instant.
His brother might not have been Citadel trained, but at some point in his life, someone had clearly taught him how to throw a punch. His fist caught Ali on the chin and knocked him clean off his feet.
Ali landed hard, shattering the table that held their drinks with a crash. The musicians clanged to a noisy stop, and one of the dancers screamed. Several people jumped to their feet. The crowd looked shocked.
Two soldiers had been loitering near the roof’s edge, and Ali saw one reach for his zulfiqar before his fellow grabbed his arm. Of course, Ali realized. To the rest of the roof, it must have looked like the Emir of Daevabad had just purposefully punched his younger brother in the face. But Ali was also the future Qaid, an officer in the Royal Guard—and it was clear the soldiers weren’t sure who to protect. Had Ali been any other man, they’d be dragging him away from their emir before he could respond. That’s what they should have been doing—and Ali could only pray Muntadhir didn’t realize the breach in protocol. Not after the fears his brother had just confessed to having where Ali was concerned.
Jamshid held his hand out. “Are you all right, my prince?”
Ali stifled a gasp as a stab of pain tore through his half-healed dagger wound. “I’m fine,” he lied as Jamshid helped him to his feet.
Muntadhir gave him a shocked look. “What the hell were you thinking?”
He took a shaky breath. “That if you struck the Scourge of Qui-zi across the face after publicly insulting his Banu Nahida, he’d rip you into confetti.” Ali touched his already swelling jaw. “Not a bad punch,” he admitted.
Jamshid scanned the crowd and then touched his brother’s wrist. “He’s gone, Emir,” he warned in a low voice.
Good riddance. Ali shook his head. “What was he talking about anyway? About Khanzada . . . I’ve never heard of an ex-slave being able to read the wishes of another djinn.” He glanced at the courtesan. “What he said—was any of that true?”
She blinked furiously, glaring daggers. But not at him, Ali realized.
At Muntadhir.
“I don’t know,” she spat. “Why don’t you ask your brother?” Without another word, she burst into tears and fled.
Muntadhir swore. “Khanzada, wait!” He rushed after his lover, vanishing into the depths of the house.
Thoroughly confused, Ali looked to Jamshid for some explanation, but the Daeva captain was staring determinedly at the ground, his cheeks strangely flushed.
Putting aside his brother’s romantic entanglements, Ali considered his options. He was sorely tempted to rally the soldiers downstairs and have the Afshin found and arrested. But for what? A drunken argument over a woman? He might as well throw half of Daevabad into prison. The Afshin hadn’t struck Muntadhir, hadn’t even truly insulted him.
Don’t be a fool. Ali’s decision settled, he snapped his fingers, trying to get Jamshid’s attention. He had no idea why the Daeva captain looked so nervous. “Jamshid? Darayavahoush is staying with your family, yes?”
Jamshid nodded, still avoiding Ali’s eyes. “Yes, my prince.”
“All right.” He clapped Jamshid’s shoulder, and the other man jumped. “Go home. If he doesn’t return by dawn, alert the Citadel. And if he does return, tell him he’ll be expected at court tomorrow to discuss what happened here tonight.” He paused for a moment, then added reluctantly, “Tell your father. I know Kaveh likes to be kept abreast of all Daeva matters.”
“At once, my prince.” He sounded eager to be gone.
“And, Jamshid . . .” The other man finally met his eyes. “Thank you.”
Jamshid simply nodded and then hurried away. Ali took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain lancing through him. His dishdasha clung wetly to his abdomen, and when he touched it, his fingers came away bloody. He must have reopened the wound.
He readjusted his outer black robe to cover the blood. Were it still day, he would have discreetly sought out Nahri, but it would be near midnight by the time he got to the infirmary, the Banu Nahida asleep in her bed.
I can’t go to her. Ali was lucky he hadn’t been caught in Nahri’s bedroom the first time. A second was far too risky—especially considering the gossip likely to start circulating around the Qahtanis after tonight. I’ll bind it myself, he decided, and wait in the infirmary. At least that way, if the bleeding got worse, she’d only be a room away. It seemed a reasonable plan.
Then again, most things had lately—right before they blew up in his face.
26
Nahri
“Nahri. Nahri, wake up.”
“Mmm?” Nahri lifted her head from the open book upon which she’d fallen asleep. She rubbed away a crease the crumpled page had left on her cheek and blinked sleepily in the dark.
A man stood over her bed, his body outlined in the moonlight.
A hot hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream. He opened his other palm; dancing flames lit his face.
“Dara?” Nahri managed, her voice muffled against his fingers. He dropped his hand, and she drew up in surprise, her blanket falling to her lap. It had to be past midnight; her bedroom was otherwise dark and deserted. “What are you doing here?”
He dropped onto her bed. “What part of ‘stay away from the Qahtanis’ did you not understand?” Anger simmered in his voice. “Tell me you didn’t agree to marry that lecherous sand fly.”
Ah. She was wondering when he’d hear about that. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” she countered. “An opportunity presented itself, and I wanted to—”
“An opportunity?” Dara’s eyes flashed with hurt. “Suleiman’s eye, Nahri, for once could you speak like someone with a heart instead of someone peddling stolen goods at the bazaar?”
Her temper sparked. “I’m the one without a heart? I asked you to marry me, and you told me to go produce a stable of Nahid children with the richest Daeva man I could find as soon as . . .” She trailed off, getting a better look at Dara as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was dressed in a dark traveling robe, silver bow and arrow-filled quiver slung over his shoulder. A long knife was tucked in his belt.
She cleared her throat, suspecting she was not going to like the answer to her next question. “Why are you dressed like that?”