“I don’t want to be married in a matter of months!”
“Then you’re a fool,” Hatset charged. “You’re the one who brought up Zaynab, so now you’re going to hear what I would tell my daughter if she was in your position: women like us don’t get to stay independent. You’ve journeyed alone with a man twice now. People talk, and they say vicious things. They’ve been saying vicious things about you and both of these men for a long time. You need to make your loyalty clear.”
It was Nahri’s turn to be angry. “I have made my loyalty clear.” She was furious now, and she leaned into it. Fury was familiar. “I’m loyal to Daevabad and its people. I’ve been forced into a marriage once and seen the resentment it breeds. I won’t do it again, especially not with a man who I—”
“A man who you what? A man who you betrayed your own mother to save? Who has you smiling like a schoolgirl when you open your bedroom door? Ah, yes, a terrible fate to marry a kind young king who loves you and stay a few years in a peaceful castle on the sea. Far better to destroy yourself out of pride and end up a prisoner in another gilded cage back in Daevabad.”
The words were delivered with more frustration than malice. Nahri believed Hatset: this probably was the advice she would have given Zaynab. That made it worse, this passing of a barbed baton between women who, no matter how clever, how powerful, would always be known by the men to whom they were attached.
Nahri turned away. At the end of the corridor, a wide window opened on the midnight forest, revealing a glimmer of the sea shining beyond the tangle of black trees. Nahri paced toward it, wanting to put space between herself and the queen. She pressed her palms on the stone sill. It was cold and rough beneath her hands, solid.
Hatset was waiting for an answer. Nahri could feel her eyes on her back. Nahri did know about the whispers in the castle. She knew what people said about her and Dara. What they said about her and Ali.
To hell with them all.
“I’ll give you until tomorrow to tell Ali about Issa,” Nahri said, still staring out the window. “I pray you do. Because it’s going to break his heart if he finds out you lied about Muntadhir, and Ali doesn’t deserve that.”
Hatset sighed. “You’re making a mistake.”
“I would rather make a mistake than have my choices stripped away.” Nahri tried to sound firm, as if it didn’t feel like she was also snuffing out something in her heart, something small and fragile and new. “I won’t marry him. Not like this. And I will never abandon Daevabad.” She drew her shayla close before turning back in the direction of her rooms. “Talk to your son, my queen. I’ve made my decision.”
26
ALI
Ali was a groggy mess by the time he finally woke up the next morning. He groaned into his pillow; silk sheets tangled around his body.
Wait … a pillow? Silk sheets? A mattress?
Ta Ntry. He inhaled, smelling myrrh along with the ocean’s tang on the fresh air. Ali rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes. He felt unusually foggy-headed, sleep clinging determinedly to him as he tried to recall what had led to his being in this bed. The last thing he remembered was eating dinner with his mother and then being escorted to a dim room that some people—God, Ali had been so tired he couldn’t even remember their faces—assured him was his.
He squinted in the darkness now. It was a pleasant room, three large windows lit with the deep purple of approaching dawn. Water for washing had been left beside a crisp pale blue robe with an unnecessary amount of maroon embroidery on the sleeves and collar, cut in Ayaanle fashion. A matching cap rested beside it.
Sluggishly rising to his feet—what was wrong with him this morning?—Ali made his way to the tin basin, mumbling a prayer of intention. His reflection rippled in the water.
As did a pair of flat black eyes, round as plates.
Ali recoiled. He shoved the basin away, and water sloshed out, splashing to the floor.
What in God’s name was that? After a moment—and now fully awake—he edged closer again, peering over the basin.
There was nothing. His heart pounding, Ali dipped his hand in the cool water, running his fingers along the basin’s smooth bottom. He wanted so desperately to believe that the sharklike eyes might have been a figment of his imagination, a sleepy remnant of a dream.
Except this was Ali’s life, and being spied upon by some unseen water spirit seemed more likely.
There was also nothing he could do if indeed one of Sobek’s curious cousins had just stolen a peek at him. Instead, Ali finished his ablutions and dressed. A prayer mat had been left on an embossed wooden chest, but with a glance at the sky, Ali estimated he had enough time to walk to the village’s open mosque. He knew it would feel good to pray underneath the vanishing stars and in the quiet company of those who also preferred to perform fajr at the mosque.
A soldier just outside Ali’s door jumped to attention when he opened it.
“Prince Alizayd,” the guard greeted him, touching his heart and brow in the Geziri salute. “Peace be upon you.”
“And upon you peace,” Ali said. He frowned, studying the man’s lowered gaze. “Wait … Sameer?” He laughed, clapping the other man’s shoulder. “Is it really you?”
The guard smiled bashfully. “I wasn’t sure you would remember me.”
“Of course I remember you! I remember everyone in my cadet class—especially the boys who warned me that others had slipped a baby crocodile under my blanket. How are you? How did you get all the way out here?”
“I am well, praise God. I was transferred to Dadan after
