Previous Chapter Recap:
In Chapter 55, Zayd ibn Suleiman began weaving deeper into politics by forming a bond with the city lord's third son, Jamal ibn Farooq. While the young noble had been overlooked by his family, Zayd saw promise in him and invested heavily—sponsoring his horse racing, social appearances, and even grooming his reputation among the youth of the city. By offering what no other merchant dared, Zayd secured both loyalty and friendship, setting the stage for a long-term political ally.
The sun had already set, and the lights of Basra's merchant district glowed faintly through lanterns hung over shops. Inside Zayd's private chamber above his warehouse, the atmosphere was tense but controlled. Qadir sat with a small ledger open, while Aftab leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the room as though enemies might spring out of the shadows.
Zayd was calm, sipping warm tea. "Jamal will rise," he said softly. "The boy has charm, and he has fire. But what he lacked was someone willing to risk coin on him. Now that is me."
Qadir raised his head. "And what if the city lord himself disapproves? You're betting on the third son—the forgotten one. That could anger the first and second sons."
Zayd smiled coldly. "Let them be angered. The eldest sons swim in luxury already. They have ten merchants each backing them. But Jamal has none. That means I have him entirely. He will dance to my tune, not theirs."
Aftab finally spoke. "I like the boy. He's reckless, but he respects you. Still…" He shifted his stance. "You know what Fahad will do. He'll try to twist this. He'll whisper into noble ears that you are bribing your way into politics."
Zayd placed his cup down with a soft click. "Fahad already whispers against me. If I spend one dinar, he calls it corruption. If I save one dinar, he calls it miserliness. He cannot stand that I outthink him."
At that, Qadir smirked. "Then let him choke on your success."
The next morning, Basra's race grounds were alive with noise. The grandstands filled with nobles, merchants, and commoners alike. Horses were paraded through the sandy track, their riders in bright silks. Among them was Jamal ibn Farooq, riding a stallion that Zayd himself had paid for. The animal was sleek, its coat shimmering in the light.
Zayd sat in the shaded stands beside Aftab and Qadir, their seats carefully chosen to be visible but not extravagant. He wanted the crowd to see him—but not accuse him of flaunting wealth.
Behind him, he could already hear murmurs.
"That's the Suleiman boy, the one who invests in Jamal…"
"They say he's clever, dangerous even…"
"Ah, but look, Jamal has never looked so confident. Perhaps this Suleiman knows what he's doing."
The race began. Dust flew, hooves thundered, and the crowd roared. Jamal rode fiercely, neck and neck with his brothers' horses. At one point, he almost slipped behind, but his stallion surged ahead, guided by his sharp control. By the time the race ended, Jamal had finished second—far ahead of expectations.
The stands erupted in applause, and Jamal raised his hand, smiling, clearly savoring the attention he had never received before. His eyes searched the crowd until they found Zayd. He bowed his head slightly in gratitude.
Later, in the privacy of Zayd's carriage, Jamal entered, flushed from victory.
"Zayd ibn Suleiman," Jamal said breathlessly, "today, they saw me. For the first time in years, my brothers did not overshadow me."
Zayd leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "And this is only the beginning. You will not only be seen—you will be remembered. But remember this: the world is filled with men who smile to your face and sharpen daggers behind your back. You must stand tall, but never forget who gave you your footing."
Jamal nodded quickly. "You have my loyalty. Whatever you ask, I will do."
As Jamal left, Aftab muttered, "You're building him up like a soldier, not a noble."
Zayd smirked. "Good. Because one day, he will need to fight—not with steel, but with influence. And when he does, he will fight for me."
The carriage rolled through the streets of Basra, but Zayd's mind was already elsewhere. He knew Fahad had not made his move yet. The man was too cunning for open attacks. No—he would strike through whispers, bribes, and poison tongues.
But Zayd was ready. He had planted his first noble ally in Jamal, and from that seed, a greater tree of power would grow.
✅ End of Chapter 56