Maybe she was superbly confident in Hashim and his friends.
It didn’t matter. He had a strategy in place. He’d been praying all morning that it would work.
“Who’s next?” Intizara demanded, her eyes darting toward the bottom of the stairs. “What’s to stop the warden from using Hashim to kill anyone she pleases?”
“The whole prison is in an uproar,” Kali said. “She’s interfering with the rules of the tournament. None of us are safe.”
“None of you were safe to begin with,” Sajda grumbled. Kali and Intizara fell silent, giving each other uneasy looks.
“Don’t mind her,” Javan said. “She can’t help being overly optimistic about those she likes.”
“I don’t like them,” Sajda said as they reached the arena floor, where the small group of competitors was standing by the gate closest to the stalls.
Javan gave her the look he usually reserved for the moments when he wanted to goad her into sparring with him, and she sighed. “Fine. I like them a little. But only because they haven’t tried to kill you.”
They arrived at the arena to see Tarek put the final weapon in place and cover it with a black cloth. Once again, weapons were hidden so that each competitor had to gamble on where their favorites might lie.
Javan, Kali, and Intizara weren’t gambling. He knew exactly where each weapon was located. Before Maqbara, he would have felt dishonorable for having an advantage over the other competitors. Now, as he faced the remaining twenty-three combatants, many who were allied with Hashim and favored by the warden, he was grateful for any competitive edge he could find.
Tarek left the arena, grabbed a small satchel that hung on a hook beside the first stall, and moved to Javan’s group. Handing the satchel to Javan, he said, “Eat. You need your wits about you today, son.”
Javan’s stomach growled as he opened the bag and found an apple, a thick crust of bread with lentil spread, and three sugar dates. “Where did you find sugar dates?” he asked, his mouth watering. The last time he’d had these, he’d been walking through the outdoor market in Makan Almalik with his mother firmly holding his hand, her bright voice exclaiming over every pretty sash, jeweled headdress, and confectionery item she saw.
Grief slashed at him, a deep throb of pain that stole his breath for a moment. He kept his eyes on the food in front of him and waited for the ache to settle as Tarek said, “Did a favor for the cook. Figured you could use a treat after all you’ve been through.”
“Thank you.” He turned away from the others, took a bite of the apple, and sent a swift prayer to Yl’ Haliq that the hurt would subside so he could concentrate. Missing his mother had been part of the fabric of his life for years. It seemed unfair that the loss could still sneak up on him without warning. Especially when thinking of her absence made the injustice of being thrown in prison instead of welcomed home by his father feel like the scab on a wound he just couldn’t seem to leave alone.
“Are you all right?” Sajda was at his side, her voice quiet.
Was he all right? He was a prince trapped in a prison about to face terrifying creatures and lethal competitors for the amusement of the people he’d once belonged to; and if he survived, he was still going to be hunted by his enemies.
He picked up a sugar date, its sticky-sweet coating covering his fingertips.
“My mother used to give me these as treats when we’d go on outings together. I still miss her.”
She was silent, and he was suddenly, excruciatingly aware that her mother hadn’t taken her on outings for sugar dates and fancy sashes. Her mother had put her on an auction block and walked away.
He turned to her and offered the sugar date. “I’m sorry. My words were careless.”
She had her stone-cold exterior firmly in place, but her voice was kind as she said, “You don’t have to hesitate to share things with me. I’m glad your mother was good to you. Now hurry up and eat because your stomach needs to settle before you compete. I’m going to check on the beasts. You remember how to kill them? We’ve got everything you need with your weapons. You can’t make a single mistake today.”
“I remember.”
“Don’t die.”
“I won’t,” he said and prayed he could keep his promise.
He finished his meal and joined Kali and Intizara to go over their strategy—form a loose triangle at the edge of the arena, one to kill a creature, two to fend off other prisoners. They’d take turns on kills unless they were inundated by the monsters Sajda was releasing.
