Dara could barely look at Muntadhir—the bone-deep guilt radiating off the emir was too familiar.
“Yes,” Muntadhir whispered, regret thick in his hoarse voice. “I went to my father, but I was too late. The poison had already killed him.”
“And had the poison not taken Ghassan, then what?” Manizheh prodded. “What were you prepared to do?”
Muntadhir squeezed his eyes shut, seeming to breathe against the pain, his hands pressed around the arrowhead still buried in his leg. “I don’t know. Ali had taken the Citadel. I thought I could try and reason with my father, insist he release Jamshid and Nahri …”
“And if he didn’t?”
Wetness glistened in the other man’s eyelashes. When he spoke again, his words were barely audible. “I was going to join Alizayd.”
“I don’t believe you,” Manizheh challenged. “You, a good son of Am Gezira, were going to betray your own father to save the life of a Daeva man?”
Muntadhir opened his bloodshot eyes; they were full of pain. “Yes.”
Manizheh stared at the emir. “You love him. Jamshid.”
Dara felt the blood drain from his face.
Muntadhir looked shattered. His breath was coming faster, his shoulders shaking with the rise and fall. “Yes,” he choked out again.
Manizheh sat back on her heels. Dara didn’t move, shocked at the turn in the conversation. How in the Creator’s name had Manizheh learned about Muntadhir and Jamshid? Not even Kaveh had wanted her to know!
She kept talking. “You and I both know how devoted Wajed was to your father. I’ve heard he all but raised Alizayd as his own son.” She paused. “So what do you imagine Wajed and his men—his good Geziri soldiers—will do to Jamshid when they learn their king, their favorite prince, and all their kinsmen are supposedly dead at Kaveh’s hands?”
For all the enmity between Dara and the Qahtanis, the slow, awful panic that rolled across Muntadhir’s face made Dara sick to his stomach. He knew that feeling too well.
“I … I’ll send word to Wajed.” The emir had broken, and he didn’t even realize it. “A letter! A letter with my mark ordering him not to hurt Jamshid.”
“And how will we send word?” Manizheh asked. “We have no magic. No shapeshifters who can fly, no whispered enchantments to our birds. Nor would we even know where to send such word.”
“Am Gezira,” Muntadhir blurted out. “We have a fortress in the south. Or Ta Ntry! If Wajed finds out about my father, he may go to the queen.”
Manizheh touched his knee. “I thank you for that information.” She rose to her feet. “I only pray it’s not too late.”
It was Muntadhir who pursued her now. “Wait!” he cried, scrambling to stand and hissing as he shifted weight away from his injured leg.
Manizheh was already motioning for Dara to open the door. “Don’t worry, I’m just getting some supplies to see to your wounds, and then I’ll return.” She glanced back. “Now that you’re feeling more talkative, perhaps I’ll bring the ifrit. I have a great many questions I would like to ask you about Suleiman’s seal.”
She stepped through the doorway, leaving Dara in her wake.
Muntadhir stared at him desperately from across the cell. “Afshin …”
He is your enemy. The man who pressured Nahri into his bed. But Dara could summon no anger, no hate—not even a flicker of triumph for finally defeating the family that had devastated his.
“I will let you know if we learn of Jamshid,” he said softly. Then, leaving Muntadhir the floating globes of light as a small mercy, Dara left, shutting the door behind him.
Manizheh was already headed toward the corridor. “Zaynab al Qahtani is in the Geziri Quarter.”
Dara frowned. “How do you know?”
“Because that man is not nearly as clever as he thinks. We need to get her out.”
“The Geziri Quarter is fortified against us. Alizayd unified the Geziris and the shafit under his call and was preparing for a siege well before we arrived. If the princess is behind their lines, it is going to be hard to get her out.”
“We have no choice. I need Zaynab in our custody, preferably before her mother gets wind of what happened here.” Manizheh pressed her mouth in a grim line. “I had planned on Hatset being in Daevabad. We could have held her hostage to keep the Ayaanle in line. Instead, I have an angry widow with a sea to protect her and a mountain of gold to support her vengeance.” She turned away, motioning him to follow. “Come.”
Dara didn’t move. “We are not done here.”
She glanced back, looking incredulous. “Excuse me?”
He was trembling again. “You had no right. No right to use the memory of my sister like that.”
“Did I not speak the truth? Zaynab al Qahtani is absolutely at risk running around Daevabad with no protection. Forget whatever noble Geziri warriors Muntadhir seems to think are going to protect her. Her father brutalized people in this city for decades, and there are plenty who would happily take advantage of the current situation to get some revenge.”
“That’s not …” Dara struggled for words, hating how easily she seemed to twist them against him. “You know what I mean. You should have told me in advance you planned to mention her.”
“Oh, should I have?” Manizheh spun on him. “Why, so you could craft a better way to say you would have delivered my ancestors to the Qahtanis?”
“I was shocked!” Dara fought to check his temper, flames flickering from his hands. “We are supposed to be working together.”
“And where was that sentiment when you and Kaveh were whispering behind my back about Jamshid and Muntadhir?” Her eyes flashed. “Did you not think you should have told me in advance that my son had been carrying on a decade-long affair with Ghassan’s?”
“Are you spying on me now?” he stammered.
“Do I need to? Because I’d rather not waste our extremely limited resources, and I’d hope the safety of our people was enough to keep you in line.”
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