Ali

This scene takes place during The Kingdom of Copper, a few days after Nahri, Ali, and Zaynab visit the Daeva temple. There are spoilers for the first two books.

Ali glanced between the sketch in his lap and the hospital garden, then tapped his pencil against his chin.

“Perhaps another shade tree.” He said the words to himself, for there was no one else in the ruins of the garden’s half-collapsed gazebo. There never was. The gazebo’s once finely carved wooden columns were so peppered through with termite holes that most had snapped, and what was left of the roof was held up only by a sprawling fig tree. Add in the tangled flowering vines that hid the interior and the winged snakes that liked to nest in the canopy, and it made for an excellent spot to get paperwork done without being bothered—provided one did not stand up too quickly. The winged snakes came out only at night, but that didn’t mean they appreciated their sleep being disturbed during the day.

The gazebo was usually a good spot to be alone anyway.

“That arrogant, condescending mule . . .” A purple-swathed figure stomped through the vines, yanking back a tree bough and releasing it in the direction of the completed contracts Ali had neatly stacked on the remains of an old stone bench.

Ali had a split second to decide between saving his paperwork and protecting himself from a sudden intruder—a decision that several years of being hunted by assassins should have made intuitive—so of course he dove for his papers, skidding across the rocky ground on his shins and lunging for the scrolls before they flew in the rain-soaked shrubs.

“Alizayd, by the Most High.” It was Nahri. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack, jumping out of a bush like that?”

Ali climbed back to his feet, keeping his head low to avoid the gazebo’s leafy canopy. “Says the woman running in here as though a magical beast were after her.” He frowned, taking in Nahri’s flushed cheeks and disheveled headscarf. “Wait . . . is a magical beast after you?”

Nahri’s expression darkened. “Worse. Kaveh.”

Ali shuddered. “Is he still here?”

“No, I think it was meant to be a surprise visit. He was probably hoping to catch me doing something scandalous with the shafit, like treating them as equals or exchanging a kind word. Do you mind if I sit?” She sighed, gesturing to the bench. “I need to just breathe and not see people for a few minutes.”

Ali quickly started gathering his things. “Of course. It’s your hospital.”

Nahri waved him off. “You can stay. You don’t count.”

Ali wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or an insult. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Just don’t . . . God, how hard did you throw yourself at the ground? You’re bleeding all over the place!”

Ali glanced down at his legs to see blood blossoming through his clothes. Ah, so that was why his shins burned so badly. “It’s fine. Just a scrape.”

But Nahri was already rising to her feet again. She pulled the paperwork out of his hands and pushed him onto the opposite bench. “Just a scrape . . . save me from the pride of idiot men. Roll up your pants.”

A little embarrassed, Ali nonetheless obeyed. Then he realized he no longer had skin between his ankles and knees, and blood was filling his sandals. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” Nahri rolled her eyes and then, with the ease of a professional who did this every day, firmly clasped the back of his calves. Ali jumped at her touch.

She glanced up. “Did that hurt? It doesn’t feel like anything’s broken.”

“No,” Ali managed as the rain began striking the gazebo roof faster in pace with his racing heart. Her hands were just so soft. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” Nahri closed her eyes and a wave of coolness swept through Ali like he’d submerged his legs into an icy pond. He shivered, watching in fascination as his wounds stopped bleeding and scabbed over. In seconds, there was nothing but healthy skin covering his shins, as though he’d never been injured.

“God be praised,” he breathed. “You must never tire of seeing that.”

“The ancestral duty has its occasional advantages. Better?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Thank you.”

“Add it to the debt you already owe me.” Nahri let go of his calves. “I hope the papers were worth it.”

Ali kicked his sandals out of the gazebo, hoping by the time he had to walk back, the rain would have rinsed the blood away. “Not having to read and annotate all these contracts again is very much worth it. Did you know people sneak in literal curses against competitors in construction contracts here?”

“No. No, I did not.”

“Neither did I. Now everything is getting read twice.”

“Sounds monotonous.”

Ali shrugged. “I don’t mind a bit of monotony now and then. It balances out the brushes with death.”

Nahri snorted before reclining against the trunk of the fig tree. A brief smile crossed her face as she closed her eyes again. “I suppose it does.”