The list of monsters and their point values went up on the wall opposite the stalls as the audience arrived in a cloud of bright sashes, jeweled hands, and the scent of cinnamon, peppermint, and fresh air.
Javan paced, swinging his arms, and forcing himself to breathe evenly as the nervous, precompetition energy tumbled through him.
Fear out.
Courage in.
He glanced at the list of monsters and his chest tightened. He was going to need every last bit of courage he possessed.
CLAWFOOT BEETLE—10 POINTS
TWO-HEADED SERPENT—15 POINTS
GARMR—25 POINTS
REILIGARDA—50 POINTS
ROC—100 POINTS
The beetles were a nuisance. A distraction, but they were no bigger than his foot, and though their claws could pierce leather and flesh, they could be crushed, kicked, or stabbed with minimal effort. The serpents had a head at each end, which meant you had to cut off both heads in order to kill them. They were more dangerous than the beetles, but they constricted their prey, which meant he could survive a bite if he was distracted fighting another monster when a serpent attacked.
He’d heard of a garmr before, but he’d never seen one until Sajda had sneaked him into the stalls two mornings before while the warden had been out on business. Huge black doglike creatures with shaggy hair, red eyes, and foam around their muzzles were a danger he couldn’t ignore. There were five of them, and they attacked as a pack. It was crucial that he, Kali, and Intizara didn’t get separated.
Which was going to be easier said than done because the reiligarda were a horror he’d only read about in his mythology class during seventh year. He still didn’t know what the creatures looked like because they’d arrived in iron coffins filled with dirt taken from the graves they’d guarded on Llorenyae; and until they were disturbed, they would sleep. According to the stories, they looked like black skeletons with decaying strips of black grave clothes hanging off their bony frames.
The stories also said the reiligarda were relentless in their pursuit of those who wore the dirt of the grave that had been disturbed. The warden had of course ordered Sajda to smear grave dirt on each competitor in full view of the audience so that no one could claim someone else’s favorite got special treatment.
That left the most threatening of the day’s creatures: the roc. The enormous bird of prey was strong enough to carry an elephant in its talons. It would attack from above—there was already a huge net erected around the arena to keep the roc from going after the audience or from escaping. It was rolled up and tied off with ropes, but at the warden’s signal, the guards would pull the ropes and trap the roc with the prisoners. Javan felt sick at the thought of destroying such a fierce and noble creature for the sake of this bloodthirsty game. There was no honor in it. No honor in killing anything that was joining him in the arena today, but he didn’t have a choice. It was kill or be killed, and Javan desperately wanted to live long enough to save his father from the impostor. Long enough to save himself from Maqbara and take Sajda and Tarek with him.
“I’ll take care of the roc first,” Javan said to Kali and Intizara as the last of the crowd filed in, heading to either the betting table or their seats. “We can’t risk being attacked from above while we’re busy watching for Hashim’s crew or the ground monsters.”
And it would give him a badly needed one hundred points. It wouldn’t quite be enough to put him in range of victory. He’d h
ave to kill quite a few other beasts, both this round and the next, but it would help.
Quickly he whispered a prayer to Yl’ Haliq to forgive him for the blood he was about to spill.
“I trust our weapons are in place?” Intizara asked softly as guards ordered the prisoners to move to the arena’s wall and Tarek left to help Sajda, Batula, and the guards move the monsters into place, ready for release through the same gate the competitors were about to go through.
“In a triangle. Western edge of the arena. You’re the fastest, Intizara. Get there first and claim all three if you have to. We’ll be right behind you,” Javan said.
The warden stepped to the edge of the platform and raised her arms. Heat boiled through Javan’s veins as he glared at her.
