Sajda entered the room and dragged the door as close to shut as it would go. Then she pulled one of the chests into the center of the floor, careful to move slowly to avoid the scrape of wood sliding over stone. Another long minute of listening to be sure no one was coming to discover her, and then she climbed onto the top of the chest, crouched, and leaped for the crack in the ceiling.
Grabbing the edges of the crack, she swung her body up and through, keeping her head low to avoid banging it on the enormous support beam that helped keep the city above from crashing into the prison below. The first time she’d tried crawling into the ceiling, she’d been nine, and even with her magic giving her strength, she’d had to stack two chests on top of each other to make the leap possible. She’d been so sure she could find a way out of Maqbara and into the world above if she followed the support beams long enough. If she explored hard enough.
She hadn’t found a way out.
But she’d found something almost as good, and it had sustained her through hundreds of lonely nights.
Crawling out from under the support beam, Sajda half stood half crouched to avoid hitting her head and began moving swiftly toward the far corner of the prison. Dipping her hand into her pocket, she took out the rock fragments from the morning’s tunnel excavation and let them fall to the floor where they’d never be noticed. The darkness here in the upper recesses of the prison was impossible for a human to navigate without a torch.
But Sajda wasn’t a full-blooded human, and her eyes found gradients within the darkness. Shadows that were a faint shade darker than the air around them showed her where the vertical support beams stood. The beams across the ceiling were solid black stripes against a lighter canvas of the same black. She moved quickly, avoiding pillars and ducking low when necessary, until she reached the corner farthest from the supply closet.
Here, the darkness was bathed in the silvery sheen of the stars that shone through a skylight—the only one outside those that were placed above the corridors and the arena. Sajda wondered if the original plan for the prison had included a larger building. Or maybe skylights over the staircases. Whatever had happened, she was grateful for this abandoned window to the heavens.
The light illuminated the corner, spreading out to nearly the size of Sajda’s room. She’d brought blankets and pillows years ago to create a tiny oasis of comfort for herself. Crawling onto the neatly layered blankets, she eased her head back against a pillow and stared at the blue-black sky above her.
The stars were scattered across its surface like handfuls of silver-white jewels. Sajda searched the velvet sky, finding the patterns of the stars that were visiting her at this hour of the night. There was the trio of brilliantly glowing jewels lined up in a row like a drawn sword.
She traced her eyes over the dusting of stars that spread out from the trio and imagined it was shards of broken glass. The remnants of a cage the sword had destroyed. Farther to the right, seven medium-size stars could be a person fleeing if she connected the dots.
She liked to think it was the warden, and that if she could just concentrate hard enough, the trio would become the weapon she needed to destroy the cuffs and leave Maqbara forever.
The group of stars seemed to grow brighter, their silvery glow rushing down from the heavens to linger on her skin. Her magic stirred, an impossible hunger that scraped at her skin until she thought she’d go mad from the want of it.
Lifting her hands, she reached for the starlight, tangling her fingers in the glow and letting her magic absorb the power—cold and unbearably distant. It sank into her, a beauty that tore something inside until tears slipped down her face and her breathing came in ragged bursts.
It was homesickness, though the stars weren’t her home.
It was a sense of deep connection, though the stars were unknowable.
It was the closest thing to freedom she could find.
Turning from the trio, she searched until she found her favorite. A tiny prick of light at the far edge of the sky she could see. The star was more blue than silver, and it didn’t rotate through the sky the same way the others did. Sajda thought maybe it was another land full of people. What would it be like, living so far from this kingdom of blood and broken promises? If she could get to the tiny blue star, would Akram glow in the distance? Or would it disappear and take all her heartache with it?
Would the faint memory of her mother’s face as she told Sajda to be good and show off her ears so someone would offer a generous sum fall into the endless darkness of the night sky, never to haunt her again? Would the taste of fear, chalky and bitter, leave her mouth forever?
Maybe on the tiny blue star, mothers didn’t sell their little girls. Maybe dark elves weren’t feared by good people and used by bad. Maybe there, she would be loved.
Slowly lowering her hands, she stared at her fingers. At the silvery sheen that seemed to glow from within her. Her wrists ached beneath her cuffs, but she didn’t care. She was home when her magic consumed the starlight, and that was worth any pain she had to endure.
She lay on the blanket for an hour, watching the silver-white jewels slowly spin past her skylight. Letting the glow tangle with her magic and wound her with its cold perfection. Feeling the icy, untouchable essence of the stars fill her and lend her the strength to eventually make her way back to the supply closet. Back to the staircase. And back to her little room on the fifth level.
One day, she’d break the cuffs and get out of Maqbara. And when she did, she would find someplace far from people who could hurt her. Someplace under a vast, unknowable sky. And she would be home.
TWENTY-ONE
THE DAY AFTER the combat round in the arena, Javan skipped kneeling for morning prayers. He figured Yl’ Haliq, the all-knowing, understood how stiff he was. How every move ignited a bone-deep ache that throbbed throughout his entire body.
