“Does ‘seized’ imply no payment was exchanged?”
“We are working on it.”
“Work faster,” Muntadhir warned. “Those houses are the backbone of this city. Many survived not only the fall of the Nahids, but all the civil wars and squabbles that have plagued us since. They’ll still be standing when neither the Nahids nor Qahtanis are.”
Dara didn’t like the sound of any of that, and he didn’t like thinking his people so easily divided and greedy for riches. “Kaveh is from a noble house. Surely he already knows this.”
Muntadhir gave him a patronizing smile. “I would take comfort in your ignorance if it didn’t affect my people. Kaveh is from the countryside; his family could be in Daevabad another eight centuries, and they still would not be viewed as equals among the nobles I’m talking about. They like that he earned them additional concessions and court positions while he was grand wazir, but they mocked his accent behind his back and would have died of shame before allowing their daughters to marry his son.”
“That son is the same man you profess to love,” Dara pointed out. “Are you so dishonorable that you mocked his name behind his back?”
Muntadhir grinned widely. “Oh no, Afshin. I drew my khanjar and threatened to open all their throats the first time they attempted to mock him in my presence. But then I smiled and sent them all home with gold, and strangely, Jamshid found himself receiving more invitations.” He shrugged. “I knew my part, and I played it well. There will always be people who crave the attention of princes and you can go as far with wine, conversation, and glamour as you can with weapons. Putting aside the fact that we’d all stab each other in the back if our fortunes changed, I found their company quite enjoyable. Some very talented poets in the bunch.”
Dara opened and closed his mouth, suddenly feeling rather provincial himself. Never again would he take for granted the simple ease of sitting around a cookfire with fellow soldiers. “And these honey-mouthed snobs with more coin than tribal loyalty are your … friends?”
“You could use that word,” Muntadhir said, sounding almost cheerful. The topic of murderous court intrigue seemed to energize him. “The kind of tribal loyalty of which you are so fond has its limits. Manizheh was more feared and greeted with awe than loved by the Daevas when she lived here. You are definitely feared. Kaveh has good political instincts, but he just proved he’s a disloyal traitor who plotted the massacre of children. Not to mention that the rest of the city openly hates you and is probably planning your demise. Why would families clever enough to have navigated centuries of occupation publicly support you? Far better to wait until you inevitably implode and then deal with whoever rises from the dust.”
Dara indeed felt ready to implode. “Then how do we get the nobles on our side?”
Muntadhir twirled the cup in his hand. “I watched you turn into fire and survive being crushed by a ceiling. Surely you can conjure grape wine.”
Checking his temper, Dara grabbed the cup out of Muntadhir’s hands. A moment later, dark crimson swirled inside. “Here you are, Majesty,” he said sarcastically.
The emir tasted it and smiled. “That’s delicious! Maybe you should abandon this life. Leave the war, go open a tavern in the mountains—”
“Al Qahtani, you are trying me,” Dara said through his teeth. “How do we get the nobles on our side?”
The mirth left the other man’s face. “There is one more promise you must make if you want my help. Swear not to hurt my siblings.”
Dara scowled. “I will not hurt your sister, but Alizayd is another matter. He allied with the marid to slaughter my men. If your brother comes before me again, I will kill him.”
“You allied with the marid to bring down the Citadel and slaughter virtually everyone he knew, you insufferable hypocrite.” Muntadhir’s eyes narrowed. “Swear not to hurt my siblings. Swear on Nahri’s life. Those are my terms.”
Cursing inwardly, Dara touched his heart. “Fine. I will not harm them, I swear on Nahri.”
“Good.” Muntadhir took another long sip of wine. “You should throw a feast.”
“A feast?” Dara spat. “I am to stay my hand from cutting down a hated enemy because you told me to hold a party?”
“You asked for my advice, and I know the nobles well. They want to be made to feel important, and they’ll want to see signs of stability. Convince them you can rule, that you have a plan for peace, a way to bring magic back, and you may be surprised by the quiet methods they have of reaching out to their counterparts in the other tribes.”
A feast for the rich fools who’d paid lip service to Ghassan all these years. Dara fumed. That was not the Daevabad he’d dreamed of returning to.
But the Daevabad he’d dreamed of was long gone—if it had ever existed.
Still, he pressed on. “Nahri had allies among these people?” He couldn’t imagine the acid-tongued former slum dweller having the patience for these kinds of festivities.
“No,” Muntadhir replied. “Nahri was actually beloved by her people. Because she teased their children in the Temple gardens, listened to their gripes in the infirmary, and used her dowry to fund weddings for the poor. She was not inclined to flatter nobles, and because I wasn’t inclined to see her power eclipse mine, I didn’t advise her to.”
“A very happy couple you must have made. You know, when you weren’t sleeping with her brother.”
If the rebuke landed, Dara couldn’t tell; the words seemed to slide past Muntadhir like water. He must have had a lot of experience in letting them do so, Dara realized. The court life Muntadhir spoke of sounded as deadly as a battlefield, and yet he’d navigated it for decades, holding tight to a lover he would never have been able to openly declare, checking an ambitious brother whose
