One by one, the royals nodded their assent. Felix trembled with anger, but he dipped his head. It would have to be enough.
At the top of the Citadel, Arin stared out of his wrought-iron balcony. He ran his thumb over the cuffs he’d retrieved from the ballroom’s smoldering ruins. The first rays of sunlight gleamed over Nizahl. The ushering of a new day.
The longer Essiya of Jasad lived, the more likely the news of her return would spread. Without a royal to rally behind, the siege against Jasad had cost thousands of lives. A Jasadi uprising with Niphran’s daughter at the helm would plunge the kingdoms into a war from which they would never recover.
The Malik and Malika of Jasad were magic miners.
If she continued the profane practices of her lineage, war would be just the beginning. Her magic was beyond anything Arin had ever felt. Beyond any power that should still exist.
“Your Highness? You summoned me?” Vaun’s voice was subdued behind him. Arin’s gaze did not leave the blush of dawn tinting the distant corners of his kingdom. She was out there somewhere.
“Tell the council to gather,” Arin said. Around and around, his thumb tracked the cuffs. They couldn’t hide her from him forever.
Confusion delayed Vaun’s response. “The council is already gathered, my liege.”
“Gather them in the war wing.”
Vaun inhaled sharply. “Yes, sire.” Arin did not hear the guard’s footsteps disappear or the door closing behind him.
The Nizahl Heir traced Essiya’s cuffs, and he started to plan.
The story continues in…
Book TWO of The Scorched Throne
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The true terror of sitting here and writing these acknowledgments is knowing how impossible it is to record every person whose support and kind words took this book from a badly titled Word doc to the book it is today. I’ll give it my best go.
My eternal and profound thanks to my agent, Jennifer Azantian, for listening to my （many） voice memos, fiercely championing me and my work, and always knowing what to say when I spin out. To my editor, Nivia Evans, for seeing the potential in this story in its earliest phases. You sent me the Twitter DM on October 27, 2020, that changed my life, and I’m so grateful to have your editorial talent and sharp eye on my side. A giant thank you to the rest of the passionate, brilliant team at Orbit for their enthusiasm and support in bringing The Jasad Heir to life—Angelica Chong, Rachel Goldstein, Angela Man, Laura Blackwell, and Ellen Wright. To my wonderful Orbit UK editor, Jenni Hill, for seeing something special in The Jasad Heir, and editorial assistant Rose Ferrao for sending emails I’m excited to open. Lisa Marie Pompilio and Mike Heath, please know I’m never going to stop screaming about the beautiful cover you created. Thank you to the #DVPit organizers who created the amazing event that connected me and my editor. Koren Enright and Kalyn Josephson, I’m still so relieved you read the pure chaos that was this book’s first iterations and said, “Yeah, I’ll take this one.” Your mentorship during Pitch Wars kept me sane while I dove into the world of publishing. I don’t know where I （or this book） would be without your incredible wisdom, insight, and Arin jokes. Team Void Cats forever!
Every author knows how scary it is to send their baby WIP into someone else’s hands, but Destiny, Janae, and Abby—you guys made it so much less terrifying. I can’t believe you didn’t block my number the seventieth time I asked if you were still reading. Hannah Sawyerr, our sprints and Facetimes and overlapping deadlines have meant the world to me, and I’m so blessed to have you and your endless cheer in my life. Olesya Lyuzna, my first critique partner and co-podcaster, one of these days we’ll meet and the world will never be the same. Jess Parra, one of the funniest and most fiercely supportive women I know—thank you for always telling it to me straight and being the coolest honorary aunt on the planet. Carolina Flórez-Cerchiaro, Brittney Arena, Ream Shukairy, and Maeeda Khan, I’m so grateful for your enthusiasm and kindness.
My family probably skipped directly to this section as soon as they opened the book （as if I would ever forget you）。 Mama, you’ve been telling people I was a writer since I was in the third grade, and I’m sorry I spent years begging you to stop. Baba, who always listens and always knew I’d get here. I’m so grateful you ignored my whining and made sure I learned Arabic and fell in love with Egypt. To Yusuf, for having endless ideas for promoting the book, despite your general disinterest in fiction. Hend, who started reading my half-formed stories when she was ten and never stopped asking for more. And Hanan, who didn’t originally read much but happily read this book three times—I adore you and your willingness to let me talk your ear off about my ideas.