Which was why, when a gentle knock sounded on her door, Nahri crossed the room with an embarrassing swiftness. She chided herself, and then opened the door with an affected aloofness.
She scowled. It wasn’t Ali.
Queen Hatset gave her a knowing smile. “Peace be upon you, Banu Nahida,” she said in Djinnistani.
“May the fires burn brightly for you,” Nahri returned in Divasti.
Hatset tilted her head. “I apologize if you were expecting someone else. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you and your brother were settled. The rooms are suitable?”
“They’re lovely. I only wish such hospitality had been extended to Jamshid earlier.”
“And I wish his parents had not brutally murdered the father of my children and thousands of our subjects.” The line was delivered crisply, but Nahri didn’t miss the flicker of anger in the other woman’s eyes. “I assure you it was best that Jamshid be kept locked away.”
“Yes, you’ve all made quite clear what you think of Daevas.”
“I apologize for that. But sometimes it’s wisest to let people show you who they are. Wajed is a dangerous man. A man who served my husband loyally, who loves my son—but were I in your position, I would want to know how such a man viewed me. How everyone viewed me. You did not survive Daevabad by sticking your head in the sand.”
“I have never—for even a moment—forgotten how people view me.” Nahri was too upset to entirely slip behind her mask, but she checked what rancor she could. “And were I in your position, I’d view not being able to assure the safety of my guests as a weakness.”
Hatset gave her an incredulous smile. “Well, haven’t you loosened your tongue. I remember a far more careful Banu Nahida.”
“I left my country, Hatset. Did Ali tell you that? I left my home and a peaceful life to come here with your son in the hopes of fixing things. In hopes of saving you all. I won’t be threatened.”
“If only it were that easy, child.” Hatset beckoned. “Walk with me.”
Nahri paused, sorely tempted to retrieve the serving knife Jamshid had taken. Instead, she settled for grabbing her shayla. “Where’s Ali?” she asked, winding the shawl around her head and shoulders as they left the room.
“Sleeping,” Hatset replied. “Rather against his wishes, but there’s little resisting sleep when opium has been slipped into your food.”
Nahri stared at her, shocked. “You drugged your son?”
“He needed rest.”
“He needed rest … How much experience do you have with opium? It’s a powerful drug. If you got the dosage wrong—”
Hatset let out an exasperated sound. “I did not pluck you from your bed to get a medical lecture. He’s my son. I would never hurt him.”
“In my experience, Hatset, parents in our world are capable of doing a great deal of hurt to their children.”
The djinn queen gave her a long, considering look. “Fair point, Banu Nahri. But you needn’t worry. Ali is fine, I assure you.” She paused. “You care for him truly, don’t you?”
Ali holding her so carefully on the beach, brushing the tears from her cheeks. There is no one else here, my friend. You don’t need to keep up this front.
Nahri, however, did exactly that. “He’s not bad.”
“You are an exceedingly frustrating person to talk to.”
“It’s a point of pride.” Nahri changed the subject as Hatset led her down another empty corridor. Aside from a gray-striped cat stalking a spider, there were no other signs of life in the quiet castle. “Your nephew mentioned that you sent people away. Is that true?”
“As many as I could convince. The Afshin sent people fleeing to their provinces with warnings of fire and retribution. If Manizheh came for Jamshid and burned this place to the ground, I didn’t intend for all of us to be killed.” Regret filled the queen’s voice. “A shame. This castle should be filled with the laughter of children, and I would have liked to see my son greeted by all his cousins and aunts. But it wasn’t worth the risk.”
The sincerity in the statement undid some of Nahri’s anger. Hatset had always been harder to hate than Ghassan—Nahri could relate too well to a woman for whom politics and family had left limited options.
They entered the castle’s courtyard. It was half garden, half ruin, and utterly beautiful. Mirrored stepping stones lined the sandy path, reflecting the full moon with silvery pools of light. A rushing stream divided the courtyard, pale trees stretching to climb through the latticed ceiling.
“This is incredible,” Nahri said admiringly. “I feel like I’m walking through the forest.”
“You should see it when the magic works.” Hatset trailed her fingers along a fern. “My father always says this is how djinn should live. On the edge and among the wilderness, closer in spirit to our ancestors than in ‘messy human cities.’ He never did think much of Daevabad.” Longing filled her voice. “I had a far gentler childhood than my own children, and I could never help but wonder how they might have blossomed here. How at ease Zaynab might be if she wasn’t confined to a harem full of politicking noblewomen. The kind of scholar Ali could grow into if he’d never had to pick up a zulfiqar.”
“They wouldn’t be themselves,” Nahri replied, almost without thinking. She couldn’t imagine Ali and Zaynab divorced of their royal identity.
“Perhaps not,” Hatset mused.
“Was it your choice to leave?” Nahri asked. Hatset seemed like she was in a talkative mood, and Nahri was never one to turn away information—but she was also genuinely curious.
The queen shrugged. “I’m not sure people like you and I have true choices. Ghassan was looking for a new wife and made clear he’d be open to a spouse from Ta Ntry. The merchant families convened, and I was at the top of the list. It sounded like an adventure, a chance to support my tribe. He was a handsome, clever king, and
