Shannon Chakraborty

The River of Silver

Cassidy Nolan

Manizheh traced one of Jamshid’s tiny ears, drinking in the sight of his perfect little face.

“You are going to have so many adventures here. Your baba will get you a pony and teach you to ride, and you can explore to your heart’s content. I want you to explore, my love,” she whispered. “I want you to explore and dream and get lost in a place where no one will watch you. Where no one will cage you.”

Then she slipped the ancient ring he’d given her onto her finger. The band was badly battered. Manizheh was familiar with every single one of its dents and scratches—for there was no object she had devoted more attention to than the ring containing her people’s only hope at salvation.

“Please come back,” she whispered. “Please save us.”

The djinn woman picked up one of the freshly washed bandages by its very edge, as if dangling a spider. She sneered. “Is this a joke?”

There was little a djinn enjoyed more than an opportunity to put a “dirt-blood” back in their place.

Shafit were warned of many things upon being dragged to Daevabad, but there was one warning given above all others:

Avoid the black-eyed djinn, the ones who called themselves Daevas.

And while a meal from back home might seem a small thing, she knew how much it would mean to him.

Duriya had just punched the Baga Nahid himself in the face. Over 

Duriya ran a hand through the molokhia plants. “You’ve grown them to maturity. Perhaps I can make the soup I attacked you over and we can discuss a fair salary?”

Rustam’s eye crinkled in a smile. “That sounds delightful.”

Seif Shefali seemed determined to end her marriage before it began.

She was enjoying his clever ways with words more than she should have—for she could tell even back at the docks that this was a man who could spin the truth so beautifully the sky itself might doubt its hue.

 The Banu Nahida who Hatset had heard so many stories about, so many warnings. Warnings that had been easy to dismiss as gossip or fearmongering when Hatset wasn’t standing before a woman who radiated power like no one she had ever met. She’d seen dead sharks with more emotion in their eyes than Manizheh’s currently held.

Do not put yourself in a war that is not yours, daughter. You do not understand the kind of violence Daevabad has witnessed. You do not understand the enmity that runs between the Qahtanis and the Nahids.

And as Ghassan had promised, as he had warned?

Their children would be Qahtanis. And Hatset had already said yes.

Muntadhir al Qahtani groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “Go away, Zaynab.”

“Then perhaps I am blessed to join your service.” Jamshid smirked, and Muntadhir began to fear his father’s assignment was going to be much more difficult than he had anticipated. “You’ll have plenty of time to teach me.”

The sounds beyond the closed door were really quite ridiculous.

Jamshid e-Pramukh shifted on his feet, growing more apprehensive as he glanced at the wall of ceremonial weapons displayed along the long marble corridor in which he stood guard.

Muntadhir reached out, still looking a little dazed. His fingers brushed Jamshid’s cheek, tracing down the line of his jaw. “You look good in starlight.”

Everything in Jamshid went still. Suddenly all he was conscious of was the press of Muntadhir’s fingers and the heavy wonder in his gray eyes.

“Would you stay?” Muntadhir’s voice was faint. “Just poke me every once in a while, to make sure I haven’t stopped breathing. And talk to me,” he added, sounding like sleep was beginning to overtake him again. “It makes me feel less like I’m hallucinating.”

“What would you like me to talk about?”

“Anything,” Muntadhir answered. “I just want to hear your voice.”

This human-blooded scoundrel was going to be the death of him.

Dara peeked again at the merchants arguing in the street, the cobbler angrily accusing the fruit seller of intentionally spilling his cart, and then darted a glance at Nahri.

Blood might no longer pump through his veins, but Dara was certain some part of him was boiling. “I have told you a hundred times. I am 

“I know.” Nahri smiled sweetly. “It just gives me exquisite pleasure to make you angry.”

I loved this addition to The Daevabad Trilogy! The author has done such a good job developing all her characters, including the so-called "side" characters, that I was obsessed with getting to learn more about them and their experiences before, during, and especially after the events of the original three books. I'm really hoping Zaynab and Aqisa get a spin-off series...

Niza Contreras

fatru tamzil

Oh my God, I miss Daevabad so much. I haven't been with these characters in a long time, but I have missed them all the same. Nahri's wit, Ali's dorkiness, Munthadir's sarcasm and self-destructive behaviour (affectionate), Jamshid's sensitivity and his passion...I miss them all. Reading this make me want to reread the series again.

A delightful return to the Daevabad trilogy - and suprising as it is a series of short vignettes, none really even a short story - the book has a compelling arc as it revisits key characters before, during, and after the trilogy. Well done.