Nahri glanced at Subha. “I heard I have you to thank for that dangerous saddle he’s insisting on using.”
“You did wish us to exchange skills.”
Nahri shook her head, managing not to roll her eyes. “Where’s the final member of our team?”
Subha’s face fell. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen the prince since this afternoon. I wouldn’t be surprised if he finally fell asleep somewhere. He seems determined to work himself to death.”
“And what a shame that would be,” Jamshid murmured.
Subha suddenly smiled, her gaze fixing on her husband as he emerged from a door on the other side of the courtyard carrying their daughter. The baby’s dark eyes went wide and mesmerized at the sight of the magical feast.
Nahri nudged her shoulder. “Go say hi. We’ll catch up later.” As Subha moved away, Nahri turned to Jamshid. “You really don’t like Ali, do you?” This was not the first time she’d seen him react negatively to mentions of the prince.
Jamshid hesitated. “No,” he said. “I do not. I didn’t mind him when he was younger—he was always intense, but he was Muntadhir’s little brother, and Muntadhir adored him. But that night you saved him . . .” His voice lowered. “Nahri, he made me throw a man into the lake. A man I’m not certain was even dead.”
“A man who tried to assassinate him,” Nahri pointed out. “A shafit. Do you have any idea what Ghassan would have done if he found out a shafit nearly killed his son?”
Jamshid looked unconvinced. “I still don’t like him being in Daevabad. I don’t like the effect he’s had on Muntadhir, and I worry . . .” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “He’s a very ambitious man.”
Nahri could not deny that Ali’s return had sent her husband into a spiral, but she wasn’t sure it was a justified one. “Muntadhir is going to be king, Jamshid. And he is a better politician than you give him credit for. Though if you’re so concerned about his well-being . . .” Her voice turned crafty. “Perhaps you might go distract him a bit.”
Jamshid eyed her knowingly. “You’re trying to get away.”
“I’m the Banu Nahida. I have a Creator-given right to explore my own hospital.”
He exhaled, but it was a feigned grouchiness. “Go on then,” he said, inclining his head toward the opposite corridor. “Now, when no one’s looking.”
Nahri brought her hands up in blessing. “May the fires burn very brightly for you.”
The corridor he suggested was empty. Nahri quickly slipped off her sandals so her footsteps wouldn’t be heard and had no sooner pressed a bare sole to the cool marble floor than the pale walls lit up, glowing softly in the dark as if to lead the way.
She grinned. Wouldn’t that be convenient when she had a patient emergency in the middle of the night? She traced her hands along the wall, the rosy hue brightening where her fingers made contact. Her hospital—her ancestors’ hospital—was restored. A dream she’d been almost too nervous to voice six months ago had been realized and now stood gleaming in the moonlight, Daevabad’s most powerful citizens laughing within its rooms. It all seemed so outrageous, so audaciously hopeful, that it scared her.
Stop. Nisreen’s calm words came back to her. Nahri could enjoy a night of happiness. Her many problems would still be there in the morning, whether or not she took a few hours to savor this rare success.
She wandered on, following a twisting staircase she was fairly certain led to the hospital’s library. The sounds of celebration faded behind her; she was obviously the only fool creeping through empty hallways instead of enjoying the party.
She emerged in the library, a wide, airy room with lecture space for dozens of students. A wall of shelves had been built into the opposite side, and Nahri went to them, curious to see what volumes had been collected.
Then she stopped. Across the library was a small archway, tiled in a black-and-white pattern reminiscent of Cairo’s buildings. Odd. She didn’t remember seeing this room on any of the plans. Intrigued, she crossed to investigate.
Her breath caught the moment she stepped over the threshold. It wasn’t just the archway that was reminiscent of Egypt.
It was everything.
A mashrabiya that might have been plucked from Cairo’s heart overlooked the street, the cozy window seat covered in red and gold cushions, its intricate wooden screens hiding a private nook. Brightly embroidered tapestries—identical to the ones she’d seen in the markets back home—adorned the walls, and a stunning teak desk inlaid with glinting vines of mother-of-pearl anchored the room. Miniature reeds and bright purple-blue Nile lotus blooms grew lush within a raised marble fountain that lined the wall, the clear water inside passing over warm brown stones.
