Inspired by S.A. Chakraborty’s Daevabad Trilogy, this short story is set long before the events of the series and follows Manizheh in the years before her mind was completely warped by the abuses she and her brother endured. The story begins during the reign of Ghassan’s father, King Khader, and focuses mainly on Manizheh’s relationships with Kaveh and her brother, Rustam. The love story between Manizheh and Kaveh is at the heart of it, so be prepared for a few sensuous (yet tasteful) romance scenes.
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Chapter 1
Spring was truly the most beautiful time of year in Daevastana, especially in the gardens of the ancient Nahid palace in Daevabad. That was why she knew, when she didn’t find him studying with the scholars employed in the palace library, seeking counsel from the Daeva priests at the Grand Temple, or working in the palace infirmary, the gardens were the one sure place where she could always find her little brother. Not that he was little anymore, having had a recent growth spurt that left her small form feeling even smaller.
(Music suggestion: “The Bioluminescene of the Night.”)
The afternoon sun, although tempered by the dome of Suleiman’s magic that surrounded the entire city, was hot when Banu Manizheh e-Nahid stepped onto the terrace overlooking the gardens outside the infirmary. She raised a hand to her brow to shield her face from the sun, her black eyes scanning to be sure there was no one else around before she removed her plain white veil and tucked it into her apron pocket. A thin layer of ash was coating her skin where the veil had been, and she brushed it off before she went to lean against the terrace wall to look out into the garden for any sign of her brother. She spotted movement from one of the trees deep within the orange grove—its uppermost branches swaying as though they were dancing. She smiled, relief washing over her.
Although every Nahid had a connection to the magic of the palace and its extensive grounds, since the time of Anahid, Rustam had always seemed to have a little more than anyone else when it came to the gardens. They were his sanctuary, the plants there his only friends in Daevabad—other than his sister. Even now, as Manizheh made her way down the steps and walked along the path overgrown with brush, she could see him standing among the trees. His arms stretched out like the arms of a composer, swaying in slow and steady movements that mimicked what the tree above him was doing as it followed his command.
“You’ve gotten better, I see,” she called out as she approached.
Rustam jumped and whirled around. A look of panic that had briefly swept over his face quickly abated when he saw it was only her, and then his lips turned up into a smile, surrounded by the barest hint of facial hair coming in. It was hard to believe he was already becoming a man; but then, she was herself becoming a woman. They were young, though, especially by Daeva standards. They still had several years before they reached her first quarter-century.
“Manu.” He pressed his fingertips together, greeting her in the Daeva manner. “May the fires burn brightly for you, sister.”
“For you as well, Rustam,” she replied with the same gesture. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better,” he answered, looking down with his shoulders hunched forward. He glanced at her, as if to apologize. “I think I’m ready to return to my duties now. The garden is very healing for me. Thank you for giving me time…and for not being angry with me.”
“I could never be angry with you, beloved,” she said softly. Then, deciding it was best not to dwell, she indicated the tree overhead. Like the other trees, it was now standing still and silent, the way that a tree normally would. The only movement was from the gentle breeze moving through its branches. “I’ve never seen anyone make a tree dance before.”
A smile lit up his face, and it set her heart at ease. “That is not all I can do, Manu.” He took her hands and drew her deeper into the orange grove, saying, “Come; I have a surprise for you that I’ve been working on for quite some time. Okay, stand here and look up at the trees… Don’t look at me—look at the trees, Manu. Now, wait for it.”
Manizheh inhaled the scent of orange blossoms and waited, as commanded. She heard her brother whispering some incantation and then the air around them grew very still—even the warm breeze had disappeared and the birds had stopped twittering. Then suddenly a shower of white petals and orange blossoms began to rain down from the trees, twirling and undulating in the air surrounding them as they cascaded toward the ground. Watching this, her lips parted, and her eyes grew wide—the effect was magical, even for a world that was always filled with magic.
She raised her hands to catch some of the petals and, when she noticed Rustam watching her, she smiled. When she reached toward him, he took her by the hands and spun her around once, and they laughed together while the blossoms and petals floated to the ground. Once they touched the ground, they came back up and, with another whispered command from Rustam, returned to the trees where they belonged.
Looking at him with awe, she said, “Somehow I doubt anyone has ever done that before.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure I’m not the first Nahid to make a shower of petals.”
“Perhaps not, but it was still amazing. When we get to Zariaspa, see if you can recreate that effect for Kaveh with the trees there. I’m sure he would love to see it.”
