Sajda drew in a sharp breath and whispered. “You can still be free. You’ll find another way back into the palace. Someone else will recognize you and then you can—”
“Not my freedom,” Javan said in a loud, clear voice. “Hers.”
The crowd gasped, and the impostor’s eyes widened as Javan turned to Sajda. “For my victory boon, I ask for the cuffs to be removed from the warden’s slave and for her to be set free.”
FORTY-FOUR
SAJDA STARED AT Javan while his words rang in her ears and the crowd whistled and cheered their appreciation for the unexpected twist to the end of the tournament.
He could have asked for his freedom.
He’d asked for hers instead.
And now he stood before her, broken and bleeding, with steady resolve in his eyes, but grief written in every line of his body.
“Javan,” she said quietly, “you can’t. It’s more important that you get out. You can go to the other aristocrats. Convince them. You can—”
“If he agreed to give me my freedom, he’d either exile me or send assassins after me the moment I left Maqbara.”
“But you’re good at improvising. You could find a way to eventually take back your throne.” Her voice shook as the resolve in his eyes hardened.
“I’m not leaving you here, Sajda. I made you a promise. Now I’m keeping it.”
Tears gathered in the back of her throat, and she pulled him against her, his blood staining her shirt as he wrapped his arms around her and leaned his face against her hair.
“I love you,” he whispered, and her magic churned, scraping at her skin.
He’d just traded his life for hers. There were no words she could give him, no pretty promises that would ever match the depths of his sacrifice. Still, she had to try.
Pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, she said, “I don’t think I deserve this.”
His smile was gentle and full of pain. “You deserve the stars, Sajda.”
She shook her head and the tears spilled onto her cheeks. He leaned down and kissed her as the crowd cheered and screamed. The impostor called for the magistrate’s guards to unlock Sajda’s cuffs and remove her from the arena. The warden shouted a protest that was nearly drowned out by the wild applause of the aristocrats as one of the guards removed a cuff key from his pocket. And still Javan kissed her, his lips lingering on hers like he needed to memorize the way she felt in his arms.
She wanted to memorize it too. Capture the roughness of his lips and the heat of his skin and the beat of the heart he’d given so completely to her. She wanted to fight the guards and stay with Javan. Tear the impostor to pieces and the warden too and give Javan the life he deserved.
How could she accept his sacrifice when she’d made none of her own?
The guards pulled her away from him, and he raised an arm toward her, his expression carved out of unspeakable loss as she was taken to the center of the arena where the audience could fully appreciate the boon that had been granted.
“Think of me when you watch the stars, Sajda,” he said as the guard slid the key into her cuffs. Her magic buzzed, a swarm of hornets trapped in her veins.
She couldn’t accept this sacrifice without making one of her own.
Without showing Javan the words she’d been unable to say.
A hard, brilliant light sparked to life in her chest as her cuffs clattered to the arena floor.
“You don’t know what you’re doing!” the warden yelled, her voice furious.
Furious and fearful.
Slowly Sajda turned to look up at the warden’s platform. At the woman who’d bought her, abused her, and trapped the magic that was now blazing through her with wild abandon. The warden’s eyes met hers, and the woman took a small step back.
Sajda flexed her hands, marveling at the way her magic gathered in her palms without pain. Without scarring the flesh of her wrists.
“Sajda, no. Don’t reveal anything,” Javan said, as Sajda turned from the warden to pierce the false prince with her gaze. His eyes widened, and she smiled, fierce and vicious.
She was a star.
She was a galaxy.
She was the power of the universe barely contained, and this impostor had destroyed the boy she loved.
Letting every bit of strength she possessed coil around her limbs, she plowed her fists into the guards who surrounded her, sending them flying across the arena floor and crashing into the wall.
The crowd gasped and murmured uneasily, but she wasn’t listening.
Let them see her for who she really was. Let them tremble. And let them come for her. They wouldn’t reach her in time to save the one who’d hurt Javan.
“Sajda!” Javan reached for her, but she only had eyes for the traitor prince.
Power was an intoxicating light that scoured her from the inside—an impossible stream of energy that begged for release.
She was done holding back.
Sprinting across the arena floor, she crouched and then leaped for the royal box.
The jump was at least the length of six men lying end to end. She cleared the height easily. The false prince stumbled back, his hands up as if he could ward her off. As if he could stop what was coming.
No one could stop her.
She was a creature of strength and magic and nightmares, and he was her prey.
The guards who still remained on the platform lunged for her. She batted them away like they were nothing and snatched the false prince’s tunic.
“Please,” he said, his voice high and shaky. “I’ll give you anything you want. Coin. Land. The deaths of your enemies.”
“You’ll give me the truth,” she said, and smiled as he trembled.
Hauling him to the edge of the platform, she eyed the jump back into the arena. Javan stood below her, his fists clenched, his eyes wild as the crowd screamed that she was cursed. A dark elf. A nightmare.
Additional guards stationed at the magistrate’s office were pouring in through the door that led out of Maqbara.
Let them come. She would destroy them all.
“Please,” the impostor beside her begged, and she jumped, dragging him with her.
