“There’s no need to be so nervous, my prince,” she added softly. “Our master desires only your satisfaction.”
Her words cut through the fog of fear and desire clouding Ali’s mind, but before he could question her, there was another feminine laugh from the direction of the pavilion—this one all too familiar.
“Well . . . it certainly didn’t take you much time to settle in.”
Ali jerked away from the courtesan as his sister entered the room. The other women instantly fell to their knees.
Zaynab’s gray-gold eyes sparkled with the malicious delight only a sibling’s could hold. She was less than a decade older than Ali, and as teenagers they could have passed for twins though their mother’s sharp cheeks and elongated features suited Zaynab far better. His sister was dressed in Ayaanle fashion today, a dark purple and gold gown with a matching head wrap embroidered in pearls. Gold ringed her wrists and neck, and jewels glittered in her ears; even in the privacy of the harem, Ghassan’s only daughter looked the part of a princess.
“Forgive the interruption.” She sauntered farther into the room. “We came to make sure court hadn’t swallowed you alive, but clearly you need no help.” She dropped onto his bed and kicked at the blanket that was neatly folded on the floor with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t tell me you slept on the ground, Alizayd.”
“I—”
The second part of “we” entered the room before Ali could finish his protest. Muntadhir looked more rakish than usual, his dishdasha unbuttoned at the collar and his curly hair uncovered. He grinned at the sight before him. “Two? Don’t you think you ought to pace yourself, Zaydi?”
Ali was happy his siblings were enjoying themselves at his expense. “That’s not what this is,” he snapped. “I didn’t tell them to come here!”
“No?” The amusement left Muntadhir’s face, and he glanced at the courtesans kneeling on the floor. “Rise, please. There’s no need for that.”
“Peace be upon you, Emir,” the Daeva courtesan murmured as she stood.
“And upon you peace.” Muntadhir smiled, but the expression didn’t meet his eyes. “I know I resisted the urge, so tell me . . . who requested that my little brother receive such a delightful welcome home?”
The two women exchanged a look, their playful attitude gone. The Daeva courtesan finally spoke again, her voice hesitant. “The grand wazir.”
Instantly outraged, Ali opened his mouth, but Muntadhir raised his hand, cutting him off.
“Please thank Kaveh for the gesture, but I fear I’ll have to interrupt.” Muntadhir nodded at the door. “You can go.”
Both women offered muted salaams and then hurried out.
Muntadhir glanced at their sister. “Zaynab, would you mind? I think Ali and I need to talk.”
“He grew up in a Citadel full of men, Dhiru . . . I think he’s had ‘the talk.’” Zaynab laughed at her joke but rose from the bed, ignoring the annoyed look Ali shot in her direction. She touched his shoulder as she passed. “Do try and stay out of trouble, Ali. Wait at least a week before launching any holy wars. And don’t be a stranger,” she shot back over her shoulder as she headed toward the garden. “I expect you to come listen to me gossip at least once a week.”
Ali ignored that, immediately turning for the doors leading to the palace. “You’ll excuse me, akhi. Clearly, I need to have words with the grand wazir.”
Muntadhir stepped in front of him. “And what are you going to tell him?”
“To keep his fire-worshipping whores to himself!”
Muntadhir raised a dark eyebrow. “And how do you think that will play?” he asked. “The teenage son of the king—already rumored to be some sort of religious fanatic—berating one of the most-respected Daeva men in the city, a man who’s loyally served his father for decades? And over what—a gift most young men would be delighted to receive?”
“I’m not like that, and Kaveh knows—”
“Yes, he does,” Muntadhir finished. “He knows very well, and I’m sure he’s made certain to situate himself someplace where there will be a great number of witnesses to the scene you’re ready to cause.”
Ali was taken aback. “What are you saying?”
His brother gave him a dark look. “That he’s trying to upset you, Ali. He wants you away from Abba, ideally away from Daevabad and back in Am Gezira, where you can’t do anything to hurt his people.”
Ali threw up his hands. “I haven’t done anything to his people!”
“Not yet.” Muntadhir crossed his arms over his chest. “But you religious types hardly make a secret of your feelings toward the Daevas. Kaveh is afraid of you; he probably thinks your presence here is a threat. That you’ll turn the Royal Guard into some sort of morality police and have them beating up all men wearing ash marks.” Muntadhir shrugged. “Honestly, I can’t blame him; the Daevas tend to suffer when people like you come near power.”
Ali leaned against his desk, taken aback by his brother’s words. He was already trying to fill in for Wajed while hiding his involvement with the Tanzeem. He didn’t feel capable of matching political wits with a paranoid Kaveh right now.
He rubbed his temples. “What do I do?”
Muntadhir took a seat in the window. “You could try sleeping with the next courtesan he sends you,” he said with a grin. “Oh, Zaydi, don’t give me that look. It would throw Kaveh for a loop.” Muntadhir absentmindedly twirled a bit of flame around his fingers. “Until he turned around and denounced you as a hypocrite, of course.”
“You’re not leaving me with a lot of options.”
“You could try not stomping around like the royal version of the Tanzeem,” Muntadhir offered. “Actually, I don’t know . . . attempt to befriend a Daeva? Jamshid’s been wanting to learn how to use a zulfiqar. Why don’t you give him lessons?”
Ali was incredulous. “You want me to teach Kaveh’s son how to use a Geziri weapon?”
“He’s not just Kaveh’s son,” Muntadhir argued, sounding a little irritated. “He’s my best friend, and you’re the one who asked me for advice.”
Ali sighed. “Sorry. You’re right. It’s just been a long day.” He shifted against the desk, promptly knocking over one of his carefully arranged stacks of paperwork. “A day with no sign of ending anytime soon.”
“Maybe I should have left you with the women. They might have improved your attitude.” Muntadhir rose from the window. “I just wanted to make sure you survived your first day at court, but you look like you have a lot of work. At least think on what I’ve said about the Daevas. You know I’m only trying to help.”
“I know.” Ali exhaled. “Were your negotiations successful?”
“My what?”
“Your negotiations with the Tukharistani minister,” Ali reminded. “Abba said you were trying to reduce a debt.”
Muntadhir’s eyes brightened with amusement. He pressed his lips together as if fighting a grin. “Yes. She proved to be very . . . accommodating.”