“I don’t know if I can do it without the connection to the palace, but I’ll try.”
Manizheh sighed and looked back toward the palace, barely visible through the thick tangle of vines and branches Rustam had grown to create his sanctuary. “Only one more day. We will get through it, and then…Paradise.”
Rustam chuckled. “Why? Because we don’t have to slave away in the infirmary surrounded by our enemies every day, or because Kaveh’s there?” He glanced at her with a knowing smile.
She raised her brows in surprise—of course, he would have picked up on what she felt for Kaveh. No matter how well she thought she was hiding it, Rustam was as much a Nahid as her; there was nothing she could hide from him. Sucking in her breath as they started back toward the palace together, Manizheh playfully elbowed her brother on his bicep, nearly pushing him off the path. Then she looked straight ahead, saying, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Nothing, of course.” He grinned impishly.
As they continued slowly down the path, she took his hand, and whispered, “You shouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”
“They won’t understand us when we’re speaking Divasti.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she answered gravely, while keeping her expression plain; unreadable. “The emir is taking lessons, so I’ve heard. No doubt, so he can better spy on us and our people.”
“Oh.” He stopped when they reached the bottom of the steps to the terrace and turned to look down at her. Then he brought his hand to her cheek—when did his hands get so big? He tucked some curls that had come loose from her braid behind her pointed ear, and then he straightened her chador. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I thought you should know,” she answered, reaching into her pocket for the veil and fixing it into place.
Although she hated being bound by formality and propriety, Manizheh liked the way she looked when she wore her veil. Only her large black eyes could be seen peering over it, the rest of her features only hinted at beneath the semi-diaphanous fabric and by the way her veil was draped. Nahids never showed their whole face when they were working or in public. Apart from being a point of respect and propriety, Manizheh thought it also had a chilling effect which she appreciated. For his part, Rustam seemed to want to hide behind his veil, sometimes even wearing it when it was not required.
When they walked into the infirmary together, they were met by Arash, an older Daeva gentleman who had worked with their parents and even their grandparents, assisting them with some of the most complicated medical procedures known to djinn kind. Although not a Nahid, he was a natural-born healer and an invaluable mentor. He was also a supreme jokester. Arash had a long white beard that reached all the way down to his waist. He had to tuck it beneath his apron when he was working, but liked to make it dance when he wasn’t—especially if doing so could get the two very serious Nahids in his charge to break down with laughter until their sides ached.
Now, being on duty, he was all seriousness when he approached and brought his hands together in greeting. “Banu Manizheh. Baga Rustam. May the fires burn brightly for you both.”
“For you as well, Arash,” Rustam answered softly, pressing his fingertips together.
“For you as well,” Manizheh murmured, but she was not really paying attention because she was already looking beyond their mentor at the patient shivering on one of the examination tables. He was an Ayaanle, she knew by the elaborate nature of his richly embroidered robes and excessive amount of jewelry, even before she caught sight of his golden eyes darting around at his surroundings. Even without being near to him, she was already sensing the sickness in his blood. Letting her Nahid senses connect deeper, she followed the blood flowing through his veins until she found the source of the illness.
Without waiting for Arash to explain, Manizheh pushed past him and walked up to the man to introduce herself, speaking Djinnistani so he could understand. “May the fires burn brightly for you. I am Banu Manizheh. Will you allow me to examine you?”
“Greetings, Banu Manizheh,” he spoke with some difficulty. “I have heard many great things about you and would be honored to submit to your examination. Er, what should I do?”
“Just relax,” she answered gently, offering a smile that reached her eyes, to keep him from picking up on her alarm.
She did not need to lay her hands on him or even to ask about his symptoms. Apart from seeing how ill he looked—the way he tremored, the metallic gold in his eyes having lost their natural radiance, his ebony skin coated in layers of ash and having lost its glow—she could feel the unnatural cold crawling through his veins. Ice worms. She had never seen a case of them before, but she had read about these vicious parasites that, rather than be exterminated when they entered the bloodstream of fire-blooded djinn, began travelling to all the organs and shutting them down. In effect, the man was slowly freezing to death internally. So far, the infection was concentrated in his lower abdomen, but she detected a small cluster that had made it to his lungs. If it spread to his heart, he would be dead in a few agonizing minutes.
Keeping her voice steady, she asked, “Have you been to the mountains of Agnivansha recently?”