A glimmer of silver moved in the shadows of the mashrabiya. “Nahri?” a sleepy voice asked.
She jumped in surprise. “Ali?” She shivered. Restored or not, the dark, empty hospital was still an eerie place to stumble upon someone unexpectedly.
She opened her palm, conjuring a handful of flames. Small wonder she hadn’t seen Ali: he was seated deep in the window box, pressed against the wooden screen as though he’d been gazing out at the street. Nahri frowned. Though he was dressed in a formal dishdasha, his head was uncovered and he looked . . . well, terrible. His face was gray, his eyes almost feverish.
She stepped closer. “Are you all right?”
Ali sat up. His movements were slow, bone-weary exhaustion written into every line of his body. “I’m fine,” he murmured. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come up here.”
“Well, you picked a poor time for a nap,” she said lightly. “You might remember there’s a party going on downstairs.”
He blinked, still looking dazed. “Of course. The opening celebration.”
Nahri studied him again. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m sure,” he replied quickly. “I just haven’t been sleeping well. Nightmares.” He rose to his feet, stepping into the light. “But I’m glad you found me. I was actually hoping to . . .” His gray eyes went wide, tracing over her. “Oh,” he whispered. “You . . . you look—” He abruptly shut his mouth, averting his gaze. “Sorry . . . so, ah, how do you like your office?”
She stared at him in confusion. “My office?”
He inclined his head. “Your office. I thought you might like somewhere private to steal away between patients. Like the orange grove you have at the palace infirmary. The one I, er, intruded upon,” he added, embarrassment in his voice.
Nahri’s mouth fell open. “You built this place? For me?”
“I’d say the entire hospital is for you, but yes.” Ali drifted closer, running his hands through the water in the fountain. “I came across a few shafit artisans from Egypt and told them to let their imaginations run wild.” He glanced back with a small smile. “You always did seem so fond of your old land.”
My old land. Nahri gazed at the mashrabiya again; in that moment, if she squinted just the right way, she could almost imagine being home. Could imagine hearing men joking in Cairo’s distinctive cadence and smelling the spices and herbs of Yaqub’s apothecary.
Homesickness rose inside her, sharp and fast. “I miss it so much,” she confessed. “I keep thinking I’ll stop, that I feel more settled here . . .” She leaned against the desk. “But there are days I’d do almost anything to go home. Even if it was just for an afternoon. A few hours of joking with people in my language and sitting next to the Nile. Of being anonymous in the streets and bartering for oranges. We had the best fruit, you know,” she added, her throat catching. “Nothing in Daevabad tastes as sweet.”
Ali was looking at her with open sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, embarrassed to find herself fighting tears. “Forget it,” she said, roughly wiping her eyes. “By God, you must think I’m mad, pining for human citrus when I’m surrounded by every luxury the magical world contains.”
“I don’t think you’r
e mad.” Ali assured her, crossing to join her at the desk. “They’re your roots. They’re what make you who you are. That isn’t something you should have to cut away.”
Nahri tipped the flames in her hand into a lamp on the desk. How much easier things would be if that were true here. Struggling to tamp down her emotions, she glanced around her office again. It really was lovely, the tapestries glowing in the light of the flickering lamp. A fresco had been painted on the opposite wall, a replica of a scene she might have seen in one of Egypt’s ancient temples.
It touched her more than she thought possible. “Thank you,” she finally said. “This . . . this was incredibly kind of of you.”
Ali shrugged. “I was happy to do it.” He smiled again, the shadows in his tired face lessening slightly. “As you are fond of pointing out—I do owe you.”
“You’ll always owe me,” she said, pushing up to sit on the desk. “I have a talent for extending the debts of powerful people indefinitely.”
