Hatset grabbed him as he fell at her feet. “Oh, baba,” she wept, pulling him into an embrace. “I was so worried.”
Ali hugged her close. She felt thinner, frail in a way she never had before. “I’m okay, Amma. God be praised, I’m okay.” Gently taking her arm, he led his mother to one of the couches, giving Fiza a grateful look as the pirate motioned for her men to fall back.
Hatset had yet to let him go, only releasing Ali long enough to take his face in her hands. She lightly touched the bruise still marring his temple and traced the seal on his cheek.
Sorrow filled her eyes. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t hope to see Suleiman’s mark on you one day, but God, not at such a cost.”
“I know.” Ali fought to keep the emotion from his voice, his throat thick. He was not on a lonely riverbank with Nahri where he could openly grieve—he was a politically compromised prince in a foreign court that, though familiar, had its own interests, and there were a lot of people watching him. “But those we have lost are with God now. All we can do is ensure they get justice.”
Hatset gazed at him, and he caught a glimpse of both pride and sadness in her eyes. “But of course, Alizayd.” She straightened up, steel entering her voice as she glanced over Ali’s shoulder. “Banu Nahri, welcome to Shefala.”
“Thank you,” Nahri deadpanned. “I’ve always wanted to travel.”
“Amma,” Ali spoke quickly. “Nahri and I were blessed to make the acquaintance of Captain Fiza and her crew”—he inclined his head toward the shafit pirate—“to whom we owe our lives. Could rooms be prepared for them to rest? Cousin, you appear to be doing nothing. Can you make welcome our guests?”
Musa gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, is it ‘our’ already?”
“Yes,” Hatset said firmly. “Captain Fiza, I am honored to meet you. Please be assured you and your crew will be shown every welcome—and reward for aiding my son.” She glanced at Musa, her gaze a bit more chiding. “Please, nephew, if you wouldn’t mind seeing to our guests.”
Musa bowed his head. “Of course, my queen.”
His cousin and the sailors filed out of the room, leaving Ali alone with Nahri and his mother. The sound of the door closing echoed through the vast space.
His mother immediately pulled Ali back into a hug, clutching him tight. “Thanks be to God,” she said, kissing his head. “I thought for certain you were dead. I feared Manizheh murdered you both and was spreading this lunatic story to buy herself time.”
Ali released her. “Has there been any more news of Daevabad? Anything from Zaynab?”
Hatset paused. “No. Not yet.” She cleared her throat. “But I did send a message to Manizheh.”
Nahri drew up. “What kind of message?”
“I will absolutely see him,” a man insisted outside the majlis door. “He is my prince, we are at war, and I don’t need the permission of some trumped-up—”
Ali shot to his feet. “Is that Wajed?”
“Yes,” Hatset said. “He came to Shefala when he heard Daevabad fell. He apparently believed me the next authority—not that he’s always been acting that way,” she grumbled. “Come in, Qaid!”
Wajed entered with what looked like barely controlled haste, two Geziri soldiers nipping at his heels.
“Zaydi,” the old warrior greeted him, relief in his voice. “Thank God.”
Nahri flew up before Ali could respond. “Thank no one,” she snapped. “What have you done with Jamshid?”
THE WARRIORS ACCOMPANYING WAJED HAD THEIR weapons drawn before Jamshid’s name had even left Nahri’s lips.
“Stop!” Ali rushed between them. “Lower your weapons!”
“I’ve done nothing to Jamshid,” Wajed spat out, scowling at Nahri with undisguised hostility. “He’s here, alive and confined below.”
“Jamshid e-Pramukh is here?” Ali asked, keeping himself between Nahri and the Geziri soldiers. The soldiers might have dropped their weapons, but Nahri still looked murderous. “How?”
“He was in my custody the night of the attack,” Wajed explained. “Your father ordered me to arrest Nahri and the Pramukh men after the Navasatem attack. I was to deliver Nahri and Kaveh to the palace and take Jamshid to one of our strongholds in Am Gezira. He’s been with me since.”
“Why?” Ali looked wildly between Wajed and Nahri, each of whom was glaring daggers at the other. “Why would my father arrest three Daevas for the attack on their parade? He knew they had nothing to do with it. He was already preparing to punish the shafit!”
“That’s not why he arrested us.” Nahri still sounded heated, but there was a new hesitation in her voice.
Ali was growing more baffled by the moment. “Then why did he arrest you?”
Nahri’s dark eyes met his, an apology in them. “Because of you, Ali. Ghassan was going to use me to end your rebellion. He planned to charge me as your co-conspirator and threaten to have me executed if you didn’t surrender.”
Ali reeled, lost for words, but Wajed was already responding.
“That’s a lie,” the Qaid declared, sounding appalled. “The king would never have treated a woman under his protection in such a way!”
“Yes, he would,” Ali whispered, hating the truth of it. “If he thought I was a true risk to his throne, to Daevabad’s stability, there is nothing my father wouldn’t have done.”
Hatset had stayed quiet, observing their fight from a distance, but she spoke up now. “Why were the Pramukh men involved?”
Wajed still seemed aggrieved. “I don’t know.”
“I wasn’t asking you.” Hatset’s gaze fixed on Nahri. “I’m talking to the Banu Nahida. Why were Kaveh and Jamshid involved?”
“I didn’t ask,” Nahri said through her teeth. “You’ll forgive me for not thinking to pry into your evil husband’s convoluted plots while he was threatening to kill me.”
Hatset was undeterred. “So you have no thoughts, none at all, as to why Ghassan believed Jamshid valuable?”
Ali interceded. “We’re not doing whatever this is. I owe my life to Nahri ten times over. She is my ally and my friend, and we did not come here so