The man nodded, seeming not to realize the significance of the question. “I am a merchant, Banu Nahida. My caravan must travel through the mountains once every couple of years.” He paused to cough. “We always make the trip there in autumn, and then return in spring when the worst of the snows have thawed and the threat of getting trapped in a snowstorm are lessened.”
“I assume this year, the snows stayed later than you were expecting.”
He confirmed with another nod, and then he was seized by a coughing fit. Manizheh fought the urge to panic, when the coughing fit dislodged the microscopic cluster of worms in his lungs and sent them straight toward his left atrium. Thinking quickly, she was able to use her Nahid magic to form a clot around the cluster and temporarily attach the clot to the side of the vein just before it reached the valve. It was not ideal, but it bought her time and would hopefully last long enough for her to administer the treatment.
He grimaced and clutched his chest, no doubt feeling the pressure caused by the restricted blood flow, but she knew there was still enough healthy blood able to get through to keep his heart beating. She placed a soothing hand upon his arm, and his discomfort eased somewhat. He smiled gently, his gold eyes meeting hers in gratitude.
“Now, it is best if you remain still and try not to speak. I’m going to see how close Baga Rustam is to finishing the potion I’ll need to administer, and then we can begin the healing.”
She glanced at Arash, who had been standing nearby and watching her work. The old man nodded to her and spoke to her in Divasti so the Ayaanle wouldn’t understand. “I haven’t told him. I thought it best I let you see him first.”
She nodded, understanding the necessity of being discreet. The mere mention of ice worms was enough to throw even the bravest of djinn into a panic. “I remember the first time I ever came across them in my studies—I felt my blood freeze just thinking about it.”
“Even at your age, you are the most powerful Nahid I’ve ever known—and I’ve known many, up until recent years…” His expression became momentarily wistful. Then he said, “I’ve filled your brother in—the potion should be ready soon. I’ll keep an eye on your patient, Banu Nahida.”
“Thank you, Arash.” She didn’t say anything more—they could discuss the situation later. Now, it was only a matter of time before the ice worms ate their way through the clot that she had formed to encapsulate them. She mentally reinforced the clot as she continued toward the apothecary where she found her brother hard at work. She was the better healer, but Rustam had a knack for potion making she could only dream of one day accomplishing. By the time she reached his level of proficiency, she was certain he would continue to far surpass her.
He sensed her approach but kept working, as he whispered, “This is absolutely terrifying.”
“He’s stable, for now,” she replied, not wanting to add to his concern by admitting just how tenuous it was. “How’s the potion coming along?”
“Almost finished,” he said, carefully measuring the tiniest amount of a thick silver liquid before adding it to his concoction. For now, the mixture was clear but the moment he added the new ingredient, the concoction began roiling and turned as black as djinn blood, filled with bursts of orange like molten lava forming until it settled and turned to an ugly greenish brown. That’s when Rustam held up the vial to examine it, momentarily amazed. “It worked. It actually worked!”
“Great. So, is it finished?” She didn’t mean to sound dismissive of his accomplishment, but she really was on a time limit.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Thank you.” Manizheh snatched the vial with more impatience than she meant and hurried off to her patient. She could sense a weakness in the clot as she attuned her senses and did what she could to reinforce it, but the cluster of parasites only doubled their efforts to break free of their captivity. There was also the risk that the clot would break loose and make its way into his heart, causing a heart attack while at the same time taking the ice worms right to where they could do the greatest damage. If the heart attack didn’t kill him, the ice worms surely would. She sent a pulse of magic to the clot, to increase its hold on the vein so that didn’t happen.
The Ayaanle groaned and clutched at his chest. Arash looked at the Banu Nahida with concern as she drew near. The old Daeva opened his mouth to speak, but she raised her hand to silence him as she went up to her patient. “Here,” she offered. “Courtesy of the Baga Nahid. Drink—all of it—then let it settle. It will dissolve the parasites.”
“Parasites?” His brows raised in shock, but he accepted the vial. He held it up to examine it with uncertainty, but then he lifted the vial to his lips.
Manizheh tried not to look as anxiously hopeful as she felt, watching him swallow down the burning liquid with a grimace. He seemed uncomfortable, but she could sense the potion working its way through his bloodstream, eliminating the ice worms along its way. As soon as she detected the cluster of worms near his heart had all been destroyed, she dissolved the clot that had been keeping them in place and continued to scan for any signs of an adverse reaction. Before long the Ayaanle was breathing smoothly, the ash stopped forming on his skin, and some of the glint returned to his eyes and the glow to his skin.
