They kept walking, following Wajed down a twisting staircase that ended in a hall of earth-packed walls. A single window let in a dusty ray of light, illuminating a row of wooden doors. All were open save one, which sported a new, human-looking metal lock and a heavy beam barring the entrance. Two soldiers sat on mats just outside, playing some sort of card game.
They shot to their feet when Ali entered, their eyes going wider as they took in Nahri at his side.
“Your Highness,” one stammered, falling into an awkward bow. “Forgive us,” he added, kicking the cards into the corner. “We didn’t realize—”
“There is nothing to forgive. Is this where Jamshid e-Pramukh is being kept?” Ali asked, nodding at the locked door.
“Yes, my prince,” the other djinn said nervously. His gaze darted to Nahri. “But he’s made a mess of the place. I can prepare a different cell for her if—”
“No,” Ali cut in, silencing the other man as if he felt Nahri’s temper spiking again. “We won’t be locking up any more Daevas as of today.” He held out his palm. “The key, please.”
Wajed had clearly been checking his tongue since their fight in the majlis, but he spoke up now. “My prince, I’m not certain that’s wise. Pramukh has already tried to escape twice.”
“And once he’s free, he won’t have to attempt a third. The key. Now.”
The Ayaanle soldier obeyed, pulling a key from his pocket and handing it to Ali, who promptly gave it to Nahri.
“Thank you,” Ali said politely. “Your assistance is appreciated. Qaid, would you and these men please go speak to my mother about finding rooms for our Daeva guests?”
Wajed looked like he would rather have shoved Nahri into a cell, but she knew enough about royal protocol to know he wouldn’t question a Qahtani in front of his men. “Of course, my prince,” he said, his voice cool.
Nahri waited until they left and then quickly fit the key into the lock.
Ali helped her with the crossbeam. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
I don’t know. Now that she was facing the prospect of speaking to the man she knew was her brother, Nahri felt uncertain. She and Jamshid were friends, yes, but it wasn’t a relationship that time and their respective positions had let deepen. She had been his Banu Nahida first.
And he had belonged to Muntadhir. How was Nahri, never the most empathetic of people if she was honest, going to find the words to shatter his world? It didn’t sound like Hatset or Wajed had bothered to keep Jamshid in the loop. Was she supposed to just walk in and announce he was a Nahid and that his parents had been behind the invasion that murdered the man he loved?
She shivered. “No, not yet.” She didn’t imagine Ali would be helpful—Jamshid didn’t seem to like him—but she could use the support. She opened the door.
It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the gloomy light. Like the corridor, Jamshid’s cell had a small window, barred and no bigger than a man’s head. A single oil lamp burned in one corner, the eastern corner, her heart aching as she realized the cup of water and a half-burnt twig beside it were an attempt at a fire altar. A messy floor desk was piled with paper and books, half-stacked in toppled piles.
Jamshid himself was curled upon a sleeping pallet, facing the wall. He hadn’t stirred when they opened the door, and for a moment, Nahri panicked, fearing she was too late before she spotted the rise of his chest.
“Jamshid?” she called.
A single tremor raced down his body, and he rolled over.
Dazed black eyes locked on hers. “Nahri?” Jamshid sat up, swaying like he was drunk. Then he lurched forward. “Nahri!”
She rushed to catch him, pulling him into a hug. “Thought you could use some company.”
Jamshid clutched her tight. “Oh, thank the Creator. I was so worried about you.” He released her. “Are you okay? How did you get here? They said everyone in the palace was killed!”
“I’m okay,” she managed. Her brother, on the other hand, looked awful, his face thin and pale, his beard overgrown, and his black hair hanging in tangled waves. “Are you all right? Have they been mistreating you?”
Jamshid scowled. “They flap their mouths but haven’t laid hands on me. They’re too afraid of—” He abruptly stopped talking, his attention shifting behind her. “Alizayd?”
Ali awkwardly cleared his throat. “Hello.”
Wild optimism lit Jamshid’s gaze. “If you’re alive, does that mean … is Muntadhir here as well?” he asked frantically. “Did he make it out with you?”
Nahri’s heart dropped. “No. I’m sorry, Jamshid. Muntadhir … he didn’t make it out.”
She could see the hope literally vanish from her brother’s eyes. Jamshid swallowed loudly, looking like he was trying to pull on his courtier’s facade. “I see.” He turned back to Ali. “Then why are you here?”
Ali hadn’t moved from the doorway. “What?” he whispered.
“I asked why are you here, al Qahtani? Because protecting Muntadhir was your job, your entire life’s duty, and if you’re standing here, I can only assume you failed or betrayed him. So which is it?”
Ali rocked back on his heels, the accusation richoceting around the cell. Weeks of healing seemed to unwind from his face in the blink of an eye. “I didn’t betray him. I would never.”
“Then you’re a coward.”
“Jamshid.” Nahri stepped between them. “He’s not a coward. And it’s not his fault. Muntadhir chose to protect his family and his kingdom the best way he knew. It was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen, and I won’t hear anyone dishonor it.”
But her words didn’t seem to reach her brother. Jamshid was starting to shake, fresh grief ripping across his face. “He shouldn’t have had to make that choice. He wasn’t the one trained to.”
Ali stepped closer, looking like he was aching to make this right. “Jamshid, I’m sorry. I