She’d tried to kill him twice now. He was certain that if he hadn’t made such an impression on the crowd during his first round of combat, if there hadn’t been rumors and speculation that might damage Fariq’s bid for power, she’d have killed Javan that very night. Instead, she’d had to look for ways to kill him that could be easily explained to the aristocrats who were desperately curious about the skilled fighter who looked like a royal. She’d aligned herself with the dishonorable impostor who was bent on stealing Akram for his own ends. And she’d hurt Sajda deeply.
She was going to die. Once he had the power of the throne behind him, he’d see to it personally.
Now she spoke, her gravelly voice filling the arena. “Welcome to the fourth round of this year’s tournament. Betting is now closed. We are down to twenty-three worthy competitors.”
She paused and the weight of her gaze landed on Javan and then slowly moved to Sajda. Javan’s mouth went dry at the vicious malice in her eyes. She knew her slave was helping her prey, and Sajda was about to pay for her choice.
He started moving toward Sajda, looking frantically for a weapon that hadn’t already been placed in the arena, as the warden said, “But today I have two surprises for you. A bonus treat, if you will. First of all, only the top three point earners in the competition will advance to the final round.”
Murmurs swept the audience at this unexpected change in the tournament’s rules, and a band of pressure wrapped around Javan’s chest. The warden was hedging her bets in case Hashim and friends failed to kill Javan. He was nowhere near the top three point earners. To stay in the competition, he’d have to rack up significant kills this round, or all this would have been for nothing. He’d spend the next round locked in his cell like the rest of the prisoners who weren’t competing, and his father would die as soon as he abdicated the throne to the impostor.
The warden continued, “Second, today we will have a new competitor for your enjoyment. Aren’t surprises fun?”
She was going to put Sajda in the arena. Javan’s heart slammed against his chest, and fear was a fire burning through his blood.
Sajda was powerful. Stronger and faster than anyone else entering the arena. The warden had to know that. Which meant she had a way to hurt Sajda and turn her into easy prey.
He reached Sajda’s side as Tarek was saying, “Don’t hold back, little one. Not this time. You fight with everything you’ve got. Let them see that you’re a warrior to rival any of the prisoners.”
Tarek didn’t know the truth, then. Javan met Sajda’s gaze and saw the tremors beneath the sheath of ice she was desperately trying to hide behind. If Sajda unleashed her true power in the arena, she might defeat the monsters, but she’d have revealed herself as something more than human to a crowd who believed, as he had once, that the only good elf was a dead elf.
She couldn’t save herself from the warden, the guards, the prisoners, and the crowd who would be screaming for her blood. He couldn’t save her from them either, which meant they had to work together to keep her alive without revealing who she really was.
“You can join Kali, Intizara, and me. Western edge, the triangle. Grab a weapon on your way to us. Don’t be afraid to move fast enough to get your weapon of choice. No one will remember that once the monsters enter the arena.” He grabbed her hand, her skin icy against the fire that seemed to be burning him from the inside out.
It was one thing to face his own mortality. It was another thing entirely to consider that the girl he loved might die for the crime of protecting him. The thought cut a vicious path through his mind, all teeth and talons and fear, and he had to work to keep the panic from showing on his face.
She opened her mouth to say something, and then the warden’s voice filled the arena as she said, “Our new competitor may not seem like much, but I promise you he will bring a fascinating twist to today’s combat.”
He?
Javan met Sajda’s suddenly panic-stricken gaze as the warden swept an arm toward the stalls and said, “I give you today’s surprise competitor, Tarek B’halim!”
THIRTY-FIVE
“NO!” THE WORD was ripped from Sajda’s lips before she could stop herself.
The warden smiled, and Sajda trembled. This was her punishment for saving Javan. She was going to lose Tarek, the closest thing to family she had since Maeli, the woman who’d shown her nothing but kindness and decency in the six years the woman had spent in Maqbara, had died in the arena two years before.
“I’m going in with you,” she said to Tarek, as the older man lifted one trembling arthritic hand toward her.
“She’ll kill you.”
“She can try.” Sajda shook, every ounce of the composure she’d borrowed from the stone that morning dissipating like it had never existed. “But you aren’t entering the arena without me.”