Rustam came to stand beside her, and said in Divasti, “It looks like it’s working.”
“I’d thank the Creator, but in this case, I’ll settle for thanking you, brother.” She touched his upper arm and nodded to him before she went back to her patient. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he answered, sounding surprised. “The cold is gone, but there’s still some pain…”
She nodded, already aware of it. “The parasites are gone, but I’ll still need to repair the damage to your organs. Soon you’ll be in optimal health.”
He studied her with his golden gaze, as she moved her hands over him and began the healing process. “You asked if I had been in the mountains of Agnivansha. I assumed you were making polite conversation, but then I realized there is no way you could have known. What gave it away?”
“The only place in the world ice worms exist,” she answered quietly, meeting his gaze.
He nodded, “I wondered when you said parasites.” She helped him to sit up, and then he added, “Thank you for not telling me.”
With a silent nod, she did a final scan to make sure there was nothing left of the parasites or the damage. Finding him to be in perfect health, she removed her hands and stepped back. “You will need to take it easy for a day or two, but you should otherwise be just fine.” She helped him off the table.
“Thank you, Banu Nahida,” he answered, touching his hand to his heart. “I am in your debt.”
She smiled faintly and shook her head. “No debt. Just take care of yourself—and next time you are in the mountains, avoid using snow to quench your thirst.” She gave him a stern look, the look of a mother admonishing her child.
The Ayaanle chuckled and pressed his palms together, bowing his head. “I shall keep that in mind, Banu Nahida.”
While the former patient walked away, Arash began cleaning up, while Rustam let out what seemed to be a long-held breath. “That man was at death’s door, and now he is the picture of health. You are amazing, dear sister.”
She slipped a hand into his and squeezed it twice, as they began walking toward their quarters, which were attached to the infirmary. “I could not have done it without you, beloved. That potion made everything I did possible. He would have died without it.”
While she crossed to check the oil in the glass lamp of the fire altar that was set up in the eastern corner of her room, Rustam said, “We do make a pretty good team.”
Pausing from maintaining the altar, which was currently the only source of light, she turned to look at him, keeping her voice steady even as she fought the urge to cry. “I don’t think I could survive here without you, Rustam. I hope you realize that, how important you are to me. You are all I have left.”
“Of course, Manu,” he answered, turning his gaze to the floor, and pulling at the ends of his sleeves as though to hide the scars that were not there. His injuries had healed almost instantly when he had tried to take his own life the previous night, but Manizheh would never be able to shake the memory of seeing him like that from her mind.
She came upon him in his quarters that adjoined hers, having been awakened to his shouting in the middle of the night.
“Creator, why won’t you let me die?” he was crying out, his voice rough and deeper than it had ever been. He was kneeling in the middle of his bedroom floor with a scalpel he must have taken from their tools in the infirmary. He seemed a man possessed. “Why do you force me to stay here in this hell?”
“Rustam!” she gasped, running to him. She dropped to her knees, prying the blood-slick blade from his hands even at the risk of cutting herself. When she had managed to wrestle it away, she flung it across the chamber, and then she looked at the sobbing mess he was in—covered in blood but not a single cut or scratch to show for it. Then she took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “Beloved, what have you done?”
He stared absently, saying nothing, but she understood. Instead of chastising him, she silently thanked the Creator that he had not found a way to overcome the Nahid magic in his veins, pulled him into her embrace, and sat rocking with him and singing a Divasti lullaby. It was one their mother sang in their childhood; Rustam claimed he could not remember it, but it had always soothed him better than anything.
Thinking of that horrifying moment when she had discovered just how tortured her brother was, Manizheh struggled to keep her hands steady as she lit a stick of cedarwood for incense and placed it on the altar. Rustam came to stand beside her, while she led them in their sunset prayers. At the end of it, she dipped her thumb in the cedarwood ashes and smeared them on his forehead in blessing. He then did the same for her, and then they turned back to the altar to finish the last of their prayers. And as she focused on the ever-burning flame, its lamp floating on the water in the brass bowl, Manizheh was filled with the peace of knowing they would soon be on their way to Zariaspa. Just one more day.
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Disclaimer: Zariaspa is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fair Use Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by original author SA Chakraborty or HarperCollins Publishers. Portions of the materials used are property of Shannon Chakraborty. © Shannon Chakraborty.
Cover image: “Persian garden emperor riding horse vector illustration pattern for wallpaper.” Licensed from Shutterstock.
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RM Watters, Author 
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