The stone skin Sajda wore over her heart shuddered once at the thought of Javan dying in a stream of dragon fire, and then she rose to her feet, glaring at the door while she waited for the warden and the impostor to leave.
The moment the corridor was empty, she raced down its length and hurtled into the first stairway as the chain and pulley system shuddered into life.
If she didn’t get there in time, Javan would be locked in his cell, and she wouldn’t be able to get him out before the warden arrived.
She took the stairs three at once, bursting onto the next level and then sprinting up again. The iron bars rattled as they began descending from the ceiling.
Why had she put him on the fifteenth level?
Her breath sobbed in and out of her lungs, as she passed level three. Level four. Crashed into someone on level five’s stairwell and never looked back.
Six.
The bars were a third of the way down now.
She reached for her magic. Let it coil around her muscles and give her power.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
The bars were halfway down. It didn’t matter if anyone saw her run with inhuman speed. It didn’t matter if she was revealed to be a dark elf.
All that mattered was that Javan, the boy who made her laugh and think and feel, survived.
Slamming her hands into the walls on either side of the stairs that led from level ten to eleven, she sent her magic shuddering into the wall and felt it give. Digging her hands into the stone, she created a new handhold on each side and flung herself to the top of the stairs in one leap.
Two thirds of the way up.
Twelve.
Thirteen.
Another handhold. Another leap.
She was almost there, but the bars were slowing. How much space would he need to get out? Was it already too late?
One more giant leap and she skidded onto level fifteen and bounced off the wall as she turned toward Javan’s cell.
“Javan!” Her voice echoed throughout the upper levels of the prison, but she didn’t care.
She ran, feet skimming the stone, as the door creaked toward its final stop.
He met her at the door as she flung herself between the bars and the floor, grabbed the iron railing, and locked her arms, refusing to let it fall.
The metal screeched, and she sobbed out a little prayer that she could hold it long enough. The iron bit into her skin, pain screaming up her arms.
“What are you doing?” There was a wild light of fear on his face. “You’re going to be crushed. Move!”
He grabbed the bars and pulled, muscles straining as the door struggled to complete its journey.
“She’s coming to kill you. Burn you alive. Slide under. Hurry!”
He kept his arms on the bars as he lay down on the floor beside her. “You slide out first. Then me.”
“No. I can hold this.”
“Sajda—”
She locked her eyes on his. “Trust me. I’m stronger than you can possibly imagine. Get out now before she arrives and takes your choice away.”
There was a wealth of unsaid things in his expression, but he simply scooted down, keeping his hands on the bars to help with the weight, and then slid under. The second he was clear, she started to follow, and the door dropped a handspan.
“No!” he shouted, and lunged for the rail above her. Wrapping both arms around it, he pulled upward with all his might as she slowly wiggled free, trying to leverage as much pressure against the railing as she could while still getting clear of it.
“Clear,” she said, and they let go.
The door slammed into the stone floor with a jarring thud, and from a distance, they heard the shush of leathery wings beating the air.
“She’s coming,” Sajda said, wrapping her hand around Javan’s. “The closet. Quickly!”
They ran for the far end of the corridor. For the abandoned supply closet with its broken door. Sajda pulled the door open, practically shoved Javan inside, and then softly closed the door behind them. Seconds later, the dragon cleared the level, hovered in front of Javan’s cell, and sent a steady stream of fire where moments ago, the prince of Akram had been standing.
“She might find us in here,” Javan breathed.
Sajda’s mind raced, skipping through her options and discarding them one by one until she found the only possible solution. “We aren’t staying in here. It will take her some time to realize you weren’t lying on your bed when she incinerated your cell. When she does, she’ll track you by scent. Your scent might be all over the prison, but the strongest scent trail will be from where you’ve most recently been.”
His face blanched, and she peeked out of the crack in the door to see the dragon still hovering just outside Javan’s cell, watching the whole thing burn.
“If she tracks by scent, there’s nowhere for me to run. You have to get away from me.” Javan’s voice was a desperate whisper. “Are you listening to me? Sajda!”
She pulled back from the door and met his gaze. “You already know I’m not leaving you. I’m going to take you down to the stalls. I have a hiding place there, and it will be very difficult for her to track your scent when it’s mixed in with all the beasts we’re housing. It’s your best chance. Now let’s go.”
FORTY-TWO
THE CROWD WAS already chanting Javan’s name when he slowly made his way out of the tunnel Sajda had spent years carving into the bedrock behind one of the stalls. She’d led him there the moment the warden was gone, creeping past the ruins of his cell by the light of the full moon. His bed was a charred, twisted lump. The rest of his cell’s sparse contents were piles of ash on the stone floor, but it was the bed that held his attention.
He could have been lying on it, oblivious to the death that was heading his way. He already owed so much to Sajda, and now he owed her his life.
He’d stayed in the tunnel all night while Sajda smeared sheep’s guts over the opening and the stall itself to throw the warden off his scent once the sun rose and she saw that the prince hadn’t been caught in the inferno. He wasn’t sure how long the warden searched for him, or what excuse, if any, she’d made to the other prisoners for trying to burn him alive. His world had narrowed down to the cool darkness of Sajda’s little cave until she’d pushed the trough away from the opening and called for him to head to the arena.
