“My God,” she whispered. Her eyes widened as they grew closer; brass statues of the same figures towered over the boat.
A grin like Nahri had never before seen lit Dara’s face as he gazed upon the city. His cheeks flushed with excitement, and when he glanced down at her, his eyes were so bright she could barely meet his gaze.
“Your ancestors, Banu Nahida,” he said, gesturing to the statues. He pressed his hands together and bowed. “Welcome to Daevabad.”
14
Ali
Ali slammed the stack of papers back on his desk, nearly knocking over his teacup. “These reports are lies, Abu Zebala. You are the city’s sanitation inspector. Explain to me why the Daeva Quarter all but sparkles while a man in the Sahrayn district was crushed the other day by a collapsing pile of garbage.”
The Geziri official standing before him offered an obsequious smile. “Cousin . . .”
“I am not your cousin.” Not technically true, but sharing a great-great-grandfather with the king had gotten Abu Zebala his position. It wasn’t going to let him squirm out of answering the question.
“Prince,” Abu Zebala graciously corrected. “I am investigating the incident. It was a young boy—he should not have been playing in the trash. Truly, I blame his parents for not—”
“He was two hundred and eighty-one, you fool.”
“Ah.” Abu Zebala blinked. “Was he then?” He swallowed, and Ali watched him calculate his next lie. “Either way . . . the idea of equally distributing sanitation services among the tribes is outdated.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Abu Zebala pressed his hands together. “The Daevas greatly value cleanliness. Their whole fire cult is about purity, no? But the Sahrayn?” The other djinn shook his head, looking disappointed. “Come now. Everyone knows those western barbarians would happily stew in their own filth. If cleanliness is important enough to the Daevas that they’re willing to put a price on it . . . who am I to deny them?”
Ali narrowed his eyes as he untwisted Abu Zebala’s words. “Did you just admit to being bribed?”
The other man didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “I would not say bribed . . .”
“Enough.” Ali shoved the records back at him. “Correct this. Each quarter gets the same standard of trash removal and street sweeping. If it’s not done by the end of the week, I’ll have you sacked and sent back to Am Gezira.”
Abu Zebala started to protest, but Ali raised his hand so abruptly the other man flinched. “Get out. And if I hear you speak of such corruption a second time, I’ll take your tongue to prevent a third.”
Ali didn’t really mean that; he was merely exhausted and annoyed. But Abu Zebala’s patronizing smile vanished and he paled. He nodded and quickly left, his sandals clattering as he fled down the steps.
That was poorly done. Ali sighed and stood, walking toward the window. But he didn’t have the patience for a man like Abu Zebala. Not after last night.
A single ferry pushed over the calm water of the distant lake, bright sunlight reflecting on its black and gold hull. It was a beautiful day to sail. Whoever was on the ferry should count themselves lucky, he thought; the last time Ali crossed was in rain so heavy he’d feared the boat would sink.
He yawned, exhaustion creeping up on him again. He hadn’t gone back to the palace last night, unable to bear the thought of seeing his luxurious apartment—or running into the family the Tanzeem wanted him to betray—after the disastrous encounter at the orphanage. But he hadn’t gotten much sleep in his office; in truth, he hadn’t gotten much sleep since the night he had followed Anas into the Daeva Quarter.
He returned to his desk, its flat surface suddenly tempting. Ali laid his head upon his arm and closed his eyes. Maybe just a few minutes . . .
A sudden knock jarred Ali from sleep, and he jumped, scattering his papers and knocking over the teacup. When the grand wazir barged in, Ali didn’t bother to hide his irritation.
Kaveh closed the door as Ali swept wet tea leaves off his now-stained reports. “Hard at work, my prince?”
Ali glared at him. “What do you want, Kaveh?”
“I need to speak to your father. It is most urgent.”
Ali waved his hand around the office. “You do know that you’re in the Citadel? I understand it must be confusing at your age . . . all these buildings that look nothing alike, located on opposite sides of the city . . .”
Kaveh sat without invitation in the chair across from Ali. “He won’t see me. His servants say he’s busy.”
Ali hid his surprise. Kaveh was a deeply annoying man, but his position was one which usually guaranteed access to the king, especially if the matter was urgent. “Perhaps you’ve fallen from favor,” he suggested hopefully.
“I take it then that the rumors do not have you worried?” Kaveh asked, pointedly ignoring Ali’s response. “The gossip in the bazaar about a Daeva girl who supposedly converted to your faith to elope with a djinn man? People say her family stole her back last night and are hiding her in our quarter.”
Ah. Ali reconsidered Kaveh’s concern. There wasn’t much that sparked more tension in their world than conversions and intermarriage. And unfortunately the situation the wazir just laid out was fuel for a riot. Daevabad’s law provided absolute protection to converts; under no circumstances were their Daeva families allowed to harass or detain them. Ali saw no problem with this: the djinn faith was the correct faith, after all. Yet the Daevas could be extremely possessive when it came to their kin, and it rarely ended well.
“Would it not be better for you to go back to your people and find the girl? Surely you have the resources. Return her to her husband before things get out of control.”
“As much as I enjoy handing over Daeva girls to mobs of angry djinn,” Kaveh started sarcastically, “the girl in question doesn’t seem to exist. No one on either side knows her name or has any identifying information. Some say her husband is a Sahrayn trader, some say a Geziri metalworker, and others a shafit beggar.” He scowled. “If she were real, I would know.”
Ali narrowed his eyes. “So what is the problem then?”
“That it’s a rumor. There’s no girl to turn over. But that answer merely angers the djinn even more. I fear they’re looking for any reason to sack our quarter.”
“And who is ‘they,’ Grand Wazir? Who would be foolish enough to attack the Daeva Quarter?”
Kaveh raised his chin. “Perhaps the men who helped Anas Bhatt murder two of my tribesmen, the men I believe you were tasked with finding and arresting.”
It took every bit of self-control Ali had not to flinch. He cleared his throat. “I doubt a few fugitives already on the run from the Royal Guard would be interested in attracting such attention.”
Kaveh held his stare a moment longer. “Perhaps.” He sighed. “Prince Alizayd, I’m simply telling you what I’ve heard. I know you and I have our differences, but I beg that you set them aside for a moment.” He pursed his lips. “There’s something about this that has me truly worried.”
The honesty in Kaveh’s voice struck him. “What would you have me do?”