The ground rushed toward her feet, and she landed in a crouch. The boy landed hard beside her, his tunic still clutched in her hand, and something in his leg snapped.
He screamed. The crowd pushed and shoved toward the stairs, but every stairway, every opening was blocked with the incoming guards.
Above Sajda, the warden shifted into her dragon form and roared.
“Sajda, run. Run!” Javan said as the dragon left the platform, beating the air with her wings, smoke pouring from her nostrils.
“Watch him,” she said to Javan, gesturing toward the false prince, who was sprawled beside her moaning about his broken leg, and then she was moving.
Away from the impostor. Away from Javan, who would be safe from the dragon if he stayed beside the boy the warden had helped put on the throne. Toward the center of the arena where the midafternoon sunlight blazed through the skylights like golden fire.
The dragon circled, every beat of her wings sending a gust of wind to batter Sajda’s body as she stood in the haze of sunlight and raised her arms.
Her magic hummed, tangling with the rays of light and swallowing them whole.
It was blinding power churning through her veins to pool in her chest.
It was unbearable heat scouring her from within.
It was fire.
And she was its vessel.
The dragon dove for her, mouth gaping wide as flames gathered in the back of her throat.
“You wanted a monster?” Sajda yelled, her skin blazing with the need to release the sun-filled magic that churned within her. “Let me show you how monstrous I can be.”
Sajda took three running steps and jumped.
She collided with the dragon in midair, slammed her hands into the scales, and sent every drop of sunlight into the warden.
Fire exploded from her fingertips, wrapped around the dragon’s body in brilliant bands of red-gold light, and then sank beneath the scales and into the warden herself.
The dragon roared, a terrible cry of agony that echoed through the arena, and smoke began rising from her scales. Sajda let go, twisting as she fell so that she landed once more in a crouch on the arena floor.
The crowd shrieked in panic as the dragon spiraled, smoke pouring out of her, scales drifting into ash as she dropped toward the first level of seats. She struck a platform full of aristocrats in fancy clothing, and flames erupted from her body, dancing over her muscle and bone like rays of pure sunlight. The people pushed and shoved to get away from her as the fire brightened, a white-gold light impossible to look at, and then the dragon’s body collapsed into ash and drifted slowly off the platform to rain down onto the arena floor.
The magistrate’s guards hesitated at the gate that led into the arena, swords drawn. Sajda turned to face them as Javan said in his polished, aristocratic voice, “Stand down.”
The guards flicked him a quick glance, confusion and scorn on their faces, and he repeated, “I am Prince Javan Samad Najafai of the house of Kadar, esteemed prince of the Kingdom of the Sun and heir to Akram’s crown of fire, and I order you to stand down. No one who tries to harm this girl will live to see tomorrow.”
“I am the prince,” the impostor called, his voice full of pain and fury.
Sajda bared her teeth and stalked toward him. He dug his elbows into the floor and tried to scoot away from her. He didn’t get far before Javan planted a boot on his stomach and held him still.
“You’re going to give me the truth,” Sajda said in a loud, clear voice. “You’re going to give all of us the truth.” She turned to face the crowd who were huddled in groups, their terror-stricken eyes glued to her. “Would you like to hear a story?”
A few aristocrats had forced their way past the contingent of guards at the mouth of the arena and were trying to reach the door. Sajda raised her voice, “Anyone who leaves this room without Prince Javan’s permission will deal with me.”
The fleeing aristocrats froze, and Sajda swept the crowd with her gaze. No one moved.
“Once upon a time,” she said, “there was a prince born of a good king and queen. He was taught to be faithful to Yl’ Haliq, to his parents, and to his people. His mother died when he was young, and she made him promise to excel in school, to become the best at everything so that he could become the best ruler for his kingdom. For Akram.”
She glanced at Javan, and found warmth in his eyes as he watched her. Giving him a tiny smile, she turned back to the crowd.
“This prince was taken to the academy in Loch Talam for his education. He spent ten long years there, never returning home because he was committed to studying longer and working harder than anyone else so that he could honor his mother’s dying wish and meet his father’s expectations. So that he could return to Akram ready to rule you with justice and fairness when it came time for him to sit on the throne.”
She turned her gaze on the traitor prince, and he shivered beneath the fury in her glare. “But there was another boy. A boy who didn’t belong in the palace, though he wished he did. And he conspired against the prince. He knew the prince’s father hadn’t seen his son in ten years. He knew he looked enough like a Kadar to pass for Prince Javan if he could keep his facts straight. He sent a dragon and a team of assassins to kill the prince so he could take his place. But the prince didn’t die because, as you’ve all seen during this tournament, he is very skilled at surviving.”
A murmur swept the crowd.
“When the impostor realized the prince hadn’t died in Loch Talam, he ordered him to be executed. An old guard recognized the true prince and put him in Maqbara instead. And here he’s been, all this time. Competing and winning so that he could gain an audience with the king. With his father. So that he could claim his rightful place as your prince and help restore order and justice to Akram. And so when the impostor realized that Javan had won, and that all was about to be revealed, he killed the king so that he could order Prince Javan’s death and steal the throne once and for all.”