His grin widened. “That I believe.” But then his smile faded. “I’m happy to finally see you again. I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Nahri said, forcing indifference into her voice. She’d already been emotional enough in discussing her nostalgia for Egypt. “Besides, I’m not the one falling asleep in empty offices. How have you been? Your mother . . .”
Pain flashed in his eyes. “We’re both still alive,” he replied. “Which is more than I can say for a lot of people here.”
If that wasn’t the bitter truth. Nahri sighed. “For what it’s worth, I think we were right to intervene. A lot more people would have died if you hadn’t brought me to the camp when you did.”
“I know. I just hate that choosing to do the right thing in Daevabad always seems to come with a steep price.” His face fell. “Zaynab . . . she decided not to come tonight. I don’t think she’ll forgive me for our mother’s banishment.”
Genuine sympathy swept through her. “Oh, Ali, I’m sure that’s not true.” Nahri reached out to touch the sleeve of his dishdasha; it was an elegant pale silver, chased through with midnight-colored stripes and belted with a teal sash. “After all, she was clearly the one who picked this out.”
Ali groaned. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes. The only time you’re not wearing something stark and streaked with dirt, it’s because someone else has dressed you.” Embarrassment colored his face again, and she laughed. “It’s a compliment, Ali. You look nice.”
“You look incredible.” The words seemed to slip unthinkingly from his mouth, and when she met his gaze, a little startled by the emotion in his voice, he looked away. “Your garments, I mean,” he explained quickly. “The headdress. It’s very . . . intricate.”
“It’s very heavy,” Nahri complained, reaching up to touch the gold diadem holding her shimmering black chador in place. The smoky fabric was enchanted to appear as though it were smoldering, the ruby and diamond ornaments glittering like fire. She lifted the diadem free, placing it beside her on the desk, and then slid her fingers under the chador to rub the aching spot where the metal had pressed. Catching sight of Ali watching her, she scolded him. “Oh, don’t you judge. Your turbans are probably light as a feather in comparison to this thing.”
“I . . . I’m not judging.” He stepped back from the desk, clearing his throat. “Though while you’re here, do you mind telling me what’s being done to protect you given that threat?”
It took Nahri a moment to process his words, taken aback by the abrupt change in subject. “Threat? What threat?”
“The one from my shafit acquaintance.” When she squinted in confusion, alarm flashed in Ali’s face. “The one I passed on to my father. Surely he told you.”
“This is the first I’ve heard.”
“The first you’ve heard?” Anger crossed his face. “Is the king here? Did you see him below?”
“Not yet, but—wait!” She grabbed Ali’s wrist when he turned for the door. “Will you stop trying to get tossed in the dungeons?” She pulled him back. “Tell me about this threat.”
“A woman I know said she heard some shafit were planning to attack you during Navasatem.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he stayed silent. “And that’s it?” she asked. “Nothing more?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Ali sounded incredulous.
Nahri looked him in the eye. “No. Ali, I get threats every day. My entire tribe does. But Kaveh, Muntadhir, and Wajed have been harping about security for an entire year, and they’ve told me their plans. Kaveh panics over everything, and Muntadhir is my husband. I trust them, on this issue at least.”
Ali looked unconvinced. “It only takes a few angry people. And after what happened in the workcamp, Nahri, there are a lot of angry people.”
“I’ll be well guarded,” she assured him. “I promise.”
He sighed. “Would you at least consider having Aqisa join you tomorrow for the procession? I’d offer to come myself, but I don’t think your people would like it.”
Nahri pondered that, trying to imagine the reaction Ali’s fierce friend from rural Am Gezira would have on the crowd of mostly city-raised Daevas. Not to mention what it might suggest to Muntadhir. “Ali . . .”
“Please.”
She let go of his wrist, raising her hands in defeat. “Fine. As long as she keeps her dagger on her person unless I give the order.” She frowned again. With the moonlight falling on his face, she could see that Ali was trembling. “Ali, what’s really going on? You’re acting even stranger than usual.”
