Javan glanced at Sajda as she stalked to Tarek’s side, her expression promising pain to everyone in her path. Maybe it was the light from the lanterns hanging from the walls inside the kitchen, but her alabaster skin seemed to glow like she had a sheath of light trapped within.
“Are you hurt?” she asked Tarek. Javan blinked at the gentle edge to her cold voice and then locked his gaze back on Hashim as the man shifted, turning his feral eyes toward her.
“I’m fine,” Tarek said. “Thanks to Javan.”
Sajda’s eyes met Javan’s for a moment, though he couldn’t read her thoughts. Then she turned to Hashim and said quietly, “I would think someone focused on winning the competition would have more important things to do than bother an old man over his breakfast.”
Hashim smiled slowly, and Javan’s muscles tensed at the expression on his face. “You’re right, ehira. I need to practice defeating monsters.” His voice dropped as he leaned toward her. “You wouldn’t want to practice with me, would you?”
Sajda’s eyes narrowed, and she tugged at the iron bracelet on her left wrist. “Leave Tarek alone, Hashim.”
“Or what?” he asked.
Sajda matched his smile with one of her own, and Javan’s skin prickled. “Or I’ll show you why the warden puts me in charge when she’s gone.”
Looping her arm through Tarek’s, Sajda began pulling the old man toward the door. Javan frowned as he tried to reconcile the cold, distant person he’d met the night before with a girl who would protect an old man. She’d gone three steps when Tarek whispered something that brought her to a stop. She stood silent for a moment before sighing and tossing a glance over her shoulder at Javan.
“Are you coming?”
“I . . .” Javan glanced around the kitchen, at the way no one would meet his eyes except Hashim and his friends, who each looked like they wanted to kill him. The guards stationed at the door hadn’t even bothered to come inside the kitchen when the fight started, and they showed no inclination to change their positions once Sajda left.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and turned back toward the door.
“No, I’m coming.” Javan let his fists drop and brushed past Hashim.
As Javan followed Sajda and Tarek into the corridor, Hashim yelled, “You’re meat. First chance I get in the arena. Better watch your back.”
Javan had no intention of facing Hashim in the arena—whatever that meant. He’d blown his chance to quietly and carefully integrate into the prison, judiciously choosing his friends. He’d made a vicious enemy; his allies consisted of a kind old man and a girl who unnerved him completely; and somewhere above the prison, his father was in danger of losing both the throne and his life.
Javan wasn’t sure things could get much worse.
THIRTEEN
WHAT WAS SHE supposed to do with the new boy?
The prisoners who joined the ranks in Maqbara were either petty thieves, vicious criminals, or poverty-stricken debtors who couldn’t afford to pay what they owed to a member of the aristocracy and who spent their lives in the prison while their families tried desperately to scrape together enough wahda to pay off the debt.
This boy held himself like he owned every space he entered. He met everyone’s gaze like an equal. And he spoke with a crisp polish to his words that sounded jarringly out of place amid the softened syllables of the peasants who filled Maqbara’s cells.
Plus, he was almost pretty, a fact that shouldn’t have offended Sajda but somehow did. His smooth bronze skin, shoulder-length black hair, and brown eyes were a distraction in a place where distraction could get her killed.
“Why didn’t the guards on level nine stop Hashim? Shouldn’t they protect us from attacks?” the boy asked, righteous indignation filling his words.
“They aren’t here to protect you,” Sajda said. “They’re here to protect the warden and keep the prisoners from breaking her rules. And her rules say nothing about prisoners keeping their hands to themselves.”
“It’s dishonorable.”
“It’s a prison.” Sajda shot Javan a glare as she escorted Tarek toward the stairs with the boy right behind them. He met her gaze without flinching, a hint of challenge in his eyes.
Not the kind of chills-down-her-spine challenge she saw in the eyes of Hashim and several of the other prisoners. Not the threatening kind.
More like he was determined not to show fear in the face of her icy dislike of him.
Which would be admirable, except that Sajda’s safety depended on the prisoners fearing her. If they didn’t—if they pushed her beyond the speed and strength she possessed—she had nothing left but her trapped magic. Magic she had precious little idea how to use as a weapon.
Plus, using magic against a prisoner would ignite a firestorm of rumors. It wouldn’t be long before someone put her magic together with the fact that Sajda’s hair always covered her ears and came up with the answer.
Dark elf.
Cursed.
Monster.
If she’d heard it said once, she’d heard it a thousand times: the only good elf was a dead elf.
Sajda had no intention of being a dead elf, which meant the new boy needed to learn to fear her. She knew exactly how to accomplish that. One quick sparring match with her, and he’d see her speed. Her strength. He’d know he was outmatched.
She waited until they’d reached the stalls before turning to Javan and saying, “The magistrate already put your name into the betting pool for tomorrow’s tournament, but of course since you’re an untried competitor, the aristocracy isn’t biting. If you survive tomorrow, maybe you’ll move up the ranks a bit, but now that you’ve made an enemy of Hashim, surviving isn’t likely.”
“You are quite the optimist,” Javan said in his elegant voice, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have no idea what competition you’re talking about, but I’ve had plenty of training, and I’m no stranger to winning contests of sport.”
Her brow rose. “Contests of sport? Who talks like that?”
He frowned. “Who doesn’t?”
“Everyone but you.”
“Aristocrats talk like that,” Tarek said quietly, his eyes on Javan.
The boy tensed, his gaze darting quickly to Tarek’s face before returning to Sajda. “I must have overheard it, then.”
Her eyes narrowed. His hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. The vein at the side of his neck showed that his pulse was beating rapidly.
He was lying. But why?
“I’m sure that’s it.” Tarek gave Sajda a pointed look and said, “We should check on the beasts. Javan can help. His level isn’t assigned chore time until third bell. We’ll just tell the guards on level fifteen not to come looking when he doesn’t return to his cell at second bell—”
Sajda ignored Tarek. “Why are you lying?” she asked Javan.
His body stilled—prey who’d just sensed a predator closing in. “Lying about what?”
“Sajda.” Tarek’s voice was stern, something he never tried with her. “Let’s check the beasts.”
She shot a glare at Tarek. “I’m not turning my back on him. I don’t trust him.”
“He defended me.” Tarek put his hands on his hips.
“He’s lying.”
“We all have secrets. The boy proved himself—”