“This is barbaric,” Javan said, his stomach churning at the thought of murdering another prisoner just to gain the person’s points. The thought of killing wild beasts who’d done nothing to deserve it wasn’t much better. Did none of the other prisoners care about the blood on their hands when they finally stood before Yl’ Haliq for judgment?
“This is survival, and it happens twice a year. We have a summer tournament and a winter tournament.” Tarek’s voice was firm. “Collecting bets on the competition is what lines the warden’s pocket with wahda. I’m pretty sure Prince Fariq benefits too because he has the palace steward at each match recording which families attend, how much they bet, and how enthusiastically they cheer for their favorites. The better competitor you are, the more you become a crowd favorite. Crowd favorites bring in heavy betting and are granted more leeway by the warden as a result, and everybody wants to win.”
“Any crowd favorites yet?”
“Hashim and several others on level five.”
“Fantastic.” Dread settled into him. “I was young when I left Akram for school, but I don’t remember my family ever attending a tournament in Maqbara. When did these competitions start?” And why was his father allowing the dishonor of a tournament that forced people to compete for their lives?
Tarek frowned in thought for a moment. “About five years ago. It was Prince Fariq’s idea, I believe. He borrowed it from something they do in the kingdom of Llorenyae.”
Five years ago. The same time the king’s letters began to change in tone and frequency. Javan couldn’t reconcile the father he remembered—the man who put honor and obeying the sacred texts above all else—with the king who would sanction a bloodthirsty tournament for sport. Had his father really changed that much, or was this more evidence of Uncle Fariq’s betrayal of everything the Kadar family stood for?
Moments later they were at the double rows of iron stalls where Sajda was finishing tossing sheep guts to whatever monstrous creatures were housed there. An older woman with shrewd eyes and wrinkled skin was walking the arena floor, a piece of parchment in her hands. Using the door to the magistrate’s office as north, she counted paces according to the schematic on her parchment, stooping to place a black cloth where each weapon would be hidden. A trio of guards stood beside the arena entrance closest to the stalls, their glares landing as one on Javan.
“No prisoners allowed in the stalls, Tarek.” The shortest guard, a man with wide shoulders and an impatient air about him, stepped toward them, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“We have a much larger group of beasts than usual for today’s round,” Tarek said. “More beasts means more work, and if we’re going to have everything ready in time for the warden, we need extra help. If you don’t want me to pull beast workers from the prisoners, perhaps you could help us instead? You know how the warden gets if the tournament falls behind schedule.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, but he took a step back. “Just the one prisoner, then. You know how she gets if the competitors see the beasts before the competition.”
Tarek nodded, wrapped a hand around Javan’s arm, and pulled him quickly past the guards and toward the stalls.
“Want me to help Batula with weapon placement?” Tarek asked as Sajda washed her hands in a basin beside the last stall.
Sajda nodded as she took the orange from Tarek. “Make sure everything is weighted so we don’t have floating weapons to contend with.”
“Floating weapons?” Javan asked as Tarek joined Batula on the scarred arena floor to begin sorting through the weapons that had been dragged into a pile at its center.
Sajda pierced the skin of the orange with her fingernail and peeled the skin away in large chunks. The sweet bite of citrus filled the air, and a creature in the stall beside her began snuffling along the doorframe. “The rules of the tournament state that all weapons must be hidden in the arena at the start of the round. It gives the warden another way to collect bets. Which weapon will be found first. Which competitor will get his or her favored item. And it increases the risk because a crowd favorite might die if she doesn’t get the weapon she knows how to use. Since today is water combat, we have to weight the coverings over the weapons to make sure nothing moves from its original spot.”
“All of that is disturbing, but what do you mean by water combat?” Javan asked as he moved to the stall and stared in horrified fascination at the scrawny creature inside. It looked like a mangy, stunted goat with claw-tipped hooves, razor-sharp spikes running down its back, and fangs that hung past its chin. “And what is this?”
“That’s a devil goat. From Llorenyae.” She sounded impatient. “You don’t have to worry about that one today.”
Javan backed away from the stall as the devil goat looked up and gnashed its teeth in his direction. “That’s a relief.”
“Hardly. That one is relatively easy to kill, though of course it isn’t worth many points. You’ll have far more dangerous monsters in the water with you today. You’ll be wishing for a simple devil goat before long.” She popped an orange slice into her mouth and rubbed absently at the skin beneath her iron bracelets.
“There’s that glowing optimism again,” he said as he moved to the next stall. “Yl’ Haliq, what is this abomination?”
An enormous white worm coiled and uncoiled itself in a cistern of water. The worm was easily the size of a full-grown man, and its wide, gaping mouth revealed rows of sharp teeth. A chill chased its way across Javan’s skin at the sinking realization that the things he would face in the prison’s arena were nothing like the well-ordered contests he’d engaged in at Milisatria.
“A man-eating worm. Also from Llorenyae, as most of our beasts are. It can distend its jaw and swallow a man whole, so you should stay away from its mouth.” Sajda finished her orange and turned toward the arena. “There’s also a pair of small water dragons, nearly sixty flesh-eating fish, a dozen venomous snakes, a river sprite with a nasty temper, and an enormous blob of a thing called a lake crawler that can disguise itself as its surroundings and swallow you whole if you step on it. I think it looks a little darker than its surroundings, so try not to step on any shadows.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Javan muttered as the worm twisted and thrashed. His stomach felt like it was twisting and thrashing too. How was he supposed to survive in an arena full of water with all those creatures?
“Want some more advice?” she asked without looking at him. Other prisoners were finished with breakfast and were heading toward the stalls now.
“Only if it’s full of your usual sunshine and cheer.”
She laughed, and then shot him a glare as if making her laugh was on her list of things prisoners weren’t allowed to do. “Don’t compete.”
“Don’t compete? That’s your advice?”