He actually laughed, the sound hollow, and then ran his hands over his face. “It’s been a rough few days.”
Nahri hesitated. They weren’t supposed to be friends, not anymore. But the despair radiating from the prince tugged at her heart. Despite the circle of companions and family that surrounded him, it was obvious Ali had secrets. And Nahri knew all too well secrets were a burden lonely to bear.
And he had built her this lovely office. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
His gaze darted to her, the desperation in his eyes unmissable. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “No. I don’t know. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
She pulled him toward the cushioned seat next to the screened window. “How about by sitting?” She sat across from him, pulling up her knees. “Is this about your father?”
Ali let out a deep sigh. “Part of it is. He’s sending me back to Am Gezira.”
“You’re going back to Am Gezira?” she repeated in surprise. Ali certainly hadn’t been acting like a man going anywhere; he seemed to have a thousand plans for the future of Daevabad. “For how long?”
“Forever?” His voice broke, as if he’d tried to make a joke out of it and failed. “My father doesn’t want me stirring up any more trouble. I’m to give up my titles and go back to the village I was living in after Navasatem.” Ali’s shoulders slumped. “He told me to marry and have a family. To have a peaceful life that doesn’t include fomenting dissent in Daevabad.”
Both his words and the unexpected jolt of emotion in her chest at the thought of his leaving threw her wildly off balance. She struggled to find the right response. “The village . . . Bir Nabat?”
He looked surprised. “I didn’t think you’d remember the name.”
Nahri rolled her eyes. “There’s not a soul working at the hospital who hasn’t heard you wax poetic about the ruins and canals of Bir Nabat.” She shook her head. “But I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to go back. You clearly love it there. Your letters were always—”
Ali started. “You read my letters?”
Nahri knew she couldn’t hide her slip. She let out a huff of frustration at both herself and him. “I . . . All right, I read them. They were interesting,” she said, defending herself. “You put in information about local healing plants and stories about the humans to lure me in.”
A sad half-smile twisted his mouth. “I wish I wa
s even half as subversive as you think I am. I’d do a lot better in Daevabad.”
“But you have a chance to leave Daevabad.” She nudged his shoulder when he scowled. “So why do you look so upset? You get to have a life. A peaceful one, in a place you love.”
Ali was silent for several heartbeats, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Because this is my home, Nahri, and I . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut, like whatever he was about to say caused him pain. “I don’t think I can leave it while my father still rules.”
Nahri would swear the temperature in the room plummeted. She jerked back, instinctively glancing around, but they were alone. She was already shaking her head, the fear Ghassan had carved into her an instinctual response.
“Ali, you can’t talk like that,” she whispered. “Not here. Not ever.”
Ali looked back at her, beseeching. “Nahri, you know it’s true. He’s done terrible things. He’s going to keep doing terrible things. That’s the only way he knows—”
Nahri actually clapped her hand over his mouth. “Stop,” she hissed, her eyes darting around the room. They might be alone, but God only knew the form Ghassan’s spies took. “We’re already in his sights. I’m already in his sights. Was what he did at the shafit camp not enough to convince you to back down?”
He pushed her hand away. “No,” he said fervently. “It did the opposite. A good king wouldn’t have allowed that bloodshed. A good king would ensure justice for both the Daevas and the shafit, so that people didn’t resort to taking vengeance into their own hands.”
“Do you know how naive you sound?” Nahri said desperately. “People aren’t that virtuous. And you can’t fight him. He is capable of things you can’t imagine. He’ll destroy you.”
Ali’s eyes blazed. “Aren’t there some things worth that risk?”
All of Muntadhir’s warnings about his younger brother came flooding back to her. “No,” she said, her voice so cutting she barely recognized it. “Because a hundred others will pay the price for your risk.”
Bitterness creased his face. “Then how do we fight, Nahri? Because I know you want better for Daevabad. I heard you in the Temple, I watched you confront my father.” He gestured to the rest of the room. “Was not the whole point of building the hospital to move forward?”
The Kingdom of Copper Page 43