He hadn’t tried to hurt her.
Either he was after the warden, or he needed her trust for something else entirely.
“I’ll listen,” she said. “But if I don’t like what I hear, I’m going to stop holding back.”
“Understood.” He glanced around them as second bell rang, but they were alone by the stalls. Still, the boy lowered his voice as he said, “I was accused of attempted murder.”
Her brow rose. Murder was the last thing she’d expected him to say. If someone wanted to plant an aristocrat in the prison, a murder accusation against a boy whose every move screamed “give me honor or give me death” was a pretty flimsy disguise.
“Did you do it?” she asked, and waited smugly for him to spin a tale about wrongful accusations and misunderstandings and could he please see the warden to sort it all out?
“Yes.” He held her gaze, a muscle clenched along his jawline.
Misery and defiance warred for dominance on his expression, and she blinked.
He was telling the truth.
“Who did you try to kill?” she asked.
Defiance won. “The false—a boy who stole my life. Took my belongings, killed my friend, and tricked my father.”
“I thought you weren’t going to tell me whole truth,” she said as her magic settled, a smooth heat coursing through her veins.
His dark eyes settled on her, and something in her stomach twisted in a warm, unfamiliar way. “I haven’t. But only because if I do, it could cost someone his life. Someone I owe a debt to for putting me here instead of executing me.”
“You’re an aristocrat, aren’t you?” She gave him a look that dared him to deny it.
“I was.”
He wasn’t a threat. Not to her. If he’d wanted to prove she was a dark elf, he’d have gone for her ears. Tried to push her into using her magic.
Maybe he’d rescued Tarek out of the sense of honor he wore like a second skin. Maybe he’d been trying to gain allies and had heard that Tarek was special to her.
It didn’t matter. She was satisfied that he wasn’t after her, and that was good enough for now. He’d made powerful enemies of Hashim and his crew, which meant that once tomorrow’s arena competition started, the problem of whether or not to completely trust Javan was going to be moot.
No way would he survive what was coming at him.
She turned away from Javan to check on the beasts, ignoring Tarek’s and Javan’s discussion of the upcoming tournament’s rules and then Tarek’s hurried explanation to the guards who’d entered the arena intent on punishing Javan for not returning to his cell by second bell.
It was easy to let their conversation wash over her and float away without leaving anything behind.
It was far harder to silence the whisper of regret that tightened her throat when she thought of the pretty aristocrat lying dead on the arena floor.
FOURTEEN
RAHIM FOLLOWED A page through a long corridor in the east wing of the palace, his woven sandals tapping a sharp rhythm against the mosaic tiles beneath his feet. Sunlight streamed in through windows set deep into the walls, washing the jeweled colors of the tiles with gold.
It had been three days since he’d arrived at the palace, and he’d spent his time doing what he did best: listening. Gathering information.
Planning.
The king was doing poorly. The poison he unknowingly swallowed twice a day dulled his senses and sent tremors through his body. It wouldn’t take much to finish what the poison had started, but the FaSaa’il didn’t want to make a move until the coronation ceremony, something the king seemed reluctant to schedule. They reasoned that if the king willingly abdicated to Rahim, anyone left who’d known the real prince would have no recourse but to accept Rahim as their ruler. If the king suddenly died, leaving Rahim the crown, and someone raised questions about the new ruler’s parentage, the aristocrats loyal to the current king could claim he was murdered and cause problems for the FaSaa’il’s bid for power.
Fariq ran the palace, and by extension Akram, while the king was indisposed, but even then, the king tried to keep his cousin’s authority on a short leash by refusing to just hand over the royal signet ring and allow Fariq to deal with all correspondence to ambassadors, magistrates, and aristocrats in the king’s place. Not that Fariq hadn’t found ways to get things done without the royal seal, but it made any true grab for power difficult.
The palace staff seemed evenly divided between those who showed genuine love and concern for the king and those who spied on him and were quick to do Fariq’s bidding when the king’s back was turned.
Which meant those same servants would be spying on Rahim, reporting his every move to Fariq and the FaSaa’il. No doubt the other half of the servants would also be watching him closely to make sure he truly was as dutiful to the king as a son ought to be.
Neither of them would find fault with him. He would walk the line between faction puppet and honorable prince until he was ready to strike.
“In here, Your Highness,” the page said as she stopped before a thick door of carved teakwood.
Rahim nodded his thanks and swept into a room filled floor to ceiling with bookshelves. Dust motes danced in the sunlight as he strode forward to take his seat at the long oval table that rested in the center of the library. Fariq sat at the head of the table. The five FaSaa’il members Rahim had met a month ago at Lord Borak’s behest were seated on either side of him, along with a man who hadn’t been at the original meeting. Rahim took a seat at the end opposite Fariq.
As soon as he was settled, Lord Borak leaned forward and caught his eye. “You’re looking every inch the prince, my boy.”
My boy. As if Rahim was nothing more than a trained dog who reflected well on his master. As if they weren’t all here because Rahim had been smart enough to see his opportunity and take it.
Schooling his expression into one of bland respect and obedience, Rahim inclined his head and said, “I am the prince, my lord.”
Lord Borak laughed and clapped his hands. “Excellent. Didn’t I tell you he could pull it off?” He looked around the table, but Fariq rapped his knuckles against the wood, and Lord Borak fell silent.
“The king suspects nothing,” Fariq said, “and his health continues to fail. I’m certain our prince can convince him to set a coronation date shortly so that we don’t need to worry about rumors or rebellion once Rahim is on the throne. My cousin has always been prone to put the needs of Akram above his own, so that’s the approach you use.” Fariq looked at Rahim. “Tell him you’re concerned about his health and want to ensure a peaceful transfer of power just in case.”
“I’ve tried,” Rahim said. “He isn’t yet willing to move forward.”
“I didn’t instruct you to do that.” Fariq’s eyes narrowed as he glared suspiciously at his son.