Nahri, our Aladdin here, is a twenty-year-old thief and con artist, working marks in 18th Century French-occupied Cairo. “The Magic Carpet” (detail), 1880, by Apollinary Mikhaylovich Vasnetsov © State Art Museum, Nizhny Novgorod, Russia/Bridgeman Art Library It’s time to polish that special lamp gathering webs in the attic, put a fine edge on your bladed weaponry, remind yourself of ancient tribal insults and outrages, dust off that list of wishes that is around here somewhere and vacuum your magic carpet. That even the cleverest of schemes can have deadly consequences.Īfter all, there is a reason they say be careful what you wish for. That magic cannot shield her from the dangerous web of court politics. And when Nahri decides to enter this world, she learns that true power is fierce and brutal. In that city, behind gilded brass walls laced with enchantments, behind the six gates of the six djinn tribes, old resentments are simmering. For the warrior tells her a new tale: across hot, windswept sands teeming with creatures of fire, and rivers where the mythical marid sleep past ruins of once-magnificent human metropolises, and mountains where the circling hawks are not what they seem, lies Daevabad, the legendary city of brass, a city to which Nahri is irrevocably bound. But she knows better than anyone that the trade she uses to get by-palm readings, zars, healings-are all tricks, sleights of hand, learned skills a means to the delightful end of swindling Ottoman nobles.īut when Nahri accidentally summons an equally sly, darkly mysterious djinn warrior to her side during one of her cons, she’s forced to accept that the magical world she thought only existed in childhood stories is real. Certainly, she has power on the streets of 18th century Cairo, she’s a con woman of unsurpassed talent.
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