“He’ll enter with me.” Javan wrapped a hand around Tarek’s shoulder as the guards shouted for him to return to the wall. “We’ll put him in the center of the triangle.”
“But something could still get to him.” Magic screamed through her blood, raking her skin from the inside, begging to be unleashed. Her cuffs glowed, her skin burning beneath the power of the runes.
“Nothing will get to him.” Javan stepped close to her, close enough that she could see his pulse thrumming rapidly in his neck. See the quick rise and fall of his chest.
He was afraid.
So was she.
“Open the gate!” the warden called.
“I swear on my life, I will return him to you,” Javan said quietly. “The only way you can defy the warden and enter the arena is by showing everyone who you really are. They’ll turn on you in a heartbeat. Don’t reveal anything to this crowd, Sajda. I’ll protect him.”
And then they were gone, Javan spinning Tarek toward the arena and rushing in behind the other competitors who were already grabbing the black cloths that covered the weapons and cursing if they hadn’t found the one they’d hoped to use.
She watched, every muscle straining to run after them, stand in front of them, and destroy everything that came through the gate.
But Intizara reached the triangle of weapons first, followed quickly by Kali, and neither of them allowed another competitor to get to the weapons Sajda had hidden specifically for Javan.
The prince pulled Tarek across the arena to the deafening cheers of the audience, many who were on their feet, casting quick glances toward the warden in case she was the one in charge of recording who’d attended and how thoroughly they’d participated.
Sajda wanted to hurt them. Slice into their veins, let their blood pool in her palm, and whisper terrifying nightmares to them until they understood what it was to be afraid. To be certain that survival was impossible. Maybe she’d even take bets on how long they would last before their minds broke and they were lost.
“Is this the first crate?” a guard asked her, and she whipped her head around to glare at him.
He froze, and then glanced at her wrists. She followed his gaze to find that the runes were still glowing, her skin sizzling and scarring beneath them.
A quick look at the arena showed Tarek in the center of the triangle of Kali, Intizara, and Javan. Javan had the quiver strapped
to his back, the short swords looped into his belt, and the bow in his hands. His expression was deadly calm as he faced the gate.
She knew him. He would protect Tarek or die trying. He’d give everything he had to keep his word, even if it meant he’d lose his chance at the final competition.
Her body shook until it felt like her bones were rattling beneath her skin, until the fraying thread that held her together inside felt seconds away from snapping.
She had to trust him.
She did trust him.
The realization did nothing to make her feel better.
The crowd was chanting now. “Release the beasts! Release the beasts!”
Sajda swept them with a glare. The beasts had already been released, and the crowd was sitting in comfortable chairs sipping dainty drinks and screaming for the blood of those who had no power to refuse their demands.
Still, she had a job to do if she didn’t want the warden to decide to come after Tarek herself.
“Ready for the first crate?” the guard asked.
“Not yet,” she snapped. Grabbing a dagger and the pouch of grave dirt Hansel had given her, she stepped into the arena, magic snapping, runes burning.
“We have some special monsters for you today as well,” the warden boomed. “And to make the combat effective, our competitors have to be prepped.”
Sajda moved quickly from prisoner to prisoner. A quick slash of the dagger across their arms. A handful of grave dirt smeared across their chests. She ignored the crowd. Ignored the muttered curses of the prisoners until Hashim whispered that Tarek was his. Then her hand lingered on his chest, full of grave dirt and magic, as she imagined sending her power into his veins to tear through his bones and boil his blood.
The buzzing swarm of magic in her palms bit into Hashim, and he stumbled back, cursing, his eyes widening as he stared at the burn on his chest in the shape of her palm. She bared her teeth at him and moved on.
She was fury and fear and magic held at bay by her cuffs. Every breath she took was tinged with desperation. Every step she took unraveled her a little faster.
The Traitor Prince Page 24