She said nothing else, seeming content to rest. Despite her assurances that he could stay in the gazebo, Ali hesitated. It was probably best he leave. Five years ago, he would have insisted on doing so. The optics were even worse now, for Ali could only imagine how tongues would wag if Emir Muntadhir’s ambitious younger brother was spotted secluded with his wife in a remote garden. Daevabad lived for such gossip.

And some died for such gossip.

But Nahri had asked him to stay. And this was the warmest—well, least barbed—conversation they’d had since that awful night on the lake. It felt fleeting and precious, and he realized how much he wanted it.

So Ali stayed. He returned to his spot on the opposite bench and retrieved his sketch. Thankfully it hadn’t gotten wet when he dropped it, and he fell back into his work, trying to envision which plants and trees would best fit the space. The rain had picked up, the water droplets drumming against the leaves like music, and the humid air was thick with moisture and rich with the aroma of wet earth and flowers. It was intensely, almost hypnotizingly peaceful. And oddly enough, it was rather nice to have Nahri with him, the silence between them comfortable.

Comfortable enough that he wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Nahri spoke again. “What is that you’re drawing?”

Ali didn’t look up from his sketch. “Just planning what to plant in the garden.”

“Did they teach you much about gardening in the Citadel?

“The most I learned about plants in the Citadel was to avoid thorned bushes if you needed to jump out of a window. Gardening, farming . . . those things I learned in Bir Nabat.”

Nahri frowned. “I thought you were sent there to lead a garrison.”

Ah, yes, his father’s old lie. “Not quite,” Ali replied, not wanting to delve into violent family secrets right now. “Bir Nabat is built in the ruins of a human oasis town, and I’ve been trying to restore their irrigation systems. Trust me . . . I’ve spent way more time thinking about plants and crop yields than I have about Citadel techniques in the past few years.”

“Alizayd al Qahtani the farmer.” Nahri smiled again. “I have a hard time picturing it.”

“More like Alizayd al Qahtani the canal-digger. The glamorous life every prince dreams of.”

She was still studying him. “But you liked it there.”

Ali felt his smile fade. “Yes.”

“Do you want to go back?”

I don’t know. Ali looked away. Her dark gaze was too assessing. Nahri might think him a good liar, but Ali knew he wasn’t, especially not with her.

But the question stayed with him. Truth be told . . . Ali didn’t know. The idea of even having a choice was an alien concept. People like Ali didn’t get to decide things like that for themselves.

“Whatever is best for my family,” he finally said.

There was a long moment of silence, the only sound the dripping leaves. Ali would swear he could feel the weight of Nahri’s gaze, but she didn’t call him out on his evasive answer or reply with a sarcastic response.

“I suppose this can be a dangerous place to want things,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he agreed simply.

Nahri stood up. “Let me see.” She snatched the sketch from Ali’s hands and elbowed him aside to make room for her to sit beside him.

“I’m not a very good artist,” he warned.

“No, you’re not. But I can figure it out.” She tilted the drawing. “Healing herbs?” she asked, reading the Arabic note aloud.

“I know the garden is mainly meant for recreation—well, for your patients to relax in, anyway.” Ali pointed to the sketch he’d done of a weeping cypress. “So we’ll put in plenty of shade trees and flowers, swings and recliners . . . a new fountain. But if we have the room, we might as well grow some plants you can use. There’s a good spot right here for a bed of herbs.”

“There’s that Geziri practicality.” Nahri bent over the piece of parchment between them. She was so close now that Ali could see the sheen of moisture on her face. A few locks of hair had slipped out of her scarf and were plastered to her damp skin. He inhaled sharply, catching the scent of the cedar ash that marked her brow and the jasmine blossoms braided into her hair.

She glanced up at the sound. Their gazes caught, and then she seemed to blush, an expression of embarrassment of which he hadn’t thought the ever-confident Banu Nahida capable.

She quickly cleared her throat. “Is this an orange tree?”

“An orange what . . . uh, yes,” Ali stammered, still taken aback by her nearness. “I figured we could transplant a sapling from your uncle’s grove back at the palace. Or a different kind of tree,” he offered. It was difficult to think when Nahri was watching him so intensely. “Lemon or lime—whatever you want, really.”

“No . . . the orange is perfect.” Nahri hesitated. “It’s very thoughtful of you.”

Ali rubbed the back of his neck, feeling sheepish. “You seemed fond of it.”

