She nodded, her gaze back on Batula and Tarek, who were spreading the weapons across the arena, securing some to the floor with heavy stones, while others they hung on hooks around the walls.
“Tarek said every prisoner under the age of forty is required to enter the arena,” Javan said. Glancing back at the man-size worm, he found himself hoping she knew a way out. A way to skip throwing his body into the water with the other prisoners, hoping to kill the monsters before they killed him. He could still get his father’s attention without being in the arena itself.
“Yes, you have to enter the arena. If you don’t, the warden will kill you in front of the aristocracy as an appetizer to the main event. But you don’t need to fight.” She turned the full weight of her gaze on him, and this time when his skin prickled, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Maybe because at the moment, she wasn’t looking at him as though she wanted to tear him to pieces. Or maybe because he was just getting used to feeling like lightning was skimming over his body whenever he was around her.
She lowered her voice as Hashim and several other prisoners exited the nearest stairwell and came as close to the stalls as the guards stationed by the arena’s entrance would allow. “This is the second round of combat for the tournament. There are only three rounds left after today. If you keep your back to a wall, kill any creature that attacks you, and try not to take credit for any kills, you won’t be perceived as a threat, and the other prisoners probably won’t try to murder you.”
“I don’t have any points worth stealing,” he said. “I doubt anyone would risk taking a penalty to kill me.”
“There are plenty of awful things that can happen to someone while they’re still alive. And if a group of competitors work together to kill you, they split the point deduction between them.” Her voice was cold and calm, but there was an edge to it that he hadn’t heard from her before. A thread of darkness that hinted at storms just below her surface.
“When does the king arrive?” he asked, trying hard to keep his voice level even though it felt like a ball of nervous energy was tumbling through his chest. He could get his father’s attention without truly participating in this barbaric tournament. He’d meet his gaze, wave the red sash over his head, and this nightmare would be over.
She shrugged. “I don’t keep track of royalty. Just stay against a wall and try not to die.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. You helped Tarek. I just paid that debt. Once you get out into the arena, you’re on your own.” She walked away as Tarek and Batula secured the gates at both ends of the arena. Leaping onto the short wall that ran around the edge of the ring, Sajda walked nimbly toward the center point on the eastern wall, bent at the waist, and cranked a lever attached to a silver pipe cover. The cover lifted, and water gushed into the arena.
Javan left the stall area, avoiding Hashim and his friends, and joined a small group of prisoners who stood at the closest gate watching the water level slowly rise. A guard called out prisoner names and handed each competitor an armband with a number on it to help the judges keep track of their kills and to give the crowd a chance to identify and choose their favorites. Javan tied his armband into place and faced the arena.
Sajda was right. He would secure a weapon, find a space at the edge of the ring, and survive until the last monster was killed. No flashy competition. No trying for the top score. No additional risk that could rip away his chance to save his father and his kingdom. For the first time in his life, Javan was going into a competition without intending to win.
“I can’t swim,” the man closest to Javan said softly.
“The water will only be waist deep,” a woman answered, her hands moving swiftly as she secured her long black hair into a braid. “Get a weapon, plant your feet, and kill anything that comes close to you.”
The man shuddered, and Javan said, “If you go under, don’t panic. All you have to do is find the floor with either your feet or your hands. Then you can orient yourself and stand up. You’ll be all right.”
The man shot Javan a quick look and said, “This isn’t worth it. We’re risking our lives to entertain the aristocracy, and for what?”
The woman laughed, though there was no amusement in her voice. “Well, it sure isn’t so we can ask for a boon from the king when he finally shows up during the final round. Hashim and the others from level five have too many points already for any of us to win the prize.”
“The king doesn’t attend until the final round?” Javan asked, hope fizzling into despair that sank into his bones like stone. According to Tarek, the final round was at least a month away. Would the king survive the impostor and Fariq that long? Would Javan?
“No, he doesn’t. And even then, he barely pays attention. Unless you win the audience with him, he won’t even know you exist,” the woman said.
“We’re risking our lives because if we don’t, the warden turns us into meat,” another man said, but Javan wasn’t listening.
“What do you mean?” He moved closer to the woman, who gave him an irritated look. His heart kicked hard against his chest. “Are you saying we can gain a personal audience with the king?”
“And you get to ask for a boon that he will grant as long as it doesn’t break any laws in the kingdom. But only if you win the entire tournament,” she said. “And you aren’t winning. None of us are. Most of the prisoners from level five already have at least two hundred points each. It’s too late to catch up with them, and even if you did, they’d kill you as soon as you had five hundred points.”
Something bright and painful burned in Javan’s chest as he looked at the board nailed to the wall across from the king’s box. Every creature entering the ring that day was listed.
VENOMOUS SNAKE—5 POINTS
FLESH-EATING FISH—10 POINTS
RIVER SPRITE—25 POINTS
WATER DRAGON—40 POINTS
LAKE CRAWLER—50 POINTS
MAN-EATING WORM—100 POINTS
Forget standing with his back to the wall. Forget just trying to survive. The key to getting out of Maqbara was staring him in the face.
If the level five competitors had around two hundred points each, then Javan needed at least that much to even have a shot at qualifying for the final round.
After memorizing the point values of every creature that would be swimming in the water with him, Javan turned his attention to the covered weapons that lined the walls and the floor.
Hashim and his ilk weren’t going to gain an audience with the king because Javan was going to compete with a vengeance.
And he was going to win.
SIXTEEN