She crouched beside the false prince, magic stinging her palms. “Didn’t you?”
She dared the boy to lie. To give her a single excuse to swallow the sunlight and turn him into ash.
He gave her a defiant look. “You can’t prove any of that.”
He was right. Turning him to ash wouldn’t prove his words. It wouldn’t give Javan back what was rightfully his.
But swallowing the sunlight wasn’t the worst that she could do. She reached out and scraped a nail down the side of his arm. Blood welled, and she let it drip into her palm. Her magic sizzled against it, and she could already see his fears, laid out before her like a succulent meal of terror and darkness.
“Do you know what I am?” she asked quietly.
He stared at his blood in her palm and then slowly raised his eyes to hers.
“I’m a dark elf.” For once the words didn’t sink into her with the heavy weight of shame and fear. “I can take your blood and read your fears.” She leaned closer. “I can give you unspeakable nightmares. Nightmares that never end. Your mind will shatter. You will break. And yet your heart will keep beating. Your lungs will keep breathing. You’ll be trapped in an unending loop of your worst fears until you grow old and die.”
He trembled and looked beyond her toward Javan. “Please,” he whispered.
Sajda grabbed his chin with her free hand and wrenched his face toward hers. Her voice was loud and clear, echoing across the silent arena. “You don’t speak to him. You don’t even look at him, do you understand me? You took his father and his freedom, and now you are dealing with me. And you have three seconds to admit what you did before I give you exactly what you deserve. Did you impersonate Prince Javan and kill the king?”
Slowly, he nodded.
The crowd gasped.
Sajda wiped his blood on his tunic and stood to face Javan. “People of Akram, I give you the real Prince Javan.”
Javan held her gaze for a long moment and then turned to the crowd, his brown eyes glowing with steady calm. “There is much to do in the coming days. I will call an emergency meeting of the heads of every aristocratic family in Akram so that we can get to the bottom of who was involved in this deception and begin to put things right. And of course, we will move through the proper, lawful channels for my coronation. But not before we hold a royal funeral for the king.”
He drew in a shaky breath and glanced once at his father’s body, lying peaceful and still several lengths away. “As acting king, I declare that Sajda is under the crown’s protection. Any harm that comes to her will be considered an act of treason and will be punished accordingly.”
Warmth that had nothing to do with the sunlight flooded her, and her lips quirked in a tiny smile as he continued.
“I further declare that this boy is a traitor to the crown and will be held in Maqbara until his trial. The magistrate will appoint a temporary warden until a permanent replacement can be found. I will remove the stain of dishonor on Akram’s crown and make our fair kingdom a place of justice and peace for all people.” He glanced above the platforms to the cells that lined the stone honeycomb above them. “For all people.”
The applause began in scattered fits and starts, but then the crowd came to its feet and clapped, cheering for this unexpected ending. For the prince they’d never known was missing.
Javan pulled Sajda into his arms, and she was surprised to realize that he was trembling.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “You scared me half to death.”
“You scared me more.”
“I can’t believe you revealed yourself to them. You sacrificed yourself for me.” His hands tightened, fisting in the back of her shirt.
“You sacrificed yourself for me first.”
He pulled back to give her a look, and she raised a brow
.
He smiled. “This isn’t a competition.”
“Of course not.” She grinned, and then he was kissing her, and it was warmer than the sun’s fire and purer than the starlight.
It was air in her lungs and fire in her heart.
It was magic.
FORTY-FIVE
IT HAD BEEN two weeks since Sajda had killed the warden, extracted a confession from the boy who’d taken Javan’s place, and entered the palace with the true prince. Two weeks of fragrant baths and delicious food. Of silk dresses and maids anxious to comb her hair or fetch her anything she might want.
Two weeks, and she felt like she was coming apart at the seams.
Every eye that watched her, every hand that served her, every whisper that died when she walked into a room were a thousand tiny knives scraping at her until even the calm she borrowed from the palace’s stone floors couldn’t help.
Magic prickled and hummed in her blood, a painful itch that grew worse as she huddled in her soft bed at night, eyes wide open as she stared at the walls.
The air inside the palace didn’t stink of beasts and burned porridge, but the tang of Makan Almalik’s dust still rested bitterly on the back of her tongue. The people who served her smiled and thanked her for saving their prince, but she wondered how many had lit an effigy of a dark elf and cursed her kind with the same mouth that praised her now.
Tossing her bedcover aside, Sajda dressed quickly and then moved to the balcony outside her bedroom that overlooked a tiled courtyard and a grove of lemon trees. Pushing the door open, she leaned against the carved wood railing and looked up at the vast expanse of the night sky.
The stars were shards of burning glass bathing the ground in silver and white. Reaching one hand toward them, she let her fingers tangle in the starlight. Let her magic curl around it, cold and pure, and welcome it inside her.
There was freedom in the starlight. In the distant beauty that couldn’t be captured or contained. There was peace where no eyes could watch her and no voices could whisper. Where there were no cages, be they gilt-painted or carved from stone.
The Traitor Prince Page 31
