I completely avoided researching Arab Spring. I was living in Egypt during the uprisings, but I was barely a teenager. My sharpest memories are of people. The fear, the wonder, the hope. My aunt complaining about the curfew and insane increase in the cost of fruit. Distracting my siblings while tanks rolled down the street (followed by my sister begging us to take a photo of her inside the wheel of a tank, because she was ten and thought they were cool). I remember standing outside with my father in bitterly cold weather and asking how anyone could bear to sleep in a tent in Tahrir Square in this temperature. I was amazed any passion or rage could survive in such conditions. Sylvia is a child when Jasad falls. She sees it happen only from a distance. She grows up feeling like she owes a debt to a place she barely remembers, that her connection to Jasad has only ever brought her trouble. To truly risk herself for something, to essentially sleep in a freezing tent with danger surrounding her on all sides, Sylvia had to feel like she belonged in that fight.
As for research about the Egyptian influence, a solid shout-out to my parents! The way Sylvia learns about Jasad as she grows is how most children from immigrant families do—through stories our family and community share with us. So if I couldn’t find the answer through my own experiences or a good research dive, I called my parents and asked them a million questions they were excited to answer.
The characters in The Jasad Heir are complex and often find themselves torn between different loyalties. If you had to pick, who would you say is your favorite? Who did you find the most difficult to write?
Oh, this one’s easy. Arin was my favorite to write, and Sylvia was the most difficult. The way Arin perceives the world in The Jasad Heir is clear-cut and exacting. He faces very little of the inner conflict Sylvia endures, because his sense of self is firm. The way he feels for Sylvia throws a wrench in it, of course, but it’s still an external deviation he can isolate and examine without implicating his entire identity. Whereas the incongruence between the way Sylvia behaves, the way she views herself, and the way the rest of the world views her (as Essiya) constantly clash.
I’ll add writing scenes with both of them was incredibly fun for these same exact reasons.
Who are some of your favorite authors and how have they influenced your writing?
Oh my gosh, this is so hard. Childhood faves include Richelle Mead, Kristin Cashore, and Stephenie Meyer (fun fact: I went to my very first book festival shortly after moving to Egypt and bought The Host because it was the biggest book there). Nonexhaustive list of current favorite authors includes Tracy Deonn, Talia Hibbert, Tasha Suri, S. A. Chakraborty, and Ilona Andrews. These authors belong to different genres and age categories, but they share an ability to create transporting stories driven by complex characters and immersive settings. I wanted to write characters who resonated with readers even if they didn’t understand why, and a world they kept coming back to until they did.
Without giving too much away, could you share what readers can expect in the sequel?
More immersion into the different kingdoms! Scheming and subterfuge in settings we grazed in The Jasad Heir.
Angst. Longing. New betrayals.
And the above-mentioned character with a firm sense of self and little inner conflict aside from Sylvia? Well… let’s just say nothing stays untouchable forever.
And, finally, if you could visit one kingdom from The Jasad Heir, which would you choose?
Lukub! Good hikes, fun festivals, and the ever-present possibility of being thrown into a well for espionage. What’s not to love?
if you enjoyed THE JASAD HEIR
look out for
THE PHOENIX KING
Book One of the Ravence Trilogy
by
Aparna Verma
Yassen Knight was the Arohassin’s most notorious assassin until a horrible accident. Now he’s hunted by the authorities and his former employer, both of whom want him dead. But when he seeks refuge with an old friend, he’s offered an irresistible deal: defend the heir of Ravence from the Arohassin and earn his freedom once and for all.
Elena Ravence is preparing to ascend the throne. Trained since birth in statecraft, warfare, and the desert ways, Elena knows she is ready. She only lacks one thing: the ability to hold fire, the magic that is meant to run in her family’s blood. And with her coronation only weeks away, she must learn quickly or lose her kingdom.
Leo Ravence is not ready to give up the crown. There’s still too much work to be done, too many battles to be won. But when an ancient prophecy threatens to undo his lifetime of work, Leo wages war on the heavens themselves to protect his legacy.
CHAPTER 1:
Yassen
The king said to his people, “We are the chosen.”
And the people responded, “Chosen by whom?”
—from chapter 37 of The Great History of Sayon
To be forgiven, one must be burned. That’s what the Ravani said. They were fanatics and fire worshippers, but they were his people. And he would finally be returning home.
Yassen held on to the railing of the hoverboat as it skimmed over the waves. He held on with his left arm, his right limp by his side. Around him, the world was dark, but the horizon began to purple with the faint glimmers of dawn. Soon, the sun would rise, and the twin moons of Sayon would lie down to rest. Soon, he would arrive at Rysanti, the Brass City. And soon, he would find his way back to the desert that had forsaken him.
Yassen withdrew a holopod from his jacket and pressed it open with his thumb. A small holo materialized with a message:
Look for the bull.
He closed the holo, the smell of salt and brine filling his lungs.
The bull. It was nothing close to the Phoenix of Ravence, but then again, Samson liked to be subtle. Yassen wondered if he would be at the port to greet him.
A large wave tossed the boat, but Yassen did not lose his balance. Weeks at sea and suns of combat had taught him how to keep his ground. A cool wind licked his sleeve, and he felt a whisper of pain skitter down his right wrist. He grimaced. His skin was already beginning to redden.
After the Arohassin had pulled him half-conscious from the sea, Yassen had thought, in the delirium of pain, that he would be free. If not in this life, then in death. But the Arohassin had yanked him back from the brink. Treated his burns and saved his arm. Said that he was lucky to be alive while whispering among themselves when they thought he could not hear: “Yassen Knight is no longer of use.”
Yassen pulled down his sleeve. It was no matter. He was used to running.
As the hoverboat neared the harbor, the fog along the coastline began to evaporate. Slowly, Yassen saw the tall spires of the Brass City cut through the grey heavens. Skyscrapers of slate and steel from the mines of Sona glimmered in the early dawn as hovertrains weaved through the air, carrying the day laborers. Neon lights flickered within the metal jungle, and a silver bridge snaked through the entire city, connecting the outer rings to the wealthy, affluent center. Yassen squinted as the sun crested the horizon. Suddenly, its light hit the harbor, and the Brass City shone with a blinding intensity.
Yassen quickly clipped on his visor, a fiber sheath that covered his entire face. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing them to readjust before opening them again. The city stared back at him in subdued colors.
Queen Rydia, one of the first queens of Jantar, had wanted to ward off Enuu, the evil eye, so she had fashioned her port city out of unforgiving metal. If Yassen wasn’t careful, the brass could blind him.