Instead, he lay on his bed staring at the stone ceiling above him, waiting for first bell and praying his doubt into words as the sacred texts instructed.
“Yl’ Haliq, be merciful on your servant,” he whispered. “For I am . . . I feel so alone. Don’t you see that? I’m trapped in prison, my uncle has betrayed me, and my only hope is a girl who barely tolerates me.” His throat closed, and he blinked rapidly as tears burned his eyes. “Have you abandoned me?”
He closed his eyes and tried to quell the seething doubts. The fire of his anger. Tried to make room for the soft, still voice of Yl’ Haliq. “Please. I’m supposed to rule Akram. I’m supposed to protect my kingdom. I can’t do that here.”
There was no reply, but Javan’s heart started beating faster. An awareness spread through him, tingling down his spine and gathering in his chest like joy and heartbreak and hope all twined together.
“Are you there?” he whispered. “Will you please send your faithful servant a sign? Let me know that I’m not alone. That this is part of your plan for my life.”
He fell silent, and in the quiet heard the soft rub of a boot against the stone corridor outside his room. His eyes flew open, and Sajda stood just outside his cell, a chunk of buttered bread and an apple in her hand. The iron bars creaked and groaned as it slowly rose into the ceiling while first bell began tolling.
“Who were you talking to?” She peered around his cell as if he might have someone hidden beneath his bed or behind his privy bucket.
“I was praying.” He pulled a tunic over his head, wincing as he pushed his injured arm through the sleeve. The pain was a dull throb today—much better than the sharp knife of agony he’d felt the day before. He decided the more he moved it, the better. He couldn’t afford to be too stiff to fight if any of the prisoners decided to come for him. “How much did you hear?”
There was a flash of compassion on her face, gone so fast he almost missed it. “Not much. Here’s your breakfast.”
“Tarek sent you, did he?”
“He was running behind this morning, so I came on my own.” She sounded grumpy.
; He got to his feet, brushed his hair away from his face, and accepted the apple. “Thank you. Does this make us friends?”
“Maybe.” She frowned at him.
“Your overwhelming enthusiasm is making me uncomfortable,” he said dryly.
She grinned, a quick flash of white teeth and sparkling eyes, and it was as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room.
She was beautiful. He’d known that, of course. He’d have to be an idiot to miss it. But it was usually an icy, dangerous kind of beauty that felt more like a warning than a welcome.
He wasn’t sure he was ready to see more welcome from her. Not when he was still staring at her face as if he’d never seen it before. Not when the casual words he’d been ready to say had turned to dust in his mouth.
This was ridiculous. He’d been living in close quarters with girls since he was seven. There had been a few who made his heart beat a little faster when they looked his way. He was used to appreciating a girl’s smile.
But this.
This was sunshine pouring through a crack in a sheet of ice.
This was starlight dazzling against a snowy hillside.
This was trouble.
And he didn’t need trouble. He needed her help. He needed her friendship. And then he needed to leave Maqbara, and everyone in it, behind.
Her smile disappeared, and she cocked her head to study him. “You look a little unsteady.”
She had no idea.
“I’m still recovering from the arena.”
She nodded. “Best way to recover is to move your muscles. You can get some practice in with the weapons while the others eat breakfast, and we’ll talk about which of the remaining competitors might make good allies. You can start figuring out the best approach to them during rec time tonight.”
“I can start on it sooner than that.”
She shook her head. “You have one hour of chore time and one hour of sparring practice. Besides meals, those are the only times you’ll be allowed out of your cell unless you’ve bribed the guards on your level. And you have nothing to bribe them with. Come on.”
He bit into his apple and followed her from his cell.
The arena was a mess. Seven human corpses were laid out in a neat row on the stone floor in the center of the ring. The ring itself was still damp, though the water had been drained after the aristocracy left. The ground was littered with scales, blood, and bones. The smell—a sharp briny scent with the cloying sweetness of decay beneath it—nearly caused Javan to lose his breakfast.
“That’s quite a stench,” he said as they joined Tarek at the stalls. He’d already fed half the remaining land beasts.
“Enough to make your eyes water,” Tarek agreed. “But it’ll be gone soon enough once the warden does her thing.”
Javan frowned. “Her thing?”
“Meat,” the warden’s voice said from behind them. Javan whirled to find her standing beside the human bodies.
She hadn’t been there a moment ago. Was her office that close? Or did she just move really fast? He scanned the arena but then movement caught his eye. Turning back to the warden, Javan’s stomach pitched as he watched her skin ripple. Her bones began expanding, her skin hardening. She disrobed quickly, even as her shoulders doubled in size and talons sprouted from her fingertips.
“What am I seeing?” Javan demanded, his voice shaking. “What is this?”
The warden’s skin darkened, small patterns becoming visible as she hunched over, smoke pouring from her nose. Javan’s pulse raced, and a slick sense of foreboding filled him.
“Shape-shifter,” Tarek answered, but Javan could already see it. Black leathery wings sprouted from her shoulder blades, and her skin became dull black scales with gray accents. The decay-scented air clogged in Javan’s throat as foreboding became truth.
