The Empire of Gold

by S. A. Chakraborty

  “No.” She fell silent. Jamshid waited, looking expectant.

  Tell him. For God’s sake, Nahri had told Fiza—a pirate who would happily sell her out—that she was a shafit. Surely she could tell her own brother. Jamshid was kind. He was good, and she knew he was trying to do better when it came to the shafit.

  But he was also a Daeva first, raised with the prejudices of most of their tribe. And Creator forgive her, Nahri did not think she could deal with his reaction right now.

  “No,” she said again. “I don’t know who my father is, but it isn’t Kaveh.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jamshid gave her a genuine smile. “It’s going to be a little weird thinking of someone I admired as a high and mighty Nahid as my little sister.” His expression fell. “Though it makes me want to grab you and run even more.”

  “There’s no need to run.” That felt like more of a lie than she liked. “Not right now, anyway. I chose to come here. I know you don’t trust Ali, but I do, and we’re going to need allies.”

  “His mother kept me locked in a cell for a month, Nahri. They’re not my allies.”

  “Neither is our mother. You weren’t in Daevabad, Jamshid. You didn’t see how vicious her conquest was. She unleashed a poison capable of murdering every Geziri in the city. It killed scores in the palace—kids and scholars and servants. Innocents. I’m not on her side.”

  “So you’re on the Qahtanis’?”

  “No. I’m on Daevabad’s. I want to fix this and maybe one day see a world where it’s normal to pick sides based on what’s right rather than on whose family we belong to.”

  Jamshid sighed. “And here I thought you were a realist.”

  “I am. Please. You stood by me in the Temple when I said I was going to work with shafit. I’m asking you to do so again.”

  He paced away. “This is so much more dangerous than the Temple, Nahri. The priests would have merely sanctioned you. I’m pretty sure half this castle wants to kill us.”

  “All the more reason to convince them not to.”

  He still seemed skeptical but let out a resigned grunt. “Why don’t you tell me how you and Sheikh Fire-Sword ended up here, and I’ll see how I feel about allies.”

  24

  ALI

  Ali stumbled from the cell, his mind whirling with Jamshid’s accusations. Not quite certain where he was going, only that he had to get away—to give the Nahid siblings space; to give himself space from the man who had just reached into the guilty recesses of his heart and dragged the broken pieces into the light—he crossed to the stairs. All he wanted to do was get out of this sunken chamber of earth and stone.

  Instead, he walked directly into Wajed.

  The Qaid crossed his arms, looking at Ali as though they were back in the Citadel and he was about to deliver a scolding. It made Ali heartsick. Though it had been weeks, he still remembered standing in his mentor’s stolen office in the Citadel and knowing Wajed would never forgive him for the rebellion. Wajed was Geziri to the core and utterly loyal to Ghassan, his king and friend since boyhood.

  Ali was not, though he knew it would be useful for him to pull on that tie now. “I realize we got … waylaid in the majlis, but I thank you for coming to Ta Ntry and seeing to my mother’s safety.” He touched his heart. “My family will always be grateful for your loyalty.”

  Wajed narrowed his eyes. “I could hear that Daeva screaming at you. If your first instinct is to come out here, thank me for my service, and then politely sack me, I’m going to tell your mother you’ve lost your mind.”

  The personal route they would go, then. “I haven’t lost my mind, uncle. Nor do I want to sack you. I need you, Wajed. You were right—we’re at war, but our enemy isn’t down there,” Ali said, gesturing to the cells. “Nahri has saved my life twice over from Darayavahoush and Manizheh. Jamshid was Muntadhir’s dearest … companion,” he said, faltering slightly. “And surely the warrior who taught me strategy sees the benefit in Manizheh’s children being on our side.”

  “I see the benefit in them being hostages.”

  “Then I see the benefit in finding a new Qaid. I would rather not,” Ali said, not missing the emotion storming across Wajed’s face at the ultimatum. “But the Nahids are my allies, and I will not allow them to be threatened.”

  “Your father tried to make allies out of the Nahids. Look where that got him.”

