“It does if she’s going to make problems for me later.”
“She threatened to go to the Tanzeem.” Turan scoffed. “But those dirt-blooded radicals are nothing to worry about, and the shafit breed like rabbits. She’ll have another baby to distract her in a year.”
Hanno smiled, but the expression didn’t meet his eyes. “Maybe another business opportunity for you.” He glanced at Ali. “And what do you think?” he asked, his voice intent. He turned the sleeping baby around to face him. “Could he pass as my own?”
Ali frowned, a little confused by the question. He glanced between the baby and Hanno, but of course Hanno didn’t look like himself. He’d shapeshifted. He’d shapeshifted into a very particular Agnivanshi visage, and it suddenly became terribly clear why.
“Y-yes,” he choked out, swallowing back the lump in his throat and trying to conceal the horror in his voice. It was the truth, after all. “Easily.”
Hanno didn’t seem as pleased. “Perhaps. But he’s older than promised—certainly not worth the ridiculous price you’re demanding,” he complained to Turan. “Is my wife to have given birth to a toddler?”
“Then go.” Turan raised his palms. “I’ll have another buyer in a week, and you’ll return to a wife waiting beside an empty crib. Spend another half century trying to conceive. It’s all the same to me.”
Hanno appeared to deliberate another moment. He glanced at the little girl still crouched in the shadows. “We’re looking for a new servant. Include that one with the boy, and I will pay your price.”
Turan scowled. “I’m not going to sell you a house slave for nothing.”
“I’ll buy her,” Ali cut in. Hanno’s eyes flashed, but Ali didn’t care. He wanted to be done with this Daeva demon, to get these innocent souls away from this hellish place where their lives were weighed solely upon their appearance. He fumbled for the clasps on his golden collar, and it landed heavily in his lap. He thrust it at Turan, the pearls glistening in the soft light. “Is this enough?”
Turan didn’t touch it. There was no greed, no anticipation in his black eyes. Instead, he glanced at the collar and then looked at Ali.
He cleared his throat. “What did you say your name was?”
Ali suspected he’d just made a terrible mistake.
But before he could stammer a response, the door leading to the tavern swung open, and one of the wine bearers hurried in. He bent to whisper in Turan’s ear. The slaver’s frown deepened.
“Problem?” Hanno prompted.
“A man whose desire to drink outweighs his ability to pay.” Turan rose to his feet, his mouth pressed in an irritated line. “If you will excuse me a moment . . .” He headed for the tavern, the wine bearer at his heels. They shut the door behind them.
Hanno whirled on Ali. “You idiot. Didn’t I tell you to keep your mouth shut?” He gestured at the collar. “That thing could buy a dozen girls like her!”
“I-I’m sorry,” Ali rushed. “I was just trying to help!”
“Forget that for now.” Anas pointed to the baby. “Does he have the mark?”
Hanno shot Ali another aggrieved look but then gently coaxed one of the baby’s arms out of his swaddling and turned his wrist to the light. A small blue birthmark—like a dashed pen stroke—marred the soft skin. “Yes. Same story as the mother’s, as well. It’s him.” He pointed to the little girl still cowering in the corner. “But she’s not staying here with that monster.”
Anas eyed the shapeshifter. “I didn’t say she was.”
Ali was thunderstruck by what he’d just witnessed. “The boy . . . is this common?”
Anas sighed, his face somber. “Quite. The shafit have always been more fertile than purebloods, a blessing and a curse from our human ancestors.” He gestured to the small fortune glittering on the rug. “It’s a lucrative business—one that’s gone on for centuries. There are probably thousands in Daevabad like this boy, raised as purebloods with no idea of their true heritage.”
“But their shafit parents . . . can’t they petition m—the king?”
“‘Petition the king’?” Hanno repeated, his voice thick with scorn. “By the Most High, is this the first time you’ve left your family’s mansion, boy? Shafit can’t petition the king. They come to us—we’re the only ones who can help.”
Ali dropped his gaze. “I had no idea.”
“Then perhaps you will think on this night should you decide to question me again about the Tanzeem,” Anas cut in, his voice colder than Ali had ever heard it. “We do what’s necessary to protect our people.”
Hanno suddenly frowned. He stared at the money on the floor, shifting the sleeping baby still nestled in his arms. “Something’s not right.” He stood. “Turan shouldn’t have left us here with the money and the boy.” He reached for the door leading to the tavern and then jumped back with a yelp, the sizzle of burned flesh scenting the air. “The bastard cursed us in!”
Awakened by Hanno’s shout, the baby started to cry. Ali shot to his feet. He joined them at the door, praying Hanno was wrong.
He let his fingertips hover just over the wooden surface, but Hanno was right: it simmered with magic. Fortunately, Ali was Citadel trained—and the Daevas were troublemakers enough that breaking through the enchantments they used to guard their homes and businesses was a skill taught to the youngest cadets. He closed his eyes, murmuring the first incantation that came to mind. The door swung open.
The tavern was empty.
It had been abandoned in a hurry. Goblets were still full, smoke curled around forgotten pipes, and scattered game pieces glittered on the table where the Daeva women had been playing. Even so, Turan had been careful to douse the lamps, throwing the tavern into darkness. The only illumination came from the moonlight piercing the tattered curtains.
Behind him, Hanno swore and Anas whispered a prayer of protection. Ali reached for his hidden zulfiqar, the forked copper scimitar he always carried, and then stopped. The famed Geziri weapon in the hands of a young Ayaanle-looking man would give him away at once. Instead, he crept through the tavern. Taking care to remain hidden, he peeked past the curtain.
The Royal Guard stood on the other side.
Ali sucked in his breath. A dozen soldiers—nearly all of whom he recognized—were quietly lining up in formation across the street from the tavern, their coppery zulfiqars and spears gleaming in the moonlight. More were coming; Ali could see shadowy movement from the direction of the midan.
He stepped back. Dread, thicker than anything he’d ever felt, ensnared him, like vines tightening around his chest. He returned to the others.
“We need to leave.” He was surprised at the calm in his voice; it certainly didn’t match the panic rising inside him. “There are soldiers outside.”
Anas paled. “Can we make it to the safe house?” he asked Hanno.