A NOBLE DAUGHTER.
A FORMER SLAVE.
DARK MAGIC AND VOLATILE ALLIANCES COLLIDE IN A WORLD ON THE BRINK OF COLLAPSE.
“Jura imagined it sounded like rain.”
Juggling death is nothing new for seventeen-year-old Jura, daughter of the First of the Thirteen, successive rulers of the Republic of the Sand Sea. However, when a blood chain ensnares her father, she is thrust into the seat of power and forced to rule her elders.
“To Tylak, water had never tasted sweeter.”
Jura must track down her father’s assassin and balance a country on the verge of collapse. To find the Prince of Shadows and uncover the truth, Jura puts her trust in Tylak, a former slave accused of stealing from the Everflame—a man she once condemned to death.
In a world where water is currency and enemies lurk around every corner, Jura will use her wits or risk igniting a world war.
IGNITED (Dance of Elements #1)
Author: A.M. Deese
Genre: YA Fantasy
Expected Publication on March 2018 by RadiantTeen
Chapter One Excerpt – JURA
Jura imagined it sounded like rain. The steady tap of grains of sand pounding against the glass walls and ceiling was almost musical. The sands were still untamed but she was safe from the dangers of the earth. No, death was more likely to come from inside—and she was late.
Her robes were on backwards. The last several hours plotting what to say and just how she would say it had all been a waste of time. It was doubtful the Thirteen would take a young woman seriously, especially if she wasn’t even capable of dressing herself. The gold and purple stitching on the formal black court robe was only slightly different in the front than the back. Would anyone notice? Jura could feel their eyes watching her, swore she could hear the occasional chuckle thrown in her direction. She wanted to run, she wanted to die from embarrassment right on the spot.
Don’t panic. You don’t have time to change; just breathe. She inhaled sharply, letting her breath slowly leak out between clenched teeth. Had the justice dome always been so tall? She felt dwarfed by the massive walls towering around her. She lifted her thick maiden’s braid as a trail of sweat escaped from the nape of her neck to drip down the stiff collar of her robe. She sidled to a pillar on the least populated side of the dome and pressed her back against the cool marble.
The members of the Thirteen milled about the concave room, flitting in and out of conversation and tossing distrustful glances at one another. No one else was wearing the traditional court robes, and Jura suddenly remembered they were only used on voting day or when foreign diplomats were present. She bit her bottom lip, blood rushed into her cheeks. Wearing the robes now proved her inexperience; wearing them backwards showed she was an inexperienced idiot. Her spectacles slid down the bridge of her nose. She sighed as she shoved them back up. Why had she even worn the flaming things? The glasses, not the robes. Although they were both giving her trouble. She scanned the room and noticed that almost all of the Thirteen had arrived. The council meeting would start in a matter of minutes.
If the council didn’t accept her, her house would lose everything.
Kader, Eighth of the Thirteen, was making his rounds with refreshments. The members of the Thirteen took turns serving one another, and Jura was grateful that she didn’t have to add the duties of serving girl to her growing list of anxieties. Kader stopped in front of her, offering water from his silver serving tray. She reached for a glass and was about to bring it to her lips when she became aware of the Eighth’s beady black eyes following her movement. She paused, her hand faltering in mid-air. Water was the standard beverage during council meetings. Not only was pure water a nod to the Thirteen’s stature, it was also the most difficult liquid to poison without detection.
Jura rolled the glass in a slow circle, watchful for any residue that might have stuck to the clear goblet as it tilted. Was he watching to see if I’ll drink it or just curious because I shouldn’t be here? She raised her eyebrows and forced the corner of her lips to tilt upward. Kader inclined his head politely before turning to offer water to another council member. She deliberately set the glass down on the floor beside her. She wouldn’t drink from it, just in case.
Jura frowned as a woman entering the room caught her attention. There isn’t enough water in the world to make me wear something so scandalous. Not only was Denir, Fifth of the Thirteen, flirting prettily, but she also wore a low cut golden gown that clung to her figure. She smiled up at Jabir, the Seventh, a tall narrow man in neutral shades of gray with dark curly hair and a devilish gleam in his eye. He leered down at the Fifth.
He’s married, isn’t he? Jura couldn’t remember, and honestly, it didn’t seem to matter. She struggled to place a name for a few of the others but couldn’t recall any except Ahmar, the Third, and father of her closest friend. He was deep in conversation with a man who seemed impossibly wide for his short stature. The fat man’s jowls quivered as he spoke, and he leaned back from the Third nervously, his hand hovered just above his sheathed dagger. It was forbidden to have one’s Arbe in attendance, but nearly everyone carried a weapon. The dagger seemed to be the favored choice, although Jura noticed a few scimitars and even an assegai strapped to the back of a tall, skinny man in pale yellow robes. Jura fingered the whip holstered at her waist. No one, aside from Kader, had even acknowledged her presence. If she had acted when she first had the thought, she might have been able to sneak away before the—
“Daughter of the First, good evening. I almost didn’t see you there, skulking away in the corner as it were.” Velder, Second of the Thirteen, lifted a hand and twisted his fingers into the complicated gesture that signified a greeting as he walked toward her.