  “My father tried to force them into being allies. That’s not what I’m doing. Uncle, I know part of you must hate me for that night. But I do not regret disobeying him. I loved my father. I am sorry, sorrier than I will ever be able to express, that we did not part in peace, but more than that, I am sorry that he died with such sins on his soul. His final command would have slaughtered hundreds of innocents. He died threatening a woman under his roof, his own daughter-in-law. If you disagree with my actions and wish to leave my service, I’ll understand. But I don’t intend to follow his path.”

  Wajed pressed his mouth into a thin line. “You are like a son to me, Zaydi. You are a Qahtani, and you will have my service as your father did before you. But you must understand how angry our people are.” He leaned closer. “Trust me when I say I’m not the only one who will look upon this alliance with doubt. Nearly every person in this castle lost someone to Manizheh or has a loved one trapped in Daevabad. You’re very popular with our people, which I’m sure you know, having used your popularity to convince the Citadel and Geziri Quarter to riot,” he added, a little acidly. “Be careful with that support.”

  Ali nodded. “I will. Right now, though, I need to find my mother. If I ask you to stay here …”

  Wajed rolled his eyes. “Your Nahids won’t come to any harm. I’ll even apologize—yes?—and call them by their fancy titles.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” Ali smiled before turning away.

  But the brief lift in his spirits at winning over Wajed vanished as he kept walking.

  He shouldn’t have had to make that choice. It was the same thing that had been swirling in Ali’s head since his brother first took the zulfiqar strike Darayavahoush had meant for Ali. Because Jamshid was right. It should have been Ali.

  Instead, Muntadhir was dead, and Ali wore the seal, and he didn’t think he would ever stop carrying that guilt.

  A pair of servants passed, a soldier saluting. Ali barely managed a response. Protocol hadn’t been something he’d thought about in weeks, and he didn’t trust himself not to make an error. Instead, he stepped into the first alcove he saw, grateful to find that it twisted into a small, empty balcony. It was an otherwise lovely day, and just beyond the jungle, Ali caught a glint of the sea, the bright sun reflected against the water.

  And then the other part of Jamshid’s shouting came back to him.

  Your brother was the love of my life.

  Ali suddenly felt very, very foolish—a hundred whispers and comments and looks that had blown past him returning and making obvious in hindsight what he’d missed. But he didn’t understand why—why would Muntadhir have gone to such lengths to keep his relationship with Jamshid a secret from Ali? It wasn’t as if his brother had bothered to hide anything else. The drinking, the women, his lackluster attitude toward prayer, toward any element of their faith—a litany of sins.

  And is that what you consider this? A sin? Was Ali even one to judge? He spent half his nights dreaming about his brother’s wife and had the blood of innocents on his hands. What had Muntadhir done in comparison? Fallen in love with someone forbidden? All Ali could do at this point was relate.

  But that hadn’t been the worst of Jamshid’s accusations. God, that night on the roof … There had been a time when Ali thought about that night every day. Now he could scarcely remember his would-be assassin’s name.

  Hanno. Hanno, the shafit shapeshifter from the Tanzeem. He’d had a daughter kidnapped and killed by purebloods, and it all came back to Ali in pieces. The grief in the other man’s eyes, the blood, the pain, the curt order Ali had gro
wled to Jamshid before passing out—get rid of him. Ali must have seemed like a monster.

  He must have seemed exactly like Ghassan.

  Was that how it started, Abba? Had his father felt like this as a young king, so scared and uncertain how to rule that he’d simply crushed anything he feared might hurt him? The act that Ghassan had put on in the court, the act Muntadhir had had to perfect his whole life—when saddled with that kind of responsibility, how else did you respond if you knew a mistake would doom everyone you cared for?

  Your brother was the love of my life. Jamshid’s words came again, but it was Muntadhir whom Ali saw in his mind. How much of himself had his brother had to hide behind his broken grin?

  Ali leaned against the wall, embracing the shadow. For a moment, he wished for a proper imam, for someone who knew the Book and whose faith had not been shaken, to tell him what to do next.

  A slippered step drew his attention. Ali instantly reached for his zulfiqar—and then dropped his hand.