She was a Draconi.
A gray dragon with an injured eye.
She was the creature who still haunted his nightmares.
Horror filled him, followed instantly by rage as she slowly tripled in size, her bones expanding, her muscles filling out until he was looking at the dragon who’d tried to kill him in Loch Talam.
He reached for his sword before remembering that he no longer had one. “Give me a weapon.”
Tarek sounded panicked. “Son, you don’t—”
“A weapon!” Javan turned to Tarek, his body flushed with the heat of his fury. This was the creature who’d started his nightmare. He’d taken her eye defending himself against her attack.
Now he wanted her life.
When Tarek didn’t move, Javan rushed past him to scour the stalls, hunting for anything he could use. The only thing he found was the metal pole that had been used to stabilize the chute from the previous day’s competition.
It would have to do.
He turned, and Sajda was there, blocking his way.
“Step aside.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her usually calm voice fraying.
“Killing a monster.”
“With a pole?”
“It’s all I could find. Step aside, Sajda. She deserves this.”
She slapped a hand on his chest, and something that felt like a thrill of prickling heat licked over his skin. “She deserves to be actually killed. Not irritated by a boy with a metal pole.”
“I already took her eye. I bet I can take something else she values before she turns on me.” Rage was a fever in his blood. A voice screaming that somehow she was the root of all of his problems. She’d been the first thing to go wrong. If he fixed that—if he took from her the life she’d tried to take from him—somehow it would turn everything around.
“What do you mean you took her eye?”
“She attacked me in her dragon form while I was at the academy in Loch Talam. I injured her eye while defending myself, and she flew south. I never thought I’d see her again, but here she is, and this time I’m taking more than her eye.”
Sajda wrapped her other hand around the pole and held it still even as he tried to pull it toward him. “You aren’t thinking clearly. She saw you compete yesterday. If she wanted you dead, she’d have killed you already. If you attack her, she’ll burn you alive, and then who will save Akram from the impostor?”
That got his attention. Looking away from the dragon, he met Sajda’s eyes and said, “I thought you didn’t believe me.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s what you believe.” Her voice was low and urgent and very un-Sajda-like. “Do you have a responsibility to the people of Akram?”
“Yes.” He ground the word out between clenched teeth.
“Then maybe you should stay alive long enough to fulfill it.”
He met her eyes for a long moment, his pulse beating rapidly, his muscles clenched and ready for battle before finally saying, “It’s annoying when you’re right.”
“You’ll get used to it.” She took the pole from his hands and slowly removed her hand from his chest. The strange, prickling heat left him as soon as she stopped touching him.
What was wrong with him? First he was knocked off his feet by a single genuine smile from her. Then he was feeling flushed just because she touched him. He needed to stop letting the girl who barely tolerated his presence distract him.
The dragon roared, and Javan stared in horror as she swept the line of bodies with fire. The smell of cooking flesh filled the air, and Javan gagged.
“You never get used to it,” Tarek said quietly from a few paces away.
“Why is she doing that?” Javan asked, his fists still clenched like he thought he could beat the dragon into submission.
“They’re meat,” Sajda said. “If I were you, I’d stick to eating bread and fruit for the next week.”
He gagged, caught himself, and then gagged again. When he could trust himself to speak, he glared at Sajda and said, “Is that what you meant when you said I was meat?”
“In my defense, I really did think you’d die i
n your first round.”
He walked away. Away from Sajda’s casual acceptance of the violence that surrounded them. Away from the warden as she moved down the line incinerating one body after another.
This was a brutish, barbaric place. Did his father know what went on down here? How could he allow debtors to be tossed into the combat ring with violent criminals? Where was the honor in that? Or was Fariq behind all of it, and the king was somehow kept ignorant?
Leaving the arena behind, he entered the corridor that ran beneath the eastern edge of level one. The unspent fury he’d felt for the warden still tumbled through him, a nervous, jagged kind of energy that made him want to ball up his fist and send it into the wall.
“You’re upset.” Sajda spoke beside him, and he nearly punched her as he jerked around in surprise.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“If you hit me, I’d hit you back, and we both know how well that turned out for you last time.” She sounded smug.
“I was trying not to hurt you.”
“Oh really? Does that mean you think if you were trying to hurt me, you’d actually beat me in a sparring match?” There was a challenge in her voice.
He matched it with one of his own. “Did you see me in the arena yesterday?”
She snorted. “Rescuing a stranger.”
“Killing the top predator.”
“Getting jumped by Hashim and his friends.”
“Gaining enough points in a single round to put myself above quite a few of the competitors.”
“You got lucky,” she said, and he rounded on her.
“Or maybe you got lucky when you landed that punch. Care to take another shot?”
Her fist plowed into his stomach before even saw her throw the punch. He doubled over wheezing, pain spiking as his injuries protested. “What the . . . you don’t just start a sparring match out of nowhere. You’re supposed to shake hands and—”
“There aren’t rules for sparring matches, Prince.”
The Traitor Prince Page 15