The audience of aristocrats would make it nearly impossible for the warden to justify another attempt on Javan’s life during the competition. At least that was his hope.
He left the stalls and walked to the arena, the parchment with a note to his father folded up inside his red sash and tied to his chest with a thin strip he’d torn from the edge of his sheet. He was thankful he’d decided to wear the sash at all times or it would’ve gone up in flames and, with it, the proof of who he was.
His stomach knotted, and his heart felt like it was hammering against his throat.
Today he’d finally see his father again.
Today he’d either become a prince again or die trying.
He reached the gate and stood a little ways from Hashim, who was already there, his fist raised in the air as his supporters screamed for him. Iram, the third competitor, joined Javan, and they surveyed the arena in silence.
The warden’s platform was still empty. The weapons were secured beneath black cloths again, but it hardly mattered. Hashim knew where every weapon was located. So did Javan. And thanks to Sajda, he’d had enough warning about Hashim’s treachery to form an alternate plan.
That plan included silencing Hashim.
Permanently.
The sacred texts were clear about the taking of an innocent life, but Hashim wasn’t innocent. He’d tried to kill Javan, and he’d sent his minions to do the same in the last competition. There was every likelihood that he’d try again, especially because they each had over five hundred points now, so the deduction for killing another competitor would be more than balanc
ed by receiving that prisoner’s points. Javan could kill him in self-defense.
But he wouldn’t.
Hashim had threatened Sajda with exposure. He’d whipped her with a chain. There was no possible way Javan was leaving Sajda behind in the prison if Hashim was still alive.
“We should fight back-to-back,” he said quietly to Iram.
The young man looked at him in surprise.
“The beasts we’ll be facing are lethal. If we don’t have to watch our backs, we have a better chance of surviving,” Javan said.
“Some of us aren’t just trying to survive.” Hashim turned to meet Javan’s eyes. “Some of us are fighting to win.”
Javan held Hashim’s gaze and let every spark of righteous fury he felt show on his face. “I wasn’t offering to fight with you.” He stepped closer. “In fact, if I were you, I’d run from me. The monsters coming into the arena will kill indiscriminately. But me? I’m coming for you, Hashim. And I won’t miss.”
Hashim drew back, fear flashing in his eyes before anger washed it away. “Not if I kill you first.”
Javan turned to Iram. “You like the spiked whip and the long sword, don’t you?”
Iram nodded slowly, his eyes darting between Hashim and Javan.
Javan smiled grimly. “He isn’t your ally, Iram. You’re just another body standing between him and victory. Now listen. The whip is on the floor in the northeast corner. The sword is hanging on the wall directly beneath the warden’s platform.”
Iram’s gaze widened as he peered around Hashim to check the position of the black cloths that hid his weapons of choice. “Why would you tell me that?”
“Because you and I aren’t enemies. We can fight back-to-back. It gives us one less foe to worry about.”
“And if I refuse?”
Javan shrugged. “Then you’ll at least know where your weapons are and hopefully you’ll get out of this alive.”
He glanced at the stalls, where Sajda was calling orders to the guards as they positioned the competition’s monsters for entry into the arena. The pale skin of her arms was burned red where the chains had held her, and a deep welt rose over her heart, courtesy of Hashim. She’d assured Javan that it would fade. That it was nothing. She was used to the pain of her cuffs, but he didn’t care.
Hashim had imprisoned her. Threatened her. Hurt her.
He was going to pay dearly for that.
A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd, briefly silencing the cheering. Javan looked up as a trio of royal guards stepped through the door on the far wall. The air suddenly felt thick, time moving in slow motion as the guards walked forward and Javan caught his first glimpse of the royal family.
Of his father.
He was different from the man in Javan’s memory. His shoulders stooped a bit, his black hair had gray at the temples and throughout his beard, and there was a shakiness to his movements. His piercing gaze had dimmed into something faraway and confused, but though he was different, he was achingly familiar. The same quiet kindness in his eyes when he looked at the boy he thought was his son. The same raised chin and calm expression that demanded perfection from those around him even as he strove to deliver it himself.
He hadn’t delivered it.
He was walking into a pit of corruption, violence, and injustice, and by sitting in the royal box, he was sanctioning it all. Did he know that? Or was the confusion on his face a symptom of a once-great mind that no longer understood his present circumstances?
Javan’s heart ached as he watched the king. He wanted to run to his father. To speak to him and hear him call Javan by his name. Whatever his father had become, he was still the gravity that had held Javan to his duty for ten long years. His respect, his regard, was what Javan had been working so hard to earn.
Javan clenched his fists and held himself still as the impostor took the king’s arm, purple sash flowing, face alight with fierce pride.
Hashim wasn’t the only person Javan needed to silence today.
Another trio of royal guards followed the pair as they slowly made their way to the closest staircase and up to the first level. Javan frowned. Uncle Fariq hadn’t come. Javan didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Without his uncle’s influence, it might be easier to convince his father that he was the true prince. But he’d also wanted to confront his uncle’s betrayal in front of all of Akram.