  “You found my hiding spot.” Hatset stepped into the sunshine, smiling gently at him. “I’ve been coming here since I was a girl. There used to be an enormous vine you could climb to better see the ocean, but my mother had it cut down when I fell and nearly broke my neck.” Her smile faded. “I am torn between clutching you to my heart and smacking you in the head, Alubaba. I thought you’d be here at least a day before I felt that way.”

  “I did not bring Nahri to Ta Ntry to be set upon by angry djinn,” Ali retorted, assuming it was his rudeness on her behalf that irked Hatset. “She has reasons for her secrets.”

  “And we have reasons to distrust Nahids.” Hatset gave him an astute look. “Did you enjoy your time with the new Baga Nahid?”

  Ali didn’t bother lying. His mother always seemed to know everything anyway. “I think our relationship needs some work.” But then he paused. His mother did always seem to know everything. “Muntadhir and Jamshid … were they—”

  “Yes. They were quiet about it, but most of us knew.”

  “Abba knew?”

  “Yes.” She sounded grim. “I suspect he encouraged their relationship—on Jamshid’s end, anyway. I’m sure he got a measure of satisfaction at watching how far Manizheh’s son would go to protect his own.”

  Ali’s stomach flipped. “Muntadhir never told me. We were once so close. It makes me sick that he would have feared my reaction. That maybe he was right too.”

  “You were very young when it started, Alizayd. Very sheltered at the Citadel—which, as your mother, admittedly I did not mind. You don’t know what your relationship with Muntadhir would have been like later in life.”

  “Because it was going so well.” Ali shook his head. “I feel like I failed him, Amma. Failed Zaynab. Failed Lubayd and all my brothers at the Citadel. Am actively failing you and Nahri and everyone else.” He leaned over the balcony. “Maybe it would have been better if our roles had been reversed. If I had died in Daevabad, and Dhiru—”

  “Don’t.” Hatset stroked his back. “Don’t go down that path, Alu. God put you here for a reason, and you haven’t lost yet. You’re also not alone. Come get cleaned up, have something to eat, and rest. Plotting your next move can wait until tomorrow.”

  Ali glanced sideways at her. “Extend the offer to Nahri and Jamshid, and I promise I’ll even sleep in a bed.”

  “Always the negotiator.”

  “Does that mean I’ve convinced you?”

  “I will release Jamshid, but both he and Nahri are going to be under heavy guard—as much for their own safety as ours. And you’ll be granting me additional concessions.”

  He feigned a shiver. “What?”

  “One, you’re getting a tutor. At least an hour a day in Ntaran until you stop speaking it like a child. And two, you will then use that Ntaran to be polite and respectful to your family here. You can’t just look to the Geziris anymore, Alizayd. You’re going to need the Ayaanle. Let the past with Musa rest.”

  Ali offered an exaggerated bow, touching his heart. “I’ll be the picture of diplomacy, I promise. Can I meet my grandfather?”

  Sadness swept over his mother’s face. “Not today, but hopefully soon. His health has taken a turn for the worse. When he’s lucid, he seems to be living in his own world of ten years ago. I’m trying to keep him from learning about the invasion, but …” Her voice hitched. “He always asks after you and Zaynab. It’s been … it’s been very hard not to react.”

  Ali hugged her. “I’m sorry, Amma.” Small wonder his always indomitable mother looked worn out. “It’s going to be all right, God willing. And we’re going to get Zaynab back. She’s smart, she’s a survivor, and she has one of the most skilled warriors I’ve ever met at her side.”

  “I pray you’re right.” Hatset held him close. “I really do.”

  25

  NAHRI

  Whatever Ali said to his mother must have worked, for by the evening, Nahri and Jamshid had been set up in adjoining suites fit for, well, the exiled and long-lost royalty they apparently were. The rooms weren’t as luxurious as those in Daevabad’s palace, but rather had a restrained, natural elegance Nahri appreciated more, with tall ceilings of carved plaster held up by slender wooden columns. One wall was entirely given over to open windows and a balcony, bringing the smell of the sea indoors.