“Of course I’m fond of it. Its roots knock intruders onto their asses.” She gave him a warmer smile this time, her eyes dancing with a mischievous edge that sent nerves fluttering in his chest. “I wouldn’t have thought you had equally fond memories.”

The allusion to their ill-fated reunion didn’t miss him. “I shouldn’t have been where I wasn’t invited,” Ali said with as much diplomacy as he could.

“Well, listen to you learning.” Nahri handed back the sketch. “Maybe I can trick Kaveh into coming by my orange grove and getting swallowed by the ground.”

“Was his visit that bad?”

Nahri scowled. “I hate the way he talks to me . . . the way so many of them do. Like I’m this half-feral child they need to clean up and protect. Men like Kaveh would rather me be a silent icon they can worship instead of a leader who actually challenges them. It’s infuriating.”

“I don’t think it’s just about protecting you,” Ali said, remembering their visit to the Temple and the horrified shock of the priests and Kaveh when Nahri announced her plan. “I think they’re afraid. I think you do more than challenge them.”

“What do you mean?”

“You shame them.”

“How do I shame them? I’ve behaved diplomatically at every damn turn!”

“Yes, you and your famous diplomacy. You oh so diplomatically went to the Daeva temple and diplomatically turned over centuries worth of ignorant beliefs about the shafit. The kinds of things people make themselves believe so they can look upon others as inferiors and still think of themselves as righteous. That’s hard for people to hear,” Ali said, thinking back to the bones they’d found of the slaughtered Nahid healers in the remains of the apothecary. He and his people had their own history to reckon with.

His words hung heavy for a moment. And then Nahri, in the most deadpan sarcastic tone he’d ever heard, said, “You really did go full hearing-voices-and-wandering-the-desert religious back in Am Gezira, didn’t you?”

“I’m trying to help. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She sighed and no matter what fleeting embarrassment had passed between them earlier, she moved closer again, bringing her knees to her chest. She shook out the end of her chador, scattering water droplets over the mossy ground. “Is this rain your doing by the way?”

The unexpected question sent a shot of fear through him. “Of course not.”

“A shame.” Nahri glanced at him, and in the darkness of her eyes, there was no accusation or jest. She just looked very, very tired. “I was hoping you might keep it up a few days more.”

At that moment, Ali desperately wished he was better with his words. He wished he could say something, anything to ease the sorrow in her expression. “Any more rain and this roof is going to collapse,” he said, trying for a joke. “You’d be trapped with me.”

She gave him another small smile and nudged his shoulder. “You’re not always so bad. Even when you’re talking like an overwrought Friday preacher.”

“May I speak like that again?” When Nahri nodded, Ali continued. “You should be proud. This hospital, bringing in Subha and facing down your priests . . . it’s incredibly brave. You’re doing wonderful things here. Don’t let others make you feel small because they’re struggling to measure up.”

Nahri stared at him. He couldn’t read the emotion churning in her eyes, but then she exhaled, like part of a weight had been lifted. “Thank you. It’s nice to hear someone doesn’t think I’m being a naive fool for wanting to bring the shafit and the Daevas together.”

“We overwrought Friday preachers are known for our wisdom. Occasionally.”

They sat together in silence again. She’d settled against the bench with her shoulder brushing his, and when she glanced up at the vine-choked canopy, Ali followed her gaze.

“Do you think this will bear fruit?”

Ali didn’t know if that was a metaphor or an attempt to change the subject. “I’m not sure.”

“I thought you were a farmer now.”

“Canal-digger. Different specialty.”

“Ah, of course. Forgive the grave error in misdiagnosing your heart’s desire.”

“And what about yours?” Ali asked, glancing down at her. “I’ve confessed my preference for a life of crop rotation rather than royal duties. What would you do if you weren’t the Banu Nahida? And don’t say doctor or pharmacist. That’s cheating.”

“I like cheating.” Nahri shrugged. “I don’t know . . . I’ve never really thought about it.”

“You’ve never fantasized about a different life?”

“I don’t believe in dreaming. It sets you up for disappointment.”

“That is the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard, and I had a sheikh when I was six who spent an entire year detailing every punishment in the afterlife. Come on,” he encouraged. “Besides, it’s not dreaming. It’s a fantasy that you know won’t come true. A distraction. Wine poet,” Ali teased, thinking of the furthest thing from Nahri he could. “Simurgh trainer. My father’s most patient scribe.”

