“It’s not like the last few Qahtani kings treated them much better.”
“Yes, but a central tenet of their religion didn’t teach that they were vermin.”
Now her brother looked openly annoyed. “That’s not what our texts teach. I’m not going to pretend we don’t have bigots willing to twist our faith, that there are plenty of Daevas who look down upon the shafit, but Creator, sometimes …”
“Sometimes what? What?” Nahri demanded when he trailed off.
“Sometimes you sound just as angry as them, okay?” Jamshid seemed embarrassed but continued. “And I understand, I do. I know you grew up in the human world, and you’re close to Subha—”
“You understand nothing.”
Jamshid blinked, looking taken aback by the fury Nahri couldn’t keep out of her voice. But not for long. “Then maybe you could tell me? It feels like you’re keeping all these secrets, like you still don’t trust me.”
I don’t. And that made Nahri feel awful. But she could barely breathe right now. She didn’t have it in her to personally walk her brother through dismantling whatever prejudices he still held toward the shafit, while managing everything else tearing up her life.
“I think I’m done for the day,” she announced. “I’m not feeling well.”
“I … all right.” Jamshid sighed. It was obvious they both knew she was lying. “Why don’t I stay here and keep reading so I don’t bother you?”
Nahri gritted her teeth, fighting back a sarcastic response. You wanted a family. Now she had one, thorns and all. “Fine. Then I’ll see you at dinner.”
29
ALI
Ali examined the silver coins in his palm. “And these are the coins you were given?” he asked the shafit carpenter in front of him.
“The very ones, my prince.” The carpenter gestured angrily at a pair of djinn across from him: a Sahrayn ship captain and his Ayaanle trading partner. “My people and I worked from dawn until dusk on their sandship, and the bastards still cheated me.”
Ali chipped a coin with his nail, a few silver flakes breaking off to reveal the copper beneath. “Paint?” he asked, giving the traders an annoyed look. “Really?”
The Ayaanle merchant crossed his arms. “Copper is the rate for shafit laborers anyway.”
“Wages don’t vary based on your nonsense ideas about blood. Not in Shefala.” Ali put the coins back in the small cloth sack. “Where is the rest of the money you owe them?”
The merchant glowered. “We don’t have it right now.”
“Alas, then you don’t have a ship either.” Ali glanced at Fiza, who stood beside him. “Captain … surely there are ways to ensure a ship doesn’t leave our coast until its debts are paid?”
She grinned wickedly. “I can think of a few.”
“Then it’s settled. The ship stays here until you’ve paid your workers, with an additional dirham for every day the pair of you delay.” Ali glanced at the carpenter. “Does that sound fair?”
The carpenter still looked upset but nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Prince Alizayd.”
“I’m happy to help.”
He and Fiza left, winding through the forest of boats dragged up on the sand for repairs. Their variety was a marvel to behold: sandships and luminescent mirrored glass skiffs sitting alongside human dhows with intricately carved wooden prows and a small dugout loaded with fishing nets. The beach was the most crowded Ali had seen; it was an overcast day, and he supposed people were taking advantage of the cool weather to work and prepare their boats for the coming monsoon rains.
“So how many meetings left today?” Fiza asked conversationally. “Fifty? Sixty?”
“I’ve stopped counting,” Ali replied. Word had spread like wildfire that he and Nahri were in Shefala looking for allies interested in taking back and building a new kind of Daevabad. But for every new arrival who seemed earnest, there was another digging for money, a future post, or score-settling, and it was as maddening as it was time-consuming. Their people were at war, tens of thousands at the mercy of Manizheh and Dara, and yet here Ali was, spending hours settling unrelated squabbles just to get this clan or another to join his side.
Then declare yourself king and command them, his mother’s voice whispered in his head. Though Ali hadn’t exactly jumped up on the minbar and announced the dissolution of the nobility—despite what Hatset thought, he was taking this slow—he’d made clear no one would be forced to fight. He was careful to speak of what they were pulling together as a rescue mission instead of just another war of conquest; a mission to save their kin, restore their magic, and shape a new kind of future for Daevabad. He’d kept to his mornings at the mosque, trying to gently lay out some of his ideas and make sure he was accessible to those who wanted to speak with him.
It turned out there were many people who wanted to speak to him. Many. And though Fiza and Wajed were helping Ali as much as they could, his grandfather’s mind wandered, and Ali and his mother had remained in a testy détente since their argument in the library. Hatset was offering material support and shelter—and providing the public perception that all was well between them—but she wouldn’t speak with him until he promised to declare himself king. “You want my counsel?” she’d asked. “I have given it. Stop acting like a starry-eyed fool and be the man your name implies.”
As for Nahri, they’d barely spoken. She spent all her time in the library with Jamshid and seemed exhausted and distant when he did track her down. “I’m just tired,” she insisted when Ali had finally broken the other evening and begged to know what he had done wrong. “You try spending all day attempting to decipher ancient texts while being glared at by soldiers.”
He and Fiza emerged from the thicket of boats, climbing the sandy slope that led back to the town. With every step Ali took away from the ocean, he could