  More important personally to her, she’d finally had a chance to bathe, scraping off enough muck to require multiple changes of fire-warmed water. It felt achingly good to be clean and have her stomach full—for she’d returned to their suites to find a newly groomed Jamshid had already sampled everything from the enormous platter they’d been given, stolen one of the serving knives, and was waiting to see if he died from poison before letting Nahri touch any of the food. When Nahri delicately questioned his washed but still very overgrown hair and beard, he matter-of-factly explained that no djinn was coming near him with a razor.

  He was finally asleep in the next room. Nahri should have been as well; God knew she needed it. But her mind hadn’t stopped racing, and the enormous teak bed—solid and covered in soft, patterned quilts—was too different from the myriad places she’d slept in the past few weeks.

  It was also too quiet with Ali still gone. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left Jamshid’s cell, not that she should be surprised—he had his own reunions with his people and accommodations for Fiza’s crew to sort out—but it left Nahri feeling adrift. She’d anticipated being at Ali’s side when they had their first proper meal in weeks, arguing about whether the coffee or tea they’d been respectively craving was the superior beverage.

  And she was worried about him. Nahri couldn’t judge Jamshid for his grief-stricken accusations, but she also knew how deeply Ali still blamed himself for his brother’s death. The look on his face when Jamshid had called him a coward …

  Which was why, when a gentle knock sounded on her door, Nahri crossed the room with an embarrassing swiftness. She chided herself, and then opened the door with an affected aloofness.

  She scowled. It wasn’t Ali.

  Queen Hatset gave her a knowing smile. “Peace be upon you, Banu Nahida,” she said in Djinnistani.

  “May the fires burn brightly for you,” Nahri returned in Divasti.

  Hatset tilted her head. “I apologize if you were expecting someone else. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you and your brother were settled. The rooms are suitable?”

  “They’re lovely. I only wish such hospitality had been extended to Jamshid earlier.”

  “And I wish his parents had not brutally murdered the father of my children and thousands of our subjects.” The line was delivered crisply, but Nahri didn’t miss the flicker of anger in the other woman’s eyes. “I assure you it was best that Jamshid be kept locked away.”

  “Yes, you’ve all made quite clear what you think of Daevas.”

  “I apologize for that. But sometimes it’s wisest to let people show you who they are. Wajed is a dangerous man. A man who served my husb
and loyally, who loves my son—but were I in your position, I would want to know how such a man viewed me. How everyone viewed me. You did not survive Daevabad by sticking your head in the sand.”

  “I have never—for even a moment—forgotten how people view me.” Nahri was too upset to entirely slip behind her mask, but she checked what rancor she could. “And were I in your position, I’d view not being able to assure the safety of my guests as a weakness.”

  Hatset gave her an incredulous smile. “Well, haven’t you loosened your tongue. I remember a far more careful Banu Nahida.”

  “I left my country, Hatset. Did Ali tell you that? I left my home and a peaceful life to come here with your son in the hopes of fixing things. In hopes of saving you all. I won’t be threatened.”

  “If only it were that easy, child.” Hatset beckoned. “Walk with me.”

  Nahri paused, sorely tempted to retrieve the serving knife Jamshid had taken. Instead, she settled for grabbing her shayla. “Where’s Ali?” she asked, winding the shawl around her head and shoulders as they left the room.

  “Sleeping,” Hatset replied. “Rather against his wishes, but there’s little resisting sleep when opium has been slipped into your food.”

  Nahri stared at her, shocked. “You drugged your son?”

  “He needed rest.”

  “He needed rest … How much experience do you have with opium? It’s a powerful drug. If you got the dosage wrong—”

  Hatset let out an exasperated sound. “I did not pluck you from your bed to get a medical lecture. He’s my son. I would never hurt him.”

  “In my experience, Hatset, parents in our world are capable of doing a great deal of hurt to their children.”

  The djinn queen gave her a long, considering look. “Fair point, Banu Nahri. But you needn’t worry. Ali is fine, I assure you.” She paused. “You care for him truly, don’t you?”

  Ali holding her so carefully on the beach, brushing the tears from her cheeks. There is no one else here, my friend. You don’t need to keep up this front.