The Orphan (Seven Wonders Journals, Book 2)
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The adventure continues… Read more thrilling stories in the the epic series, Seven Wonders.
“A high-octane mix of modern adventure and ancient secrets… I can’t wait to see what’s next.” Rick Riordan
This is the story of Daria, a twelve-year-old orphan abandoned among the Babylonians. It chronicles her valiant battle to rescue her best friend from certain death and to escape the only city she’s ever called home.
Read the stories. Join the quest. The Seven Wonders await.
I said. “How can you be sure the king will act this way?” Frada asked. “He’s a music lover,” Arwa replied. “He likes to seem generous to those he deems talented, and he will want you to recover quickly, to sing during the executions. But there will be no executions. Because Nitacris will take you to where Nico is. You will follow her instructions to the letter in order to rescue him. If you fail, we will not be playing music for Nico’s execution tonight but waiting for our own. Am I
understood?” Frada nodded a little uncertainly. “Thank you, Arwa. But . . . why are you doing this—risking your life for us? Asking nothing in return?” Arwa’s sharp glance caught us both up short. “My father was a noble who crossed the king. His crime? He was overheard speaking of Akitu, the annual celebration of the Babylonian god—” “Marduk,” Frada said. “Do you not think we are old enough to remember the festival? What great fun we had!” “Until Nabu-na’id banned the celebration, and any
Queen. Now it loomed proudly in the distance. In a place so peaceful and lovely, how could there not be magic? I stood close to a wealthy noble family, hoping people would think I was their servant. As soon as we were past the first bend, I peeled away. I wound through stone-paved paths, intoxicated by waves of perfume. When I reached a stone fountain, burbling with water spouted by stone fish, I stopped in my tracks. There, rising high over my head, was the wall of the Inner Grove. It was
sentence, a broad figure stepped into the open doorway. We nearly fell in our attempt to stop. Chtush stood staring at us, idling picking his teeth with the point of a dagger. “Roast boar,” he said in Akkadian. “Very tasty.” As we staggered back, he wiped his dagger on his tunic. Then looking from Nico to me, he grinned. “What you did, songbird . . .” he said, his belly shaking with a deep chuckle. “Oh, what you did!” Chtush put his dagger away safely. Could it be? Was Chtush on our side? A
this is true—because I have the best instincts in the city—I bow to you in awe.” Honestly, Nico could wear me out telling me how good, smart, and talented he is. “How is she?” I asked, moving toward a pallet of old sacks and blankets in one corner of the room. Frada lay there limply. Her eyes were shut, her face skeletal, her mouse-brown hair a damp mess around her face “Sleeping,” Nico replied, “but hot to the touch.” I knelt closer to my good friend. Frada the Wise, Frada the Artist. She