The Theft of Sunlight, Intisar Khanani [best book club books for discussion txt] 📗

and hunch in on myself. There is nothing I can do, not about Red Hawk, not about Bardok or Garrin, not about the snatchers, not even really about myself. Stupid of me to think—

My thoughts jolt to a halt. I stare into the dark, and all I can think is no. I am not stupid. I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve been up against men whose utter lack of morals is almost inconceivable. They abducted me, hammered me into a crate and transported me like so much fabric, cut away pieces of me, took from me my safety and dignity and body.

My breath feels like fire in my lungs. I am suddenly and deeply furious, enraged that my body should have been violated so. I have never loved it enough; I realize that now, in the face of having it so abused. My plain features and strong build are mine, just as my turned foot is, born with me and part of who I am. And only now, as I cradle my mangled hand in my lap, do I understand this.

Damn Bardok for his laughter, and his blades, and his easy violence and uncaring selfishness, chopping off my finger as if he had the right to take what he wished and could throw away the rest. As if such violence was nothing, was only to be expected, because I am a woman and his captive, and there is no law here, not in the prison of his home nor in the underbelly of this ship.

But I will not go willingly into this nightmare of his making. I will not accept the darkness and violence of the thieves and sailors, the slavers who surround me. I will learn every aspect of what they do, and then I will undo them, destroy them, whether the law aids me or not.

This I promise myself, in the darkness of the hold.

I feel a grin touch my lips. It is like no smile I have ever worn before, violent and dangerous and hopeful, as sharp as the knife I carry with me. Just as I still wear Niya’s sash. I am not alone, even here, and I will not be broken, cut to pieces, and sold to the highest bidder.

Something rustles close beside me. I turn toward the sound. No, I am not alone at all.

“Who is here?” I ask.

I hear the faint sound of children shifting, listening.

“My name is Rae, and I intend to escape.” It is a promise as dark and deep as the river we travel, and as unstoppable. “Tell me who you are.”

Acknowledgments

I have been trying to write this book for almost ten years. I know this because, when my eldest daughter was six months old and we traveled to Morocco to visit my brother, I began my first draft in a composition book. I wrote while pumping milk in a dark room beside her crib while she napped. It was NaNoWriMo, and if I couldn’t handwrite fifty thousand words, at least I could make a strong effort. My daughter’s now ten, and Rae’s story has stayed with me over the years as I’ve drafted it and set it aside and then drafted it again. I am so grateful to be able to share it with you now, dear reader, even if it has morphed into a duology and forced me to do the one thing I promised myself I would never do: write a cliffhanger. Sorry about that! ;)

Many thanks to my agent, Emmanuelle Morgen, for continuing to champion me and my stories, for helping me to take a breath and not worry about what’s beyond me, and for always, always having my back. You are wonderful, and I am so grateful to be working with you and have your friendship.

I am deeply grateful to my wonderful editor at HarperTeen, Alice Jerman, for your ongoing awesomeness, for fighting for those extra days to edit when I most need them, for your keen eye and exceptional insight. This story would not be what it is without you. I am so thankful to be working with you! Thanks also to the HarperTeen team for all your work to polish and promote this story, including Jessica Berg, Clare Vaughn, Gillian Wise, and my publicist Lauren Levite. Many thanks to my wonderful UK editor, Fliss Alexander, as well as Maurice Lyon for all your help through Fliss’s absence, and the entire marketing team at Hot Key Books, especially Isobel Taylor and Molly Holt. You are all so much appreciated! And of course, to Jenny Zemanek, graphic designer extraordinaire: I cannot imagine a more perfect cover. Thank you.

I owe a debt of gratitude to my many, many beta readers who waded through drafts in various stages of disrepair. My thanks to Shy Eager, W. R. Gingell, Nam Heui Kim, Tia Michaud, and Charlotte Michel for reading that relatively early draft that I didn’t know what to do with. Thanks to Anela Deen, Anne Hillman, A. C. Spahn, and Janelle White for working through a subsequent still-somewhat-disastrous draft, and to my husband, Anas, Shy Eager (again!), Eli Hinze, A. C. Spahn (also again!), and Stacy Crawford, for providing detailed feedback at the eleventh hour. Many thanks to Laurel Garver for her incredible eye to detail to help give this story an additional shine.

At its heart, this story is both about Rae and about slavery. Rather than depicting historic experiences of slavery, I’ve modeled the slavery you see in this book around modern-day human trafficking. I am grateful to the Underground Railroad Freedom Center’s Modern-Day Slavery exhibit for opening my eyes to what this looks like. The examples of slavery you’ve read here were all taken from cases of modern-day slavery still happening in the world now. For more information on human trafficking, you can visit the Polaris Project online.

My family has, of course, continued to be my most important support crew. Thanks to my parents, my husband, my two wonderful girls, and my brother