The heads struck again, blurs of motion that were hard to track, and the crowd screamed as more prisoners fell, more heads were hacked off, and still more grew in their place.
When the head closest to Javan struck, he lunged to the side, as did his allies. Again and again, they danced just out of range, and Rahim’s palms began to sweat. Surely the boy wouldn’t escape certain death again. No one could be that lucky.
Rahim sat, stomach churning, heart thundering in his ears, as the sand demon whipped its heads around, lashing out at anything that moved.
This time, Javan wasn’t fast enough. He stumbled, and the demon’s teeth sank into his back, tearing at the prince’s flesh.
Fariq made a choked noise in the back of his throat as Javan hit the sand, blood flowing freely. The four who were allied with him grabbed him and helped him up, but he swayed on his feet.
Slowly, Rahim stood, triumph burning through him.
The monster struck again, this time latching onto one of the boy’s allies. The man screamed as the snake’s head tore into his neck.
Javan looked away from the creature, away from the injured man, and toward the side of the arena. Rahim stepped to the edge of the royal box to follow his gaze and found a tall girl with pale skin and black hair glaring at the prince as she mouthed one word over and over.
What was she saying?
He leaned further to get a direct look at her lips, and hands snatched his arms to hold him back, as down in the arena Javan yelled something to his allies.
“Step back, Your Highness,” a guard said, her tone respectful but firm.
Javan’s allies abandoned him and ran along the edges of the arena toward the wall beneath the warden’s platform.
“Let me go.” Rahim tried to look at the girl again, but she’d stepped away from the arena’s edge.
Had she helped Javan in some way? Surely she couldn’t have much to offer. The prince was facing a sand demon. His weapons were useless.
“Your Highness, you are too close to the edge. Please, step back now.”
The monster’s heads swiveled toward the three prisoners running along the arena’s edge, and then Javan was yelling. Jumping up and down, his face a mask of pain as he hefted a short sword.
Rahim’s gaze swung from Javan to the running prisoners as the creature attacked Javan, its other heads still snapping toward the remaining competitors. Dread pooled in his stomach and clogged his throat.
Javan was buying them time. He knew something the others didn’t.
“No!” Rahim yelled, his voice ripe with fury. “Get the ones who are running!”
“Your Highness!” Another guard joined the first to forcibly pull Rahim from the edge of the box.
“They know something. The girl must have told them.” Rahim rounded on the guards and shoved them away. “Fariq!”
Fariq’s lips were pressed tight as Javan sliced through the head that was tearing at his stomach and then fell back on the sand, a sword still held in his hand, though his grip looked weak.
“Sit, my prince,” Fariq’s tone was brusque. “It is unseemly to become so invested in the lives of mere prisoners.”
Rahim glanced around to find all the palace guards watching him with narrowed eyes. His pulse spiked, his knees trembling with the effort to rein in the fury and find his royal composure before anyone could wonder why their prince wanted one particular contestant dead. Drawing in a shaky breath, he took a step away from the edge of the box and nodded once to show Fariq that he was under control.
Javan had been bitten twice. Blood was flowing. Even if the other competitors somehow found a way to defeat the sand demon, surely it was already too late for the prince.
The boy’s allies reached the wall beneath the warden’s box, shoveled sand out of the way, and revealed a gleaming copper faucet with a mouth as wide as two fists. Wrenching the handle, they cranked it all the way open. Water gushed into the arena.
At first, nothing changed. The creature attacked, its seven necks now carrying the weight of at least twenty-eight heads. Prisoners were screaming, fighting, or lying silent on the sand. The crowd was stomping its feet and cheering, many of them looking at the royal box to make sure their show of appreciation was being noted.
The water sank into the sand, and a large dark spot began expanding from the faucet’s mouth as the water rushed toward the center of the arena. When it reached the sand demon, the creature hissed, all seven necks whirling to investigate the source of the water. In seconds, it was burrowing down below the surface of the sand, but the water was already there.
The monster thrashed, its heads breaking the surface.
“It can’t breathe underwater!” one of the prisoners yelled.
Instantly, those who could still stand converged on the beast, wrestling with the heads, chopping them off and then plunging the necks into the watery sand before new heads could grow in their place.
In moments, it was over. The sand demon was drowned. The crowd was screaming its approval.
And the true prince of Akram was shakily climbing to his feet, someone’s tunic pressed to the wound in his stomach, while he locked eyes with Rahim and glared.
Rahim glared back.
Sometimes when you wanted someone dead, you had to do the job yourself.
TWENTY-NINE
JAVAN WOKE IN the predawn darkness of the infirmary the morning after facing the sand demon, his body throbbing with pain. The monster had torn into his back and raked his stomach open. Every breath hurt, every movement was fire running through his veins.
But worse was the crushing knowledge that he’d failed.
His bargain with Sajda, his allies, and his strategy were worth nothing in the face of the warden’s alliance with Fariq and the impostor. Yes, Javan had survived. But he’d gained no points; the warden was bent on killing him, even if it meant killing everyone else in the tournament; and the impostor now knew that Javan was still alive.
Still a threat.
How long before he came for Javan?
