The Wrath & the Dawn serie #2

The Rose & the Dagger

Name: The Rose & the Dagger
Brand: Ahdieh, Renée
SKU: PR-9780399546631
Price: 7.31 EUR
Availability: OutOfStock
Rating: 1.0 (1 reviews)

1.0

(1)

Le Pitch

Présentation de l'éditeur Instant New York Times BestsellerThe much anticipated sequel to the breathtaking The Wrath and the Dawn, lauded by Publishers Weekly as "a potent page-turner of intrigue and romance."I am surrounded on all sides by a desert. A guest, in a prison of sand and sun. My family is here. And I do not know whom I can trust.In a land on the brink of war, Shahrzad has been torn from the love of her husband Khalid, the Caliph of Khorasan. She once believed him a monster, but his secrets revealed a man tormented by guilt and a powerful curse—one that might keep them apart forever. Reunited with her family, who have taken refuge with enemies of Khalid, and Tariq, her childhood sweetheart, she should be happy. But Tariq now commands forces set on destroying Khalid's empire. Shahrzad is almost a prisoner caught between loyalties to people she loves. But she refuses to be a pawn and devises a plan.While her father, Jahandar, continues to play with magical forces he doesn't yet understand, Shahrzad tries to uncover powers that may lie dormant within her. With the help of a tattered old carpet and a tempestuous but sage young man, Shahrzad will attempt to break the curse and reunite with her one true love. Extrait PROLOGUE The girl was eleven and three-quarters. Three very important quarters. They’d been of consequence when her father had left her in charge this morning, with an important task to accomplish. So, with a world-weary sigh, she pushed up her tattered sleeves and heaved rubble into the nearby wheelbarrow. “It’s so heavy,” her eight-year-old brother complained, as he struggled to move a piece of debris from their home. He coughed when a cloud of soot rose from the charred remains. “Let me help.” The girl dropped her shovel with a clang. “I didn’t say I needed help!” “We should work together, or we won’t finish cleaning everything before Baba returns home.” She braced her fists on her hips while glaring down at him. “Look around you!” He threw his hands in the air. “We’ll never finish cleaning everything.” Her eyes followed his hands. The clay walls of their home were ripped apart. Broken. Blackened. Their roof opened up to the heavens. To a dull and forlorn sky. To what once had been a glorious city. A midday sun lay hidden behind the shattered rooftops of Rey. It cut shadows of light and dark across angry stone and scorched marble. Here and there, smoldering piles of rubble served as a harsh reminder of what had taken place only a few short days ago. The young girl hardened her gaze and stepped closer to her brother. “If you don’t want to work, then wait outside. But I’m going to keep working. Someone has to.” Again, she reached for her shovel. The boy kicked at a nearby stone. It skittered across the packed earth before crashing to a halt at the foot of a hooded stranger standing by the remains of their door. Tensing her grip on the shovel, the girl eased her brother behind her. “May I help you . . . ?” She paused. The stranger’s black rida’ was embroidered in silver and gold thread. The scabbard of his sword was finely etched and delicately bejeweled, and his sandals were cut from the highest-quality calfskin. He was no mere brigand. The girl stood taller. “May I help you, sahib?” When he did not answer right away, the girl raised the shovel higher, her brow taut and her heart hammering in her chest. The stranger stepped from beneath the sagging doorjamb. He threw back his hood and raised both palms in supplication. Each of his gestures was careful, and he moved with a liquid kind of grace. As he strode into a weak slice of light, the girl saw his face for the first time.He was younger than she expected. No more than twenty. His face approached beautiful. But its angles were too harsh, his expression too severe. The sunlight on his hands revealed something at odds with the rest of his finery; the skin of his palms was red and cracked and peeling—evidence of hard labor. His tired eyes we Afficher moinsAfficher plus

The Wrath & the Dawn serie #2

The Rose & the Dagger

1.0

(1)

Indisponible

Le Pitch

Présentation de l'éditeur Instant New York Times BestsellerThe much anticipated sequel to the breathtaking The Wrath and the Dawn, lauded by Publishers Weekly as "a potent page-turner of intrigue and romance."I am surrounded on all sides by a desert. A guest, in a prison of sand and sun. My family is here. And I do not know whom I can trust.In a land on the brink of war, Shahrzad has been torn from the love of her husband Khalid, the Caliph of Khorasan. She once believed him a monster, but his secrets revealed a man tormented by guilt and a powerful curse—one that might keep them apart forever. Reunited with her family, who have taken refuge with enemies of Khalid, and Tariq, her childhood sweetheart, she should be happy. But Tariq now commands forces set on destroying Khalid's empire. Shahrzad is almost a prisoner caught between loyalties to people she loves. But she refuses to be a pawn and devises a plan.While her father, Jahandar, continues to play with magical forces he doesn't yet understand, Shahrzad tries to uncover powers that may lie dormant within her. With the help of a tattered old carpet and a tempestuous but sage young man, Shahrzad will attempt to break the curse and reunite with her one true love. Extrait PROLOGUE The girl was eleven and three-quarters. Three very important quarters. They’d been of consequence when her father had left her in charge this morning, with an important task to accomplish. So, with a world-weary sigh, she pushed up her tattered sleeves and heaved rubble into the nearby wheelbarrow. “It’s so heavy,” her eight-year-old brother complained, as he struggled to move a piece of debris from their home. He coughed when a cloud of soot rose from the charred remains. “Let me help.” The girl dropped her shovel with a clang. “I didn’t say I needed help!” “We should work together, or we won’t finish cleaning everything before Baba returns home.” She braced her fists on her hips while glaring down at him. “Look around you!” He threw his hands in the air. “We’ll never finish cleaning everything.” Her eyes followed his hands. The clay walls of their home were ripped apart. Broken. Blackened. Their roof opened up to the heavens. To a dull and forlorn sky. To what once had been a glorious city. A midday sun lay hidden behind the shattered rooftops of Rey. It cut shadows of light and dark across angry stone and scorched marble. Here and there, smoldering piles of rubble served as a harsh reminder of what had taken place only a few short days ago. The young girl hardened her gaze and stepped closer to her brother. “If you don’t want to work, then wait outside. But I’m going to keep working. Someone has to.” Again, she reached for her shovel. The boy kicked at a nearby stone. It skittered across the packed earth before crashing to a halt at the foot of a hooded stranger standing by the remains of their door. Tensing her grip on the shovel, the girl eased her brother behind her. “May I help you . . . ?” She paused. The stranger’s black rida’ was embroidered in silver and gold thread. The scabbard of his sword was finely etched and delicately bejeweled, and his sandals were cut from the highest-quality calfskin. He was no mere brigand. The girl stood taller. “May I help you, sahib?” When he did not answer right away, the girl raised the shovel higher, her brow taut and her heart hammering in her chest. The stranger stepped from beneath the sagging doorjamb. He threw back his hood and raised both palms in supplication. Each of his gestures was careful, and he moved with a liquid kind of grace. As he strode into a weak slice of light, the girl saw his face for the first time.He was younger than she expected. No more than twenty. His face approached beautiful. But its angles were too harsh, his expression too severe. The sunlight on his hands revealed something at odds with the rest of his finery; the skin of his palms was red and cracked and peeling—evidence of hard labor. His tired eyes we Afficher moinsAfficher plus