“Making a new fashion statement, I see?” He raised his eyebrows.
Jura muffled a groan, of course he’d noticed her fashion faux pas. She grimaced before intertwining her fingers and wriggling her thumbs in reply.
“Councilman Velder. How good to see you?”
“Indeed. And how very odd it is to see you, alone. Where is the First? It’s nearly time to start the session.” The councilman’s long, tapered fingers stroked his thin gray mustache.
This was the moment she’d been dreading. Council meetings were closed to all except the voting members of the Thirteen families; everyone knew that. Jura was not the voting member; her father was and had been for the last twenty years, but now they were stuck with her. Her worst nightmare had come true.
“Yes. I mean, no. That is, the First is…indisposed.”
Velder frowned down at her. “Is that so? His presence is needed to preside over the council meeting.”
“I understand,” she mumbled. Father hated when she mumbled. If he was here, he’d have pulled her by the ear and given her a lecture on leadership and her responsibility to the family name. Leaders didn’t mumble. Her fingers flew up to her throat, as if scratching at her tender skin would send the words pouring forth. She just had to spit something out, anything.
Anything but the truth.
“Councilman Velder, the First is—”
“Absent for the second day in a row.” Velder’s dark eyes narrowed. “The people of the Republic cannot rule themselves. The First—”
“The First is indisposed!” She had not meant to shout. She lowered her eyes, frowning at her shoes. People would stare.
“He is unwell,” she said in a softer voice. Her tongue darted out to moisten lips gone impossibly dry. She considered drinking Kader’s offered water, even poison was better than this.
“I will judge in his stead.” There. The words were strangled, but she’d said it.
Velder barely concealed his chuckle beneath his hand. “With all due respect, the Thirteen will never approve.”
“The Thirteen? Or you?” Velder had never liked her. He didn’t seem to like anyone. Jura bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. Her hands were shaking, so she squeezed them into fists by her sides. She was seventeen years old, hardly a child. She could do this, she had to do this.
Father will never forgive me if I cause the house to lose Rank.
She pushed her dangling spectacles up the length of her nose and glared at the councilman. At least, she thought she was glaring, it felt like she was squinting up at him, and she hoped she appeared stern. She felt ridiculous.
“I am the only heir to house of the First.” He didn’t respond, and she took the opportunity to raise her voice and address the room. She flinched when her voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. “It is my duty to serve as interim First if my father is incapable. His sickness—” She frowned, correcting herself. “His minor illness has forced me to step forward and fulfill my duty as his heir. Who will oppose this law?”
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If you’re a writer you might enjoy the author’s guest post on HOW TO CRAFT STRONG WOMEN IN YA FICTION
Why did this become such a common phrase? I think it’s in response to the decades upon decades of damsels in distress and heaving bosoms. But wait a minute, Scarlet O’Hara portrayed herself as a damsel and she is one of my favorite characters. She’s a complicated woman who isn’t always likeable and I think that’s why I like her so much. Because she’s real. We need to leave the gender out of this phrase and instead of focusing on “strong women” we need to focus on strong characters.
The most important focus on crafting a character should be how to make them realistic. Readers crave characters who leap off the page, grab the reader by the face and say, “listen to my story.” These characters come alive because readers can see a bit of themselves in the character. The character is like them, their friend, their mother. Realistic characters are strong characters, period.
Consider Joss Whedon’s character Buffy (from the television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Buffy doesn’t have to run around in leather staking vampires in order to be seen as “strong” (although she does just that and is bad ass). What makes Buffy a “strong” character is the many different sides to her. She is a rebellious teenage daughter, an awkward high school student, a young woman falling in love for the first time, a loyal friend, oh yeah and she accepts her fate as demon hunter and kicks butt at it. A different example comes from the Kushiel’s Legacy series by Jaqueline Carey. Carey manages to create an unforgettable heroine who uses her wits to save her country. Female characters do not need to be violent, powerful assassins in order to be seen as strong, they just need to be authentic.
With specific reference to crafting strong characters in YA fiction, writers need to focus on telling the truth. Young Adult readers need characters they can look up to because these characters have taught them to be confident in themselves or to follow their dreams. Readers need role models from authentic examples of real women, not women who are seen as strong simply because they can fight or because they are “one of the boys.”
Strong believable characters come from women who are complicated. Women who are confident in themselves and the decisions they make, women who take action when they see an injustice. Strong female characters are the women who are loyal and value friendship. And you know what else? Strong female characters can also be villains. Women who can be cruel and jealous. Women who are insecure and make mistakes. Women who have the capacity to both love and hate. Strong characters come from strong writing, writers need to focus on crafting characters who are multidimensional.
Alexis Marrero Deese is an avid reader of young adult and fantasy. Her favorite authors include Brandon Sanderson, Jaqueline Carey, and Orson Scott Card. She graduated from the University of South Florida with a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing and a sun tan she misses dearly since her move to northern Georgia. She has a passion for cooking, spends entirely too much time on Pinterest, and is a self-proclaimed dog training expert to her family’s legion of dogs.
Author Links: Website│Goodreads│Twitter│Facebook
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