And how could Javan stop him? He couldn’t defeat the warden, the crown, and his fellow prisoners combined. At the moment, he couldn’t even get out of bed.
Darkness bloomed in his chest, heavy and absolute, and he closed his eyes.
Where was Yl’ Haliq in all of this? Where was the steady presence that had comforted and guided Javan for so many years? Didn’t he see the prince, abandoned and surrounded by enemies?
Tears pricked his eyelids, and he blinked rapidly.
Something rustled to his left, and he whipped his head in that direction, half expecting to see Hashim rising from his bed, but the man had been hurt worse than Javan, and he wasn’t moving. Instead, Javan locked eyes with Sajda, who sat beside the doorway, her back against the cold stone wall.
She rose in one fluid motion and came to his side. For a long moment they stared at each other, and Javan couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Finally, she reached past him to a shelf above his cot and grabbed a small bowl and a cup of water. Scooping up a spoonful of yellow-gold powder, she dumped it into the water, stirred briskly, and then sat beside him on the cot.
“Drink this,” she said.
He stifled a groan as he struggled to get into an upright position. She placed the cup on the floor, wrapped her arms beneath his, and lifted. In seconds, his pillow was between his back and the wall, and she was handing him the cup again.
“Turmeric powder,” she said. “It will help the pain.”
He took an experimental sip, and then quickly downed the rest of the spicy drink. Maybe it would help dull the pain of his wounds. He wished there was something that would dull the rest of his pain as well.
She watched him carefully, and he scrambled for something to say. It wasn’t her fault their plan wasn’t going to work. She was caught up in all of it because she’d been loyal to Tarek. He prayed that loyalty didn’t get her killed.
“You should leave,” he said, keeping his voice low
to avoid waking the other prisoners.
Her brow rose. “No ‘thanks for giving me some medicine, Sajda’? Or ‘thanks for spending the night in a doorway so that no one tried to kill me, Sajda’?”
“You spent the night here?” His voice rose. “Why would you do that?”
Hurt flashed across her face, so fast he almost missed it. “So that no one would try to kill you when you couldn’t defend yourself.”
He closed his eyes and tried to push the darkness inside him away. Tried to find the thread of hope he’d been holding on to for weeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.” He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “I’m sorry I got you involved in this at all. You shouldn’t be here watching over me. You shouldn’t try to help me with the next combat round. In fact, you need to stay as far away from me as possible.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m not.” He drew in a deep breath, striving for calm. Maybe he couldn’t protect himself, but he could protect her. “You’re right. I don’t tell you what to do. So I’m asking you. Please. Get away from me before my enemies decide to punish you for helping me.”
She glared. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty much all you’ve got. The warden just tried to kill everyone so she could get to you. Hashim might be too injured from the sand demon to hurt you at the moment, but that will change. And that boy in the royal box yesterday seemed very angry when the sand demon died. I don’t think he wants you alive either.”
“No, he doesn’t. They all want me dead, and they’re going to succeed, Sajda.” He leaned forward, wincing at the pain that shot across his wounded stomach, his voice shaking. She had to listen. “They’re going to succeed because they have all the power; and when they do, they’re going to take down anyone close to me. I can’t be responsible for your death. I can’t. I might not be able to do anything else right, but let me at least do this.”
She fell silent, and he stared at her for a long moment, his chest heaving with every breath, his composure fraying as he waited to see if she would do the one thing that would save her.
The one thing that would finish ruining him.
Then she straightened, throwing her shoulders back and raising her chin. There was fire in her eyes, and the runes on her cuffs glowed in the dim gray of the room. Leaning forward, she put a hand on his chest, and licks of heat spread from her skin to his. With one gentle push, he was back against the pillow, her face a few breaths from his.
“I’m not your slave,” she said. “I don’t take your orders.”
The bottom dropped out of his stomach. “Sajda, no. I never said . . . That’s not how I see you.”
The heat from her palm raced along his chest, a thrill of lightning that sent his heart racing. “I know that. This isn’t about how you see me. It’s about how I see myself.” She leaned closer, until he was drowning in the dark blue of her eyes. “I might wear the warden’s cuffs, but I make my own choices. And I choose to help you.”
He closed his eyes against the wave of pain and hope that threatened to undo him. “I’ve already lost everything, Sajda. I don’t want to lose you too.”
“Then you shouldn’t have insisted on being my friend.” Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and he opened his eyes to see fierce compassion on her face. “I don’t turn my back on my friends.”
“The warden will try to kill me again. So will the impostor and my uncle. Hashim—”
“When have you ever been afraid of a challenge?” She leaned back and pinned him with the look she usually gave him before they sparred.
“I’m afraid of this one,” he said quietly.
“And that means you give up? You walk away and stop fighting? You give them what they want?”
His jaw tightened, and he looked away. “I’m not giving up. I’m acknowledging that the odds are stacked heavily against me. I was so sure I could fix this. So sure that my destiny was to rule Akram, and that Yl’ Haliq would deliver me from this so that I could make things right. But he hasn’t. Things just keep getting worse.”
“So you fight harder. You fight smarter. And you don’t tell your best ally to leave you alone.”