The warden stepped to her platform as the king and the impostor took their seats above Javan’s head. He craned his neck, but he wouldn’t be able to see into the box until he was in the arena, and at that point, he couldn’t afford his focus to be split between his father and the monsters who were coming to kill him.
The crowd fell silent as the warden raised her arms. For a split second, she locked eyes with Javan, and he shivered at the fury on her face. Turning away, he met Sajda’s gaze, his heart thudding in strange, jarring beats.
He might die.
He might win.
Either way, he might not see her again for a very long time.
He tried to put everything she meant to him in his expression. Her eyes darkened, and she pressed one pale hand to her heart, and then she lifted her chin, jerked it toward the arena, and gave him a look that was pure challenge.
She wanted him to win. To gain an audience with the king, be restored to the throne, and leave Maqbara. Even though it meant leaving her behind.
“Competitors, enter the arena!” the warden called.
Hashim was first through the gate, and he went immediately for the short swords lying in the center of the arena. Javan sprinted past him as Iram went for the whip and then the long sword. The prince had just put his hands on the bow and arrow when the warden yelled, “Bring in the beasts!”
Slinging the quiver onto his back, he hooked the bowstring over one arm and raced for the battle-axes. With only one sharp edge, they weren’t as good as the swords, and they were certainly heavier, but they were better than fighting with his hands.
The crowd was seething with anticipation. The monsters for the final round were a mystery. The scoreboard was shrouded with a black cloth, and the crowd would get the excitement of seeing each creature as the warden announced it.
Javan whirled toward the gate in time to see a guard yank on the rope that held the netting above the arena. The crowd clapped wildly as the netting fell. The prince risked a quick glance at the royal platform and found the impostor glaring at him with naked hatred.
The king was sitting quietly, a frown on his face. He wasn’t looking at the arena.
The crowd erupted into cheers as Sajda and another guard ducked under the netting with a cage the size of a barrel of mead balanced between them.
“Our first creatures are vampire bats that can smell blood from three leagues away. They attack in swarms and drink the blood of their prey until the prey is dry.” The warden sounded cheerful at the prospect. “Each kill is worth ten points.”
Sajda lifted the latch on the cage door, and the bats flooded the arena, leathery wings beating the air, fangs gleaming as they circled, searching for blood.
Javan was going to give them what they wanted. Whipping an arrow into his bow, he sent it straight for Hashim.
It buried itself in Hashim’s shoulder, and he went down on one knee. The crowd surged to their feet in a frenzy as Hashim pulled the arrow free and threw it to the ground, but Javan couldn’t hear them. His world was the thunder of his heart, the weight of his weapons, and the horrifying beasts being led to the gate by Sajda.
The bats shrieked and dove, a spiraling swarm of black bodies and white teeth. Hashim screamed as they landed on him, tearing at his bleeding wound with their fangs. Javan focused on the gate as Iram moved to stand beside him.
“Sa’ Loham, what is that?” Iram breathed, his hands clutching his weapons with desperate strength.
The warden’s voice echoed over the sound of bats. “Our next pair of beasts are the legendary rencapal! Each kill will be worth fifty
points.”
The two enormous horselike creatures Sajda was leading into the arena were nearly twice as broad as an Akramian racing stallion. Their coats looked to be made of shadows that shifted and twisted independently of the creatures’ movements; their eyes glowed black; and their hooves and teeth were iron.
“Demon steeds from the mountains north of Loch Talam,” Javan said quietly, another arrow already at his bow. “Don’t let either of them get close. They can trample us in seconds.”
He sent an arrow into the chest of the rencapal on the left. It screamed in furious pain and charged.
Whipping another arrow into the bow, he shot again.
The beast kept coming.
Yl’ Haliq be merciful, what did it take to kill this thing?
The second rencapal took its cue from the first and charged as well.
“The whip!” Javan yelled as he nocked another arrow.
Iram slashed at the incoming beasts, his iron-studded whip cracking through the air. One rencapal shied. The one with the arrows sticking out of its chest kept coming.
It was twenty paces away.
Javan sent another arrow, this time into its neck, and its nostrils flared as it bore down on him, black eyes glowing with rage.
All he’d managed to do was anger it.
Tossing the bow to the ground, he grabbed the battle-axes and readied himself. When the steed was five paces out, he dove to the side, slashing at the tendons on the creature’s massive forelegs as he went.
The rencapal crashed to its knees. Leaping on its back, Javan quickly sliced the artery in its neck. Blood gushed, and the beast slowly toppled.
Javan leaped clear, and it was only after he heard the rush of leathery wings that he realized his hands were covered with the creature’s blood. Iram’s long sword swooped past Javan’s head, and the bodies of five bats went skimming across the arena floor.
Javan whirled, looking for the other rencapal, and saw Hashim on his feet, bleeding profusely from his shoulder, the ground around him littered with the bodies of the rest of the vampire bats. The other steed was slowly backing away from the snap of Iram’s whip as the warden yelled, “Turn loose the were-jaguars! Fifty points a kill.”
The Traitor Prince Page 29
