“I’m not attacking her,” Hatset said calmly. “I already know why Ghassan believed Jamshid so valuable. I am merely curious if Banu Nahri does as well.”
Banu Nahri looked like she was about to stab everyone in the room. “Why don’t you enlighten me,” she said, her voice as cool and lethal as Manizheh’s had been on the palace roof back in Daevabad.
Ali touched her wrist. This had been the exact kind of reception she’d feared. “Nahri—”
“It’s fine. Your mother clearly has some things she’d like to say to me.”
The men in the room may have been the armed ones, but they had nothing on the battle brewing between the two women. Even Wajed had stepped back, looking newly apprehensive.
Hatset nodded at the soldiers. “Would you leave us?”
With a glance at Wajed and Ali, the guards complied. Only when the door was shut did his mother speak again.
“Shortly after Manizheh supposedly died, a Daeva noble from the hinterland arrived. An inconsequential man, from a family that was more farmer than sophisticate, but one that had served the Nahids for centuries—the Pramukhs. When Ghassan heard he was in the city, he invited the noble to court out of sympathy—he’d been a friend to Manizheh and Rustam, you see, the unfortunate person who’d discovered their bodies when they were slain.”
A chill went down Ali’s back. He’d heard the stories growing up of the blood-soaked, smoldering plain in Daevastana where the last Nahids had supposedly been slaughtered by the ifrit. “Kaveh.”
“But not just Kaveh,” Hatset continued. “Jamshid too. I occasionally attended court in those days, and I still remember the way the color drained from your father’s face when Kaveh formally presented himself and his son, a little boy who barely reached his waist. Ghassan shot to his feet, furious, and charged out. I immediately followed, the worried wife, to overhear my husband ranting to his Qaid about the ‘ungrateful whore’—how the Nahid he’d desired had used the leave he’d granted her to rut with a country noble and how the man had to be a fool to turn up in his city. About how he planned to kill the boy and make Kaveh watch before throwing both their bodies in the lake.”
Wajed spoke up. “We … intervened,” he said delicately. “The king didn’t tell us how he knew the truth of Jamshid’s parentage, but it was clear Kaveh didn’t realize he’d been found out.”
“And Jamshid was an innocent. A child,” Hatset said. “One who apparently had no healing abilities, but who knew what the future might hold? Manizheh’s blood—his mother’s blood—was strong, and the rest of the Nahids were dead. We could bring this one into the fold and make him loyal. Valuable.”
Valuable. Ali’s stomach dropped at the word. “Jamshid,” he breathed. “You’re saying that Jamshid is Manizheh’s son?” He spun on Nahri, expecting to see her looking equally shocked. “But that would make him …”
“My brother,” Nahri finished. “And I thank you, my queen, for that illuminating story. Tell me, at the point when the pair of you had to counsel Ghassan against slaughtering innocent children, did you ever stop to contemplate the consequences of serving such a tyrant? Or was violence in Daevabad acceptable until it affected your people?”
Wajed went red. “If you think to justify the slaughter of thousands of Geziris—”
“Enough.” Ali swayed on his feet, but when he spoke, he made sure the command was clear. “You will take us to Jamshid. Now.”
23
ALI
The corridor that led to Jamshid’s cell was clean and simple: lime-washed walls with high narrow windows. It didn’t look like the blood-soaked torture chamber that Daevabad’s dungeon was rumored to be, but it was still a prison, and Nahri’s anger—white-hot since the majlis—howled inside her like an animal. Had she her magic, Nahri thought she might be capable of the things Manizheh had done, breaking bones from across the room and seizing control of people’s limbs. There had to be an outlet for rage like this, a release so it wouldn’t devour her from within.
You naive little girl. Her mother’s words on the palace roof came back in a rush, mingling with the suspicion in Musa’s eyes, the open hate in Wajed’s, and Hatset’s awful story. Nahri couldn’t condone what Manizheh had done to the Geziris, but she suddenly feared that putting herself in the hands of the djinn had been a terrible mistake.
At her side, Ali moved closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “You knew,” he said, speaking softly in Arabic so they wouldn’t be overheard. “You knew about Jamshid.”
Her reply was curt. “Yes.”
He sighed. “I wish you had told me. There weren’t supposed to be any more secrets between us, and I feel like we just fell into a trap.”
“And that’s my fault? I came here to make peace, not get set upon by your mother and Wajed. Did you not hear what they said about Jamshid? My brother’s entire life is a lie because of your father!”
“I know, Nahri. I know, all right?” And indeed, she saw only frustrated sympathy in Ali’s gray eyes. “But that’s why you and I need to be united—against the rest of them if necessary.” He touched her hand. “I meant everything I said to you in Cairo and back on the beach. I am your partner in this, your friend. I’m not going to betray you.”
“And if you’re not enough?” The question burst from her, giving voice to her fear. “They’ve already locked up one Daeva. What if we can’t convince them that this fight is against Manizheh, not my entire tribe?”
Ali’s expression grew fierce. “Jamshid is getting out of that cell today. They either let him out, or you and I break him out, we join Fiza’s crew, and the three of us try our hand at piracy.”
His words didn’t vanquish her anger, but Nahri felt a little fear ebb away at the promise of a backup plan, even a ridiculous one. “Fine,”
