“The boy hasn’t even begun to prove himself.”
“The boy is standing right here and would really appreciate it if you stopped talking about him like he’s part of the scenery.” Javan uncrossed his arms and stepped forward.
Sajda whipped her arms up and crouched, her body braced for his attack.
Javan froze as he took in Sajda’s defensive stance. Raising his hands as if to show he meant no harm, he said softly, “I’m not going to hurt you. I already told you I would never do something so dishonorable.”
Why did he talk like an aristocrat? Was he spying on the warden? Surely a woman that vicious had enemies outside the prison.
Sajda’s magic bit into her skin as she considered another possibility. Could he be spying on her? Had she let something slip—been too strong, too fast, too frustrated by her restrained magic as the runes in her cuffs glowed—in front of someone? The warden had always warned her that if her true identity was discovered, she’d be killed. Maybe there were rumors about a dark elf in Maqbara and this boy had come to the prison to find the truth.
“Why are you here?” Sajda demanded.
“I was sentenced to prison by the magistrate—”
“Yes, but why?” She stared him down, magic itching painfully beneath her skin, begging for release. “You aren’t afraid of me. You defended Tarek against a pack of bullies. Both of those facts mean you must have combat training, which is rare to find in a prisoner. It also means you must think gaining Tarek’s trust, and by extension mine, will benefit you somehow. And you talk like an aristocrat. Aristocrats rarely get thrown into Maqbara. But here you are. I want to know why you’re here and what you want. If I’m not satisfied with the answer, you’d better pray your training is enough to save you from me.”
The skin beneath her cuffs ached as her magic hissed through her blood, a feral creature anxious to hurt the liar in front of her.
Javan stared at her, the silence between them punctuated by the sand scraping the skylights above and the faint slosh of a water beast in its cistern.
Finally, he said, “I won’t dishonor Yl’ Haliq by lying, but I can’t tell you the whole truth.”
“Wrong answer.” She rose from her crouch, magic burning, arms extended toward him, this aristocrat masquerading as a prisoner and trying to gain her trust.
Did he know what she was? Had the warden slipped up after all these years and told the wrong person just what kind of slave she was keeping in the bowels of Maqbara?
“Wait!” He kept his hands in the air, palms facing her even as she lunged for him.
“Sajda!” Tarek yelled as she crashed into the boy and wrapped her hands around his throat.
Magic hummed through her blood, stinging her palms as it reached for Javan, hunting for his strength, his truth.
The boy’s brown eyes widened as if he could feel the pull of her magic on his blood, and then he brought his arms up beneath hers in a sharp movement that loosened her hold on him and knocked her back a step.
He didn’t wait for her to find her footing.
Pivoting, he swept her leg with his, sending her hurtling toward the floor. She spun into the momentum of the fall, landed briefly in a handstand, and then flipped onto her feet again.
“Let me explain—”
She rushed toward him, letting her elven speed carry her fast enough that he never had a chance to brace before she crashed into him, wrapped her arms around him, and threw him to the ground.
He rolled as he landed and was back on his feet in a flash.
Definitely trained. She was going to have to be more elf than human if she wanted to gain his fear and his truth.
Pouring on the speed, she took two running steps forward and plowed her fist into his chest.
He flew backward, but as he fell, he grabbed the front of her shirt and took her with him.
“Let go!” She seized his wrists, magic raking at her skin, hunting for a way into Javan’s body. His mind. His weaknesses.
A tiny thrill of pain seared her wrists beneath her cuffs as his pulse beat rapidly against her palms.
She wanted to draw his strength and his composure from him and leave him shaking and weak. Leave him begging her for mercy. She wanted to hear the truth spilling from his lips so she would know if she was in danger or if the warden was the one in trouble.
Her magic prickled and hummed, and she imagined turning it loose on the boy with the challenge in his eyes and the aristocracy in his voice.
He dug his heels into the ground and flipped them. She hissed as her back hit the floor, her hands still wrapped around his wrists, his pulse fluttering against the heat of her magic.
“Let. Me. Explain.” He bit the words out as he eased back onto his knees, his legs straddling her waist as he opened his hands to show her his palms.
A gesture of surrender she couldn’t accept while she was at a disadvantage. He’d surrender to her, but it would be because he understood that she could hurt him if he didn’t.
Feeling a faint whiff of regret for his pretty face, she concentrated on her strength, on the magic coiling in her blood, and then she sent her right fist straight into his jaw.
His head snapped back, and he hit the ground. Sliding away from him, she lunged to her feet, hands up and ready. He dabbed at the blood welling from a cut that had opened beside his mouth and then slowly stood to face her.
She frowned. His lips quirked.
“Are you smiling at me?”
“Yl’ Haliq forbid,” he said gravely, the ghost of a smile disappearing, though the challenge in his eyes had been replaced by something warmer.
“I just knocked you to the ground—”
“I knocked you down first.”
Tarek waved his hands in the air. “Maybe you two could stop fighting, and we could hear the boy out.”
“I didn’t actually fall. I turned it into a flip.” Sajda raised her chin to glare at Javan.
“And I flipped us both.” He tilted his head to the side to study her. “You’re fast. And strong. That’s a mean right hook you’ve got.”
She smirked, caught herself, and resumed glaring. “I was holding back.”
He gave her a slight nod. “I believe you. Whoever trained you truly understood how to help you harness your power.”
Her skin went cold, magic piercing it like shards of ice. “What do you know of my power?”
He frowned. “Lower center of gravity since you’re female, but still the power behind any combat move comes from the abdomen.” He glanced at hers, and then quickly looked away, a faint pink highlighting his cheekbones.
She drew in a slow breath, willing the painful itch of her magic to settle. Either he was the world’s best liar, or he knew nothing about her true power. And she’d already established that he was a terrible liar.
“Will you listen to me without trying to kill me now?” he asked. There was a note of deep sincerity in his voice that made her want to walk away.
She didn’t want his story. Didn’t want to understand why, even when she’d thrown him to the floor and punched him hard enough to split his skin, he hadn’t tried to do anything but hold his own.