He reached the landing for the ninth level and turned right, letting himself get caught in the flow of people making their way into the long galley kitchen with its double hearths, its wooden table the length of five full-grown men lying end to end, and this morning, its cooking staff.
Three people wearing aprons moved between huge cauldrons simmering on the hearths and the table that was already laden with bowls of a soupy-looking porridge, slices of flatbread, and dishes of crushed lentil paste. The fourth—a woman with a bun sliding halfway down her head and a scowl that seemed permanently etched onto her face—stood arms akimbo barking orders to the prisoners to take a bowl, a slice of bread, and a spoonful of paste and then get away from her hearths.
Javan caught her gaze and gave her a polite smile. Her scowl deepened.
Maybe he wouldn’t be allies with the cook after all.
The prince got into line behind a short older man with a limp. The man shot him a quick glance, and when Javan smiled, miracle of miracles, the man smiled back.
Making allies with a criminal wasn’t on Javan’s list of ways to get out of Maqbara, but it couldn’t hurt. Besides, seeing something other than anger or cold disdain on another person’s face loosened a bit of the ache in Javan’s chest.
“I’m Javan,” he said quietly.
“Tarek,” the man replied. “Don’t usually wait so long to get my breakfast, but this morning got away from me.” He picked up a bowl of porridge, handed it to Javan, and then grabbed one for himself.
“Thank you.” Javan braced himself as a group of prisoners rushed through the door and lunged for the food that remained on the table. “We should get out of the way.”
“I’m not staying. Work to do. Take care of yourself, Javan.” Tarek smiled once more and turned to go, but there was a large, muscled man with scarred flesh and flat, unfriendly eyes standing in his way.
“What are you doing here without your protector, old man?”
Someone jostled Javan as they went for a slice of bread, and the prince stepped closer to Tarek.
“Running behind, Hashim. Step aside, please.” Tarek’s voice was firm, but his bowl of porridge shook in his hands.
“Should’ve eaten already, old man.” Hashim moved closer, flanked by several other prisoners.
“Take it, Dabir,” Hashim said.
A tall man with small eyes and a beaked nose snatched the porridge out of Tarek’s hands and handed the bowl to Hashim.
“You really shouldn’t wander the prison without your guard dog. Anything could happen,” Hashim said.
Javan’s pulse kicked up, and his grip on his own porridge bowl tightened.
A woman on Hashim’s right lunged forward and shoved Tarek back into the table. Javan grabbed the older man’s arm and steadied him. The flame of anger within Javan fanned into a blaze as he glared at Hashim and his friends.
“Who are you?” Hashim demanded, his gaze flicking over Javan as if assessing an opponent before finally coming to rest on the prince’s face.
“Someone who isn’t going to allow you to shove this man around.” Javan kept his hand on Tarek’s arm, though all his focus was now on the threat in front of him.
Hashim laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound that sent Javan’s anger crashing through him, a lightning bolt of furious purpose.
He couldn’t afford to make enemies inside Maqbara, especially when he’d yet to figure out how the prison worked.
But he couldn’t afford to behave dishonorably either. Not if he intended to rule Akram with a pure heart.
“Don’t do this.” Tarek breathed the words beside Javan’s ear. “It’s just food.”
It wasn’t just food. It was someone with the upper hand using it to hurt a man who couldn’t defend himself.
It was a dragon lying in wait to kill a schoolboy. Assassins ready to finish the job. It was Uncle Fariq using Javan’s absence against him to take the throne. The impostor killing the headmaster because what he wanted mattered more to him than another person’s life.
It was wrong, and Javan was sick of people doing wrong.
“You’re new here, so I’m going to give you a second chance,” Hashim said, his eyes boring into Javan’s. “Tarek here gets special treatment from the warden because he’s the watchdog’s little pet. Makes him think he’s better than us, though he wouldn’t survive a single round with me in the arena. We can’t touch him when his guard dog is near, but she isn’t here now, is she?”
Javan frowned. “Guard dog?”
“I’m sure you met her when you got here. Tall, pale skin, black hair, looks like she’d like to kill you? You probably thought she was beautiful, and that you’d like a piece of that little ehira.”
“You’ll watch your mouth about Sajda.” Tarek pushed away from the table to move past Javan, who whipped his arm out to stop the shorter man from barreling straight into Hashim’s raised fists. “Do what you please to me, but you will not disrespect that girl in my presence.”
Hashim laughed cruelly. “How are you going to stop me? Kick my shins?”
Keeping his voice even, Javan said, “Give Tarek back his breakfast, apologize for saying such a filthy thing about Sajda, and we’ll all walk away and forget this happened.”
Hashim’s smile blinked out, and he turned the full weight of his gaze onto Javan. “You need to think really hard about your next words. I can make your stay in Maqbara pleasant, or I can make every day a living hell.”
Javan held the man’s eyes and said with painstaking precision, “Give Tarek his breakfast, apologize, and walk away.”
Hashim’s lips twisted. “I’m going to enjoy teaching you your place.”
The man’s fist shot toward Javan, but the prince was already moving. Lunging to the side, he shoved the bowl in Hashim’s hands against his scarred chest, sending a wave of piping-hot porridge sloshing out. Hashim shouted in pain, and the four prisoners who flanked him charged for Javan and Tarek.
Throwing his own bowl of porridge into the face of the man closest to him, Javan pushed Tarek behind him, planted his feet, and started swinging.
Pain exploded across his face as someone’s fist connected with his cheekbone, and he hissed as a boot slammed into his stomach, sending him crashing into Tarek and the table behind them. Javan snapped out a kick, sending a female prisoner spinning back into Hashim, but two men were instantly there to take her place.
Javan was surrounded. Back against a now empty table. No weapons except Tarek, who’d put up his fists and was daring anyone who thought they could call Sajda names to get what was coming to them.
“Let me through!” Hashim roared, and tossed aside his friends as he came at Javan.
“Enough!” A cold voice cut through the noise, and Hashim froze, his fists still raised.
Javan kept his fists up too, as did Tarek, but a ripple of silence spread throughout the kitchen until the only sound was the faint pop of the porridge still bubbling on the hearth and the ragged sound of prisoners trying to catch their breaths.