Nahri swatted his arm. “I would rather be poisoned. Hmm, if I couldn’t be a doctor . . . bookseller, perhaps.”

“Bookseller?”

“Yes,” she replied, sounding surer. “I think I’d like having my own business. I like talking to people, I like books, and most of all, I like convincing customers to part with their money. And could you imagine having all those books? Being able to read anything you want and fill your brain with new information every day?”

Ali grinned. “Yes, I remember how eager you were to get your hands on everything in the library.”

“Excuse me, I’m not the one who got blown off a shelf and smashed against the wall for their curiosity.”

He flushed, remembering their trip to the library catacombs. “It hurt so much,” he admitted. “I was trying to act fine and unfazed, but I was seeing stars the entire time.”

Nahri laughed. It was a genuine, deep laugh, not one of her mocking snickers. Ali couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard it. He wanted to grab it, to memorize the way her grin lit her face and keep it there for as long as he could—both in real life and in his memory.

But her smile was already fading. “I really enjoyed those afternoons,” she confessed, a hint of vulnerability slipping into her voice. “I was so overwhelmed when I first got to Daevabad. Everyone’s expectations, the politics I couldn’t understand—it was crushing. It was nice to slip away for a few hours a day. To speak Arabic and get my questions answered without you making me feel ignorant.” She stared at her hands. “It was nice to feel like I had a friend.”

Any teasing jest Ali might have offered died on his lips. “Could we be friends again? Or not friends!” he amended when Nahri’s expression fell further. “Just two people who occasionally meet in an extremely dangerous gazebo to fantasize about the different lives they’d rather be living.”

She was already shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ali.”

Ali. It was the first time Nahri had called him that since he’d returned to Daevabad.

“Is it because of that night on the boat?” he asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Nahri took his hand. Her fingers slipped between his and Ali instantly shut up. His eyes darted to her face, but she was staring at her lap, as though to avoid looking at him directly. Even so, there was no missing the flash of grief in her expression, an echo of the loneliness that seemed to cling to Nahri like a shadow.

“It’s not because of that night on the boat,” she said finally. “It’s because this . . . this feels too easy. Like I could make a mistake. And I can’t. Not again.”

Ali opened and closed his mouth. “I-I don’t understand.”

She sighed. “It’s like you said before: you’ll do what’s best for your family. I’ll do what’s best for the Daevas. If there ever came a time when either of us had to make a choice . . .” Nahri met his gaze, and the sadness in her dark eyes sliced Ali to the core. “I think it would be easier if we weren’t friends.”

Nahri let go of his hand. Ali said nothing as she rose to her feet and carefully placed her chador upon her head, reassuming her mantle of duty. He almost wished he could argue with her, but as usual, Nahri had cut straight to the truth.

“Is there nothing I can do to help you?” Ali asked, aching for her. “It breaks my heart to see you so unhappy.”

“Smuggle me out if your father lets you leave?” It sounded like she was trying to make a joke, but there was no denying the undercurrent of misery in her voice. “Surely Bir Nabat could use a good bookseller.”

Ali forced a smile, even as despair stole over him. “I’ll keep an eye out for Banu Nahida–size traveling trunks.”

“That would be appreciated.” Nahri moved to leave, slipping through the tangled branches. “Though actually . . . there is something you could do. I mean, only if it’s easy. Since you’re already planning the garden.”

“What?” he asked. She hadn’t fully turned around, and the profile of her face was only partially visible behind the chador draping her cheek.

Her voice was hesitant, embarrassed. “There are these little purple flowers that grow in the hills. I’ve never seen them up close—your father doesn’t let me leave the city walls. But do you know what I’m talking about?”

Ali was surprised to realize he did. “I think they’re called irises.”

“Could we grow them here?” Nahri asked. “They’re one of the first flowers to bloom in spring, and the sight of them has always made me hopeful.”

“Then I will grow them everywhere,” Ali said automatically. Realizing it came out like some sort of solemn vow, he quickly added, “I’ll try anyway.”

The ghost of what might have been a smile curved her lips. “Thanks.”

Ali watched Nahri make her way back through the vines. He held his silence even as a dozen half-formed sentences rose to his tongue, sentiments and emotions he couldn’t untangle.

So instead he quietly called upon the marid magic he’d denied having and very carefully stilled the rain before it could fall on her head.