“I don’t know how to win,” he admitted, forcing himself to look at her. “I don’t know how to fight all three threats at the same time.”
She smiled, and his pulse beat faster. “Hashim is badly injured. And sadly it looks like he is getting an infection from his wound. A shame so much dirt got in there after it was already bandaged.”
He blinked. “Did you—”
“I doubt he’ll be well enough to do anything to you for a week or more. And the warden has a scandal on her hands, as does the crown.”
“What do you mean?”
Her smile grew. “Oh, just a few well-placed observations and speculations with the right aristocrats during Exhibition Day. By now, the entire city should be on fire with rumors about the new competitor who looks so much like a Kadar. Many of the prominent families already hate what Fariq has done to the city and are just looking for an excuse to turn on him.”
“And you made sure to give them what they needed.”
“Like I said, I make my own choices. Now you choose to get better and keep fighting.”
He leaned toward her, ignoring the burn of agony in his body, and wrapped his arms around her as the faint whisper of hope within him flickered into a flame. “Thank you for staying with me.”
She stiffened at first, and then slowly melted into his embrace. Her body was warm, her breath tickled his neck, and the darkness that had opened up within him shrank a little before the unrelenting demands of her faith in him.
THIRTY
“OPEN THE DOOR,” Rahim snapped as he entered the magistrate’s office surrounded by his team of guards the day after the combat round against the sand demon. “I’m going to do an inspection of the prison.”
“Inspection, Your Highness?” The magistrate hurried out from behind his large desk, his eyeglasses askew. “This is most unusual. Does the warden know you’re coming?”
Rahim silenced him with a long, cold look.
“But of course, my prince. Whatever you’d like.” The man hastened to lead Rahim and his guards to the tunnel that wound down to Maqbara’s entrance.
Rahim didn’t reply. Sweat beaded the man’s brow as the silence extended throughout the length of the journey through the tunnel.
“My apologies, Your Highness.” The magistrate’s voice shook slightly. “The warden dislikes unexpected visitors, but that is no excuse for questioning my liege.”
Rahim inclined his head in a slight acknowledgment of the apology and then swept inside the prison.
If the warden didn’t want a surprise visit from the crown prince, then she should’ve made sure to kill Javan in Loch Talam like she’d been paid to do.
The tall girl with the pale skin and dark hair was sweeping sand from the arena floor so prisoners could shovel it into the open crates that lined the edges of the arena. She stilled as Rahim approached, and then slowly raised her gaze to his. Something cold skittered across Rahim’s skin at the look on her face, and he gave her a predatory smile for the pleasure of watching her icy confidence dissolve into quivering obedience.
She raised her chin, something dangerous burning in her eyes.
His smile winked out.
Once he’d solved the problem of Javan, he was going to teach the warden’s slave a lesson as well. He hadn’t crawled his way out of the desert filth and into the palace just to have a slave refuse to give him his due.
“Where are the injured prisoners?” he asked.
“If you’re looking for Javan, you should know—”
“I’m Javan,” Rahim snapped. “Anyone claiming otherwise is a traitor who deserves death.” His heart pounded, and rage licked at his veins.
Had the prince already turned the prisoners against him?
>
Something flickered in the girl’s blue eyes, and she tugged at the iron bracelets she wore. “Of course you are,” she said in a quiet, cold voice. “There is a prisoner here by the same name. You seemed interested in watching him fight yesterday. He was injured, so I thought you were referring to him.”
It was a plausible explanation given how angry Rahim had been at the prince’s survival, but it was unsettling that the slave had paid it any notice.
“You should know that he is one of the favorites among the aristocrats,” the girl said. “They love to champion someone who has the strength to beat the odds.” Her eyebrow rose. “Better return on their investment.”
“What do I care about the aristocrats’ betting?” he asked sharply.
“The crowd favorites are closely followed,” she said, her eyes boring into his. “Rumors abound. Especially when one seems to resemble the royal family. It would be a shame for him to succumb to his injuries and fuel the speculation that he’s a royal in prison by mistake.”
Everything inside Rahim went cold and still. “Why would his death fuel speculation like that?”
“Because if he’s in Maqbara by mistake, then there could be only one person who would benefit from placing him here. At least those were the rumors I overheard on the last Exhibition Day.” She cocked her head. “I’m not sure what a group of suspicious aristocrats could do to a prince, of course. I’m sure I’m worried on your behalf for nothing.”
He glared as his plan to simply slit Javan’s throat and walk out of the prison disintegrated before the knowledge that doing so could jeopardize his upcoming coronation. One of the prison guards could talk. The magistrate could connect Rahim’s visit with the death of the boy who looked like a Kadar. It was too risky to do the job himself, a fact that sent a flush of anger through his body.
Had the king heard the rumors yet? Rahim would have to make sure every guard around the ruler was loyal to the FaSaa’il and then instruct them not to allow the old man any visitors. And he’d have to come up with a less personal way to make sure Javan died before the king attended the final round of combat. Quickly sorting through his options, he turned to the slave girl and said, “Tell the warden I want to speak to her and then